#best coffee Leicester

[kyracooneyx23]

can you please do an r x kcc where r and kyra are like best friends but then r does her acl and then they don't see each other for ages and in the time they don't spend together kyra starts to realise that she feels somethinf for r and then when r comes back to camp kyra starts acting differently and then r finds out or something along the lines of that sorry if thats too confusing

Missed You More - Kyra Cooney-Cross

kyra cooney-cross x matildas!reader

summary: Your back in camp after a long ACL recovery but your best friend kyra's acting strange. warnings: injury, kind of angst ig? not really anything else except terrible writing, its just a lot of yapping

'Chelsea winger Y/N L/N has just collapsed and is holding her knee, she looks to be in a lot of pain. A stretcher is being brought on to the pitch for her now showing that this isn't a minor injury. Could she have done her ACL? If so that would not be good for her hopes of playing in the upcoming world cup on home soil for the Australian.'

Scans confirm the worse for Matildas and Chelsea star, Y/N L/N, as it has been revealed the young forward has ruptured her anterior cruciate ligament in recent game against Leicester City. Her hopes to play in the world cup next year very slight as she begins her long road to recovery.

The image of her best friend falling to the ground still haunts Kyra even now 5 months later as she sat on the bus heading to their camp in England after their disappointing loss to Scotland two days ago ending their 7 match winning streak. It was the final camp before they headed home to Australia to prep for the upcoming world cup on home soil. The words of the commentator still replay in her head constantly reminding her of the heartache she felt for her best friend. In every news article she read their was always something about how the matildas star forward, chances of making the squad for the world cup were getting slimmer as time passed, it had consumed all her social media. Her constantly reminding her of the moment you had called her after your scans tears streaming down your face as you broke the news to your best friend about the results.

Of anyone in the world, Kyra knew better than anyone just how much it meant to you to be representing your country in a world cup on home soil, you had left home and travelled halfway across the globe to play for Chelsea at only 16, giving up most of your teenage years to be the best player you could. It broke her heart to just imagine how you would be feeling during this time.

In the thousands of facetimes they'd had together you had always tried to stay positive, always laughing at something and sharing stories about your time in England. But Kyra could see through the facade, nothing would get past her, you'd been best friends since you were fifteen when you both played for Melbourne Victory together. She knew how hard it was for you, you didn't have any family with you and Kyra hadn't been able to visit you as her season with Hammarby had been to busy to have enough time of to sneak in a trip to London.

Since you had been out injured, Kyra's mood had been very down. All her matildas teammates had noticed almost immediately when she had not pulled a single prank throughout the entire cup of nations tournament. The public noticed soon after when photos of the teams celebrations were posted and Kyra was hardly smiling in any of the pictures, preferring to keep to herself in the locker rooms after wins.

Kyra is pulled out of her trance when she feels her phone vibrating from the seat next to her she grabs it and sees an incoming call from you, she answered being greeted by your grinning face.

'Hello Ky.' You called happily at her whilst you walked back from Cobham, after your first full training session back with the team. You had a coffee in your hand and had a scarf wrapped around your shoulders, dressed in a large Chelsea puffer jacket with your hair pulled up into a messy bun strands blowing around your face from the strong wind. 'Sorry, I'm a mess I have a photoshoot in just over an hour so I'm in a rush.' You tell her, but Kyra didn't think you looked a mess she thought you looked beautiful, but she thought you were always stunning she never told anyone about how she felt, she thought it would be weird to go around saying how good you looked.

Kyra hadn't told anyone, but in the time the two of you had been apart Kyra had begun to feel differently towards you but she tried to hide it not wanting it to be awkward. She couldn't stop thinking about you her thoughts often wondering back to your cute smile or your laugh which you hated but she loved. Recently she'd been prioritizing your facetime calls over important stuff she was meant to be doing and whenever you did something Kyra felt like a millions butterflies were flying around in her stomach.

At first Kyra was scared of these feelings but she'd accepted them just thinking it was because she missed you a lot and when you came back from injury everything would go back to normal. It couldn't just be her that thought you were the prettiest person alive, surely anyone in their right mind could see that right?

'Kyra Lilee Cooney-Cross? Are you still there? Helloooo earth to Kyra...' you loudly spoke into the phone, pulling Kyra out of her trance and she blushed after realising she had been staring at you all this time.

'Sorry 'bout that.' Kyra says embarrassed. 'How are you? Did the scans go alright?'

'I'm good, the scans went well. My physio said that my rehab is going really well and I'm actually ahead of the schedule and...' A huge grin spreads out on your face, 'I could even be back for the game against Leicester on the 11th which means I'm allowed to play in the world cup. But that's only if Tony choses me.'

'Are you kidding Y/N/N? That's amazing, I'm so proud of you, and of course Tony's going to choose you for the world cup if your back in time, he'd be stupid not to.' Kyra matches your energy a grin spreading over her face. 'We better start planning more pranks on the girls for when you come back. I think Steph should be our first target.' You laugh, and Kyra can't help but feel that familiar giddy sensation in her stomach as your laughter fills her ears.

You plan pranks you can pull together before you notice the time. 'I got to go now Kyra. But I just want to thank you so much for your support, I seriously couldn't have been where I am today without everything you've done for me.' Kyra grins, rolling her eyes.

'Don't be silly, I did nothing, you did all the hard work. I just did whatever any best friend would do.' She tells you brushing it off as if the hours she spent on the phone with you even if it was just you talking to her while you were doing your rehab were nothing.

'Well thanks regardless. I owe you big time' You tell her, knowing that she spent so much of her time helping you. 'But I really got to go now. I love you bye.' You tell her blowing a kiss she tells you goodbye as you hang up the phone leaving Kyra on her own again.

time skip to after the england game

'Yes Cha Cha.' Kyra says leaping on her best friends back followed by Mini who was had Harper on her back. She wrapped her close friend in a tight hug placing a joking kiss on her cheek swinging her around to celebrate the girls first ever goal for the Matildas. The trio and Harper stay a while celebrating the win against England.

Despite the adrenaline pumping through Kyra's body, she still felt like something was missing. You and Kyra had always talked about how one day the two of you would play in Wembley together and all the things you'd do once you won and it made Kyra sad that you weren't here to celebrate the win. 'You alright kiddo?' Mini asks Kyra placing a soft hand on her back watching as Mackenzie Arnold and Charli Grant chased harper around on the grass.

'I dunno, it's complicated.' Kyra says not wanting to talk about it right now, knowing it sounded stupid.

'Is it about y/n?' Katrina asked the younger girl and Kyra looks at her in shock of how she knew so quickly about what it was about.

'How'd you know?' Kyra asked slightly embarrassed.

'I'm basically your mum Kyra. I know you better than you'd think.' She says teasingly 'Plus ever since y/n's been out, you've been acting differently, everyones noticed. And we're all worried about you Kyra. I know you miss your best friend but everyone's going to get injured from time to time, you can't let that affect your game.'

'It's more than me missing her. I can't stop thinking about her, she's actually taking over my mind. And I've been getting all these weird feelings, like whenever she calls me I get butterflies in my stomach, and she's so pretty, and sometimes I'd rather be on a call with her than do anything else. I don't know why I'm feeling this way mini, it's scaring me. I don't want to ruin our friendship because I have these weird and stupid feelings.' Kyra huffs tears threatening to spill.

'Kyra, have you ever maybe considered you might like y/n?' Katrina asks the younger Aussie.

'Of course I like her Kat, she's my best friend are you stupid?' Kyra says to her mother like figure confused at her logic.

'I mean, have you ever considered you might like her more than just a friend.'

'But she's my friend, I can't like her like that. I'll ruin everything.' she speaks fast worried about if what Mini is saying could be true.

'It's not the end of the world to have a crush Kyra.' Mini says soothingly, patting Kyra on the back. 'Everyone has a crush on someone, and you don't even have to tell her how you feel if it worries you too much, but from what I've noticed I'm pretty sure she likes you too.' Mini whispers the last part before noticing harper faceplanting on the floor, running off to check on her daughter. Leaving Kyra to take in everything Katrina said. It made sense now, everything she was feeling.

time skip to pre world cup

The Matildas had started arriving to prepare for the upcoming world cup. Much to much of the publics surprise you had made a record return being welcomed back into the squad for the world cup, grateful that Tony still chose you even though you weren't even close to the form you were in before your injury. You were arriving to camp a few hours later than everyone else with Sam, meaning that when you arrived late that evening everyone was always eating dinner, you hopped out of the car, feeling gross from the long flight and jetlag kicking in.

'wait her y/n/n. I'm gonna get everyone excited for their favourite player to be back.' You only half comprehended what Sam told you but waited outside until you heard Sam shouting your name. You slowly walked into the room dragging your suitcase behind you, your mood brightening when you walked into the room filled with all your teammates clapping.

'Hey guys.' Is all you say unable to say much more from tiredness and shock that you were back so much sooner than you expected. People laugh before starting to make their way towards you. Steph's the first person to pull you into a hug, whispering how proud she is of you into your ear, everyone else shortly follows saying similar stuff to Steph. Macca is one of the last people to embrace you.

'I would like to say I'm the most excited for you to be back but I'm afraid Kyra probably wins that competition.' You laugh at her before comprehending the fact that you hadn't gotten a hug yet from your best friend. 'Where is Kyra anyways?' You ask Mackenzie, she smiled at you and it was almost like a scene from a movie the way she stepped aside to reveal a tired looking Kyra standing behind her.

No words are spoken between the two of you until her arms are wrapped around you. 'I've missed you so much.' You tell her

'Missed you more.' She responds making you laugh slightly.

'Are you ready to do the plan for steph.' You ask her a cheeky grin spreading on the two of your faces as you pull away to face each other.

'never been readier.' You both laugh before alanna pulls you away from each other.

'You've only been back together for less than a minute and your already planning something.' she says sternly ruffling your hair and you both give her an innocent smile, something you always used to do when people suspected you of something. 'well go eat something, then go to sleep. you look awful y/n.' You roll your eyes scoffing.

'Wow Lani, you're kinder than I remembered.' You laugh as she shoves you away.

'Just eat kid.' In the small time you speak with Alanna you don't notice Kyra head back to the table and go back to eating without another word.

'You ok Kyra?' Mini whispers to the midfielder.

'Yeah Ky, I thought you would want to be spending every second with y/n/n, you've been waiting for her to get back for like ever. She's all you ever talk about.' Charli basically interrogates her friend who looks visibly uncomfortable causing Mini to kick the number 22, sending her a stern glare that gets her to shut up. Kyra didn't expect it to feel so awkward to be back with her best friend, but she couldn't stop thinking about her and Mini's conversation after the England game. She didn't want to ruin their friendship because of her silly emotions so for now she planned to keep quieter around y/n and try distance herself.

i will be doing a part 2 soon

[adventures-in-mangaland]

I'm going with 10 All Time Classics from the Captain America (MCU) fandom. I mean, they're all classics to me, at least. In no particular order:

1. This, You Protect by owlet

First installment in the Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail series, which are all amazing. It's a “Bucky escaping Hydra and rebuilding his sense of self” fic, which he does while spying on Steve. With eventual Avengers Family and a lovely cast of OCs bonding with Bucky in the meantime. It has a very distinctive perspective and writing style; Bucky's in constant internal (and sometimes accidentally external) dialogue with himself, making it hilarious and tragic all at the same time. I love it. I've recently been getting into The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells and this Bucky has a similar sassy-but-vulnerable vibe? Read this if you like that, anyway.

2. The One Who Knows by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

This is a Political Animals AU, in that no-powers Steve is inserted into the Political Animals world and Bucky is TJ. Discusses being outed and depression but is ultimately hopeful. The author is one of my all time faves and has written lots of great stories for this and many other fandoms.

3. Blue Scales by chaya

Steve is a merman AU. He's still Captain America, though. It's crack with heart, I love it.

Best line: "May your scales and your love story be our weird secret forever.”

4. Our Lingering Frost by eyres

AU where Bucky is rescued from Hydra in the 50s (?) and so is around for Steve to be found.

5. Assets Out of Containment by follow_the_sun

It's a classic to *me*, OK? Bucky goes undercover at Jurassic World just as that movie's plot kicks off. They're Hydra dinosaurs! It's just great. Also has a podfic and crossovers with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

6. Not Easily Conquered (series) by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears

Some of the greatest fanfiction I've ever read, the whole series is epic. Anyway, it's a "Steve doesn't go into the ice" AU with added queer angst when (never sent) love letters from Bucky resurface. I particularly like the second installment in the series The Thirteen Letters, which are just Bucky's letters and are insanely well-written.

7. to memory now I can't recall by Etharei

Time travel AU! Featuring post-CATWS Bucky accidentally switching places with CATFA era Bucky.

8. If Wishing Made It So by Leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

Genie!Bucky AU! This author is great at writing AUs with fantasy/genre elements, it was hard to choose. They've also written an excellent werewolf!Steve AU and a horse!Steve AU that I really love.

9. Into That Good Night by Nonymos

An Interstellar AU! Very angsty and tragic but with an eventual happy ending.

10. Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square by Speranza

Speranza must be one of the best writers in the fandom, so it was hard to pick just one of their fics. Other strong contenders were All the Angels and the Saints and The Fifties, so check those out too! But this one has a special place in my heart. Steve, Tony and Natasha accidentally time travel to WW2 London, leading to an accidental run-in with CATFA-era Bucky. The author does tragic and romantic time travel tropes so well, but with a happy ending.

I now realise that most of these are AUs, so here’s a bonus rec for a non-AU in-universe story that’s severely underrated and deserves more love:

+1

Heart, Have No Pity on this House of Bone by Sena

This story follows Bucky in-action in the Pacific Theatre. It’s very well written and, from what I can tell, well researched. Steve only appears in Bucky’s imagination and the story focuses on the horrors of war rather than romance, but it’s gripping! And it explores unrequited love, being closeted and period-typical homophobia, which I also enjoyed. I’m still holding out hope for a sequel.

[aliesbienish]

Love at first swipe

Benedict Bridgerton x fem reader. Modern Au.

Warnings: Cheesy AF. Innuendos.

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Cute smile. Check.

Kind eyes. Check.

Well written profile with no misogynistic undertones. Double check.

This guy must be to good to be true. Definitely a bot. Or married and cheating on his poor wife. Plus what girl hasn’t been screwed over by a ‘Ben’, maybe he’ll be yours.

Still against better judgement you swiped right on Mr. cute smile, and then called it a day. Closing tinder and setting down your phone, reluctantly getting up to make yourself dinner. Honestly having a partner to share the cooking load was just as appealing as the romance at this point.

Basic spaghetti made and glass of wine in hand you plopped back onto the couch to continue your next rerun of pride and prejudice, the tv show of course. At least you could always day dream of life with Mr Darcy, and if he was always looking like he just emerged from the lake then so be it.

Grabbing your phone to enter into some simultaneous mindless scrolling you saw a notification from Tinder pop up. Oh boy a new match. Maybe you needed more wine.

Of course you couldn’t help being intrigued, so you opened it up to see a new message from the definite robot himself.

Ben: Good evening [y/n], to what do I owe this pleasure?

You: Bit early to determine I’ll be a pleasure isn’t it?

I’m actually only here because I am convinced you are a bot and honestly chatting with a bot is almost guaranteed to be more exciting than chatting with a man.

Ben: I’m nothing if not optimistic. I promise I am not a bot. And before you say it; I know that it’s exactly what a bot would say but it’s also exactly what a human would say.

You: Touché. Alright Ben, prove it.

Ben: Do you interrogate all your matches or am I special?

You: You’re special. But don’t get sappy about it, I’m just suspicious that your profile doesn’t have a photo of you fishing or in front of a car.

Through many years of observation I’ve hypothesised that each human man must show one or the other.

Ben: And have you hypothesised why that may be?

You: It’s almost certainly something to do with their hunting and gathering skills. That or compensation.

Ben: And how was this concluded?

You: Well fishing is obviously a modern (and frankly boring) man’s hunting and gathering.Least amount of work and blood involved. These men want to prove they can provide, but will likely never actually do the real hunting and gathering ie. Grocery shopping.

Ben: Science seems sound. And cars?

You: Well that’s obvious. The bigger and shinier the car the smaller the 🍆.

Ben: I quite agree…but that might be because I own a mud covered beetle.

You: Haven’t you heard it’s best to keep expectations low?

Ben: And risk losing out? No thank you.

You: If you’re real, which the jury is still out, I’m sure that’s not an issue.

Ben: Still? I’m flattered. And while it may not be an issue let’s say why would I settle for bronze when I can have gold?

FYI that’s me saying I think you’re gold

You: thanks for the clarification. You’re really into calling this early aren’t you? 10 minutes and you’re obsessed.

Ben: It’s actually been about thirty minutes if you count when I first came across your profile and haven’t stopped thinking about you since.

You: That is either incredibly honest or an amazing line.

Ben: Oh it’s both. But first and only time I’ll use it, cross my heart.

You: So what next?

Ben: Coffee, tomorrow hopefully if that’s not too soon?

You: Tomorrows great. Meet in the city? Say Leicester Square at 11am?

Ben: Done. I look forward to it.

You: You’d better be real or I’ll hurt you.

You were standing in the square outside of the cinema, your agreed meeting place. Despite the anxiety in you wanting to call the date off you’d made it. It was likely a good thing you only had 24 hours or so to think about it. Ben had been funny and endearing and so damn sure he wanted to meet you. He seemed so lovely that it defied belief, but you were willing to suspend reality.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and you spun around to come face to face with Ben. In the flesh, as handsome or in fact even more so than his profile photos.

You meet his eyes and suddenly you felt lost in them.

“Hi,” You muttered, a goofy smile plastering your face. “I’m [y/n]”.

“Hi back. My real names Benedict. But Ben is fine. Long story. It’s lovely to meet you properly.”

“Thank god we’re both real,” you laughed.

“To be honest I never had any doubt. When you know you know.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Maybe I’m just trying to manifest my own luck on the dating apps 🤷🏻‍♀️

[chelseachilly]

THIS LOVE - prologue | high tide came and brought you in

pairing: ben chilwell x reader

rating: T

word count: 1.5k

summary: you and ben have been best friends since you were kids. there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him, including pretending to be his girlfriend to help his career when his public image has taken a hit. what’s the worst that can happen?

A/N: hi everyone! welcome to my latest ben fic! thanks to everyone who voted in the poll i made recently, ultimately i couldn’t decide so ended up going with both fake dating and friends to lovers lol. the title is from this love by taylor swift (taylor’s version obvi) <3

view all chapters

When you woke up today, becoming Ben Chilwell’s girlfriend is the last thing you would’ve expected to happen. Short of an alien invasion or a complete nuclear apocalypse, there is hardly any conceivable scenario that you would’ve had a harder time believing.

The day starts like any other.

You wake up after hitting snooze a couple times then hurry to get ready for work. You don’t have time to make coffee at home, so you grab a latte and a bagel from Pret on your way to the hospital.

It’s a typical, stressful day in the life of an A&E nurse, with a few major traumas coming in and the usual NHS understaffing issues.

You have lunch with your favourite coworker talk close friend Valerie, who you met in uni, and talked shit about your least favourite coworkers while eating mediocre salads from the cafeteria.

By the end of the day, you’re totally exhausted, practically dragging your feet as you walk up the stairs to your flat and collapse on the couch.

You’ve just mustered the energy to change into your pyjamas when there’s a knock on your door, and you excitedly run over to grab your dinner.

Unfortunately, it isn’t the Indian takeaway you’ve ordered waiting for you on the other side, it’s your best friend Ben.

“I thought you were Indian food,” you groan.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Ben chuckles as you step aside to let him in and he kicks off his shoes. “Tough day?”

“Long day,” you reply, walking back over to your couch and plopping down as Ben walks into your kitchen to get a drink, making himself at home.

You and Ben have been best friends since you were six, when you and your family moved and you started at the same primary school as him. He was the first kid to show you some kindness by asking if you wanted to join him and his mates for a game of football at recess. Obviously, at the time you couldn’t have predicted that the childhood pastime would turn into a massively successful career for him.

You two grew closer over the years and remained close even when he started at Leicester’s academy and you didn’t get to spend nearly as much time together. You almost never missed a home game, regardless of if it was a friendly in the academy days or a monumental Champions League match once he made it to Chelsea.

Likewise, Ben has always been there for you, supporting you as you worked your butt off to make it through uni and get your nursing certification. He was elated when you landed a job at a hospital in London not long after he signed with Chelsea, immediately offering you a spare bedroom.

Although you did take him up on that offer for a couple months while you saved up and looked for a decent flat, you eventually got your own place to be closer to work. And because you found that guys you went out with were either threatened or way too excited when they found out you lived with a Premier League footballer.

You’ve both been living in London for about three years now, and while you’ve made your fair share of friends in the city, there is something special about the bond you have with Ben. He knows you better than anyone else, just as you know him, and hanging out with him always feels right.

He feels like home.

Ben joins you on the couch with two beers he stole from your fridge, one of which he passes to you.

You raise an eyebrow, accepting the drink and taking a sip. “Since when are you allowed to drink the week of a game?”

“I’m just having one,” Ben retorts, kicking his feet up on your coffee table. “I’ve had a long day, too.”

“Oh, right, the PR meeting was today,” you recall. “How did it go?”

“Not great,” he sighs. “Do you think I’m a man whore?”

You nearly spit out your beer, trying very hard not to laugh as Ben looks at you with complete earnestness.

“Well, um, I wouldn’t say it like that,” you chuckle. “But…”

“Oh my god,” Ben groans. “If my best friend thinks that, no wonder my publicist says my image is shit.”

Frankly, Ben’s reputation has been better. Lately, he’s been spotted with more models and influencers than you can keep track of, none of whom stick around for very long. The media has been loving it, branding him as Chelsea’s resident playboy and splashing photos of him leaving clubs with beautiful women all over the tabloids.

You try not to judge, as it’s none of your business who Ben hooks up with, but you do think it’s a bit unlike him to be so reckless about it. Nevertheless, you’ve kept those thoughts to yourself.

“Isn’t that sort of the norm for footballers, though?” you question. “I mean, it’s not like a cheating scandal or something. Some of those guys are way worse than you, at least from what I’ve seen online.”

“Yeah, but according to Shreya, my publicist, times are changing and people don’t like the playboy shit anymore. Apparently I would have more luck getting brand deals and stuff if I seemed more…wholesome.”

You love Ben, but you struggle to see the man who proudly told you he left Jack Grealish’s party with two girls a few weeks ago as wholesome.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask, taking another sip of beer. “Be more discreet with your hookups?”

“Not exactly,” Ben replies. “The team thinks…and I know this sounds crazy, but they want me to get a girlfriend. Well, a fake one. Someone to improve my image.”

You can’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and Ben narrows his eyes at you.

“God, I didn’t know famous people actually did that,” you say, trying to hold back your laughter. “Who’s she gonna set you up with? Please say it’s Taylor Swift. She’s single now!”

Ben laughs for a moment before setting his beer down on the table and turning to face you with a slightly more serious expression on his face.

“Actually, they had someone else in mind,” he says sheepishly. “Someone I already know.”

“Who is it?” you ask, trying to rack your brain to think of what girls Ben knows that would improve his image. Outside of his family and his mates’ girlfriends, you’re pretty much the only woman who is a constant presence in his life. “Wait, are you - don’t tell me you’re asking me?”

Ben pauses for a moment before hesitantly nodding, looking a bit as though he’s afraid you’re going to hit him. Which, frankly, you’re considering.

“The PR team asked if I knew any girls that would work and Mark started going on and on about how you’re my best friend and a nurse and they all said you would be perfect-“

“Ben, I can’t date you!” you exclaim, cursing his agent, Mark, for even suggesting something so absurd. “Who would even believe that?”

“We don’t need people who know us to believe it, just the public,” he states. “And you don’t have to actually date me, we just have to pretend in public for a couple months.”

“I know, but…”

“Please, Y/N?” Ben says, looking at you with wide eyes that you’ve found hard to resist since he was using them to get your extra biscuits in fourth year. “I know it’s a weird request, but it could really help me out.”

It’s really hard to say no to that. Ben has always been there for you in every way imaginable. He once flew to Leeds, where you went to uni, on a moment’s notice because you were stressing over finals and needed a friend. A couple years into his time at Leicester, your dad lost his job and Ben insisted upon covering your parents’ mortgage for six months to help out, claiming he “owed them for all the Sunday roasts” and refusing to accept repayment even when your dad found work again.

He would never use any of that as a bargaining chip or try to cash in a favour, but you really do feel as though you owe him one. And more importantly, you want to help him.

“Okay,” you sigh. “I’ll be your stupid fake girlfriend or whatever.”

“Really?” Ben’s face lights up and he pulls you into a tight hug. “Thank you so much. God, you’re a lifesaver.”

You hug him back just as tightly, breathing in his familiar scent - a mix of his aftershave with a bit of grass and something else.

“You’re welcome,” you say, rolling your eyes slightly as you pull back. “I feel like I’m gonna regret this.”

“You won’t, I promise,” Ben assures you. “I’ll give you a cut when I land the next big brand deal, how’s that?”

“Ew, no, that makes me feel a bit prostitutey,” you chuckle. “It’s just a favour, no need to compensate me. Although you can pay for the food when it gets here, since you’re gonna end up stealing half of it anyways.”

“Deal,” he grins, grabbing your TV remote and putting on an episode of New Girl you’ve both seen before.

As you settle in with your beers and samosas, laughing at the television together, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve just signed up for.

Oh well. What’s the worst that could happen?

A/N: i hope you enjoyed this first part, please let me know what you thought!! should have the next up soon! 💕 (also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!)

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 3 - Canning Town Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 2 Summary: Flirting, Leicester Square station mixtape, flowers and breakdowns in the cantina. Or another chapter of an unlikely liaison. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language and imagery and more outrageous flirting. Author's Notes: Chapter a month might just be the new deal here, apologies. And this one's long, by which I mean over 11k 💁🏻‍♀️ It also seems like now that I've started, I can't stay away from Neil's POV so... yeah. Look out for a cheeky cameo too 😉 Other than that, I can assure you this is just as chaotic and ridiculous as the last chapter. These two are in full control, I'm just a mere scribe, doing my best. Hopefully it works. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Incorporating Neil into your daily (and weekly) life was easy. Almost terrifyingly so if you did as much as stop and think about it. Perhaps the self-preservation rooted deep within forbade you to reflect on it. Which, in hindsight, was a good thing.

After that first victory of obtaining Neil’s number, you did not hold back from texting and bombarding him with daily nonsensical memes that could have driven a different man to madness. Neil, however, took it in his stride. It was rare not to get a reply from him after longer than an hour. And that boosted your courage like nothing else.

Some days, the conversations went like this:

/ 🏹, 12:07 pm/ Show me what socks are you wearing.

/✝️, 12:13 pm/ Jesus, that’s forward.

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ That’s basically my second name. So?

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ I swear I won’t sell the pic on OF.

/✝️, 12:20 pm/ Well, if you do, then at least share the earnings with me.

Although you started the ridiculous conversation, when the next text came, consisting of a single image of a socked ankle bared by the familiar hand pulling up the pant leg, you nearly dropped the coffee cup in the middle of the Covent Garden. It was just an ordinary Tuesday lunchtime, with the square bustling with sound and movement. Using the rare sunny September day, you escaped the confines of the Royal Opera House to have your coffee break on the kerb. Thanks to the dwindling sense of coherence, you did not drop said coffee when you opened the photo. The socks you had asked for were black with a grey argyle pattern. But that was where the normalcy ended, for the rhombuses were filled with corgi heads. The brown-beige dogs stared at you through the screen with their beady eyes and were the reason for your hysterical laughter.

The overprotective mother tending to her children close by shot you a dirty look. Well, fuck her.

/ 🏹, 12:23 pm/ Neil, you’re too cute. Way too cute.

/✝️, 12:32 pm/ It’s what every guy wants to hear. Thanks, Cupid.

/ 🏹, 12:34 pm/ I never said you’re not hot, though. Which you very much are. So much that I thought of you when…

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ Yeah, don’t finish that sentence. Please.

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ I’d rather maintain my innocence.

/ 🏹, 12:36 pm/ As you wish 😘

That was not a lie. It was a result of yet another tiring day and an early night in bed when it was too early to sleep. So, you chose to fill the time like most women would, letting your thoughts drift to images and scenarios that always did the trick as your hand delved between your thighs. When you realised who you had been thinking of, the tension was so close to bursting that you did not try to shift the attention. When you came, the guilt was nowhere to be found.

After all, it was not a sin to think of pretty boys when taking the edge off. As soon as you realised that Neil did not take the flirty line seriously, that feeling of potentially having done something wrong became non-existent. It was fine. It was all fine.

Other times, especially during those Wednesday mornings on the Tube, your conversations looked more like this:

“I’ve got an invasive question…” changing the subject during your weekly chats was easy, for as soon as you set a weighty gaze on Neil, he sobered up too.

The endless questions did not seem to bother him either. Your boundless curiosity was particularly grateful for that.

“As long as you’re not going to ask me what underwear I’m wearing, I think we’re fine,” the poker face was only disturbed by Neil’s twitching lips, and the sparks danced in his eyes as he inclined his head in your direction, blessing you with the golden strands, “Shoot,”

Every time, you took a deep breath, silently gathering the courage to ask, and then let the question fall from your lips without a pause:

“When was the last time you’ve been in love?” the curiosity was all it was.

Yet still, Neil’s widening eyes made you consider that perhaps something else was underlining that desire to know. And that this question was different than others you had asked. Different from “Dogs or cats?” “Typical coffee order?” and “Any hidden talents?”. But it was too late to take it back.

“Oof, you weren’t joking” Neil seemed to shake it off quickly, only briefly offering you a glare before looking down to find the needed words, “Probably two-ish years ago…?” you were sure you had imagined the broken edge in his voice as Neil swallowed hard and continued “It was a disaster. She didn’t- Let’s just say I went in too hard and too fast, and she got scared. Pretty much ghosted me after a half-assed excuse” when he raised his head and meet your gaze, you could see the depths of hurt in his eyes.

Your heart felt pathetically hollow, but you smothered the feeling to nothing but an uncomfortable sting.

“Ouch,” a wince was easy enough to muster, and you followed it with an apology, “Sorry,” Neil’s crestfallen look was an inspiration for you to place your hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze “I know that it doesn’t help, but it’s her, not you” you knew the light statement was the right way to go when Neil cracked a wry smile and gave your other wrist a tap.

“Thanks,” it was evident enough to realise that Neil was eager to drop the subject. It was clearer still that you were going to be the next target, “I won’t ask you the same since I know better, but… Do you really think no one could change your view on love?” yet when the question fell in the space between you, it was not what you had expected.

The surprise must have painted on your face, for Neil looked a second away from taking it back. You stopped him from doing that the only way you could think of – by extending your hand in what was universally thought of as a ‘hold up’ motion. It was not that you did not want to answer. And it was not the first time someone had asked either.

But it was not something you were keen on inspecting and tearing apart to offer an honest answer. It was a fact, pure and simple. A fact that you would believe in till the day you died. There was no place for love in your life, and there would never be. Full stop.

“Yeah, I do,” you met Neil’s waiting gaze and offered him a weak shrug. The strange disappointment in his gaze made no sense, so you chose to ignore it to shift your attention to the world outside the carriage as it arrived at the next station. The belief in your next words was as tangible as anything else you could conceive, “It would take a miracle”.

He did not ask that question again.

Those Wednesday morning conversations also became a source of information, which you had stowed securely in the compartment of your brain labelled ‘Neil’. After almost two months of acquittance, you knew that he was born and raised a Londoner (from Richmond, the posh fuck [affectionate]), was decidedly a dog person and had a chocolate Labrador growing up (a girl named Daisy), listened to alt-rock and 80s music and was what he described as a hopeless romantic. You still did not know what he did for work, only that he was decidedly not a tattooist, literary agent, paramedic, jockey, art critic, dressmaker, choreographer, or bus driver. Whether he was truly not just a priest undercover was still up for debate.

***

Only when you fled the confines of the ordinary tiny London flat kitchen and felt the night breeze of the city on your skin, left bare from the jacket you did not yet put on, had the question of the ages pop into your head. What the fuck? There was no answer. You shook your head against the memories of what had just conspired and stopped on the pavement to put on and fasten the jacket. Even annoyed, you could still feel the biting cold begin to settle in your bones.

You never expected to bump into Liam. Never in a million years would you have considered that those two friends you shared would extend the invitation to that man out of all people. And you certainly did not expect him to come.

Although, as he had unhelpfully explained himself, he only showed up because of the chance you would be there. The audacity made you shake your head vehemently, without a doubt attracting a glare or two from those who remained sober at this hour. In Soho on Saturday night, that was unlikely.

You walked through the cobbled streets with the neon lights lighting your path without an aim or a map. The only objective was to stomp the frustration into the cracked pavement and end up home. Somehow. Specifics were to be determined later.

Sure, rushing out of your mate’s flat like a lightning bolt could be seen as impulsive. But Liam offered you no choice. The pleasant buzz of alcohol did nothing to stop the embarrassment, which grew worse by the minute. The long walk in an unknown direction was a sad but acceptable consequence. Or so you aimed to maintain.

By the time you had seriously begun to consider using the dwindling phone battery to order an Uber and save you from the penance of someone else’s transgressions, the red circle with a navy blue bar appeared on the horizon. Salvation, at last. You picked up the pace, eager to get out of the cold and that one step closer to home. This close to Leicester Square and the theatres just having closed their doors on the last patrons, the bustle seemed quieter somehow, more subdued. It was a blessing for your budding headache and a threat to the thoughts eager to appear with nothing suppressing them.

You crossed the road and descended the staircase with a sigh. The heat of the station enveloped you like a hug as you passed the ticketing gates and spent an unnecessarily long time staring at the Tube map. When the logic kicked in, at last, you rushed over to the correct platform.

Only to regret it as soon as the timing screen came into view. Heathrow Airport 25 mins. The polite PSA text below informed you the line was experiencing delays. No biggie. They were sorry. The usual shit. A curse litany lodged in your throat as your eyes roamed over the platform.

All the noise in your head faded to nothing when your gaze settled on that familiar blonde head of hair. He was sitting in one of the few chairs with his head bowed over his knees in a position so exemplary for a Saturday night in the glorious London town. You skimmed over his body, taking note of the casual jeans and a t-shirt, peeking from beneath the unbuttoned jacket.

Before you knew it, your legs had started carrying you in his direction, a goofy smile present on your face. The improbability of it happening made everything easier. Because what were the odds?

Instead of counting them, you approached Neil, still so blissfully unaware of your presence and delivered an opening line:

“Hello, Father,” the joke did not yet get old, and you still got the kick out of it.

Especially when Neil raised his head fast enough to give himself a whiplash and gasped from shock.

“Jesus- Oh, what the fuck?” clutching at his heaving chest with all the drama he could muster, Neil offered you a look so full of surprise you knew he did not expect this to happen either.

The only weekend plans you had discussed over texts were that you had a party to go to, and he was likely to go out with his workmates at some point. But that was it. Zero specifics, no need to share them because there was no need for either of you to know the details. And yet.

“Is that how you should greet a lady?” playing on his theatrical reaction, you feign a shocked expression.

It was clear you would fail at any attempts of annoyance. Your cheeks were already aching with that kind of wide, manic grin only Neil seemed to cause. You could see his eyes skim over your figure, taking in your clothes with that sort of precision only he seemed capable of. Finally, satisfied with what he saw, Neil raised his head to meet your gaze again and got up to bow lowly at your feet:

“Apologies, m’lady,” before you knew what he was doing, he took hold of your hand and kissed your knuckles. A move so fast you almost thought you had imagined it if not for the fading sensation of his lips still ghosting your skin, “What are you doing here?” with his hand lightly touching your elbow, Neil steered you towards the seats.

Only now, with the surprises fading into the background, you took note of the empty platform. It was just the two of you sitting on the creaky plastic chairs. You shifted an inch closer to Neil, seeking the warmth radiating off his body and replied:

“As I’ve mentioned, I had an invitation to this flat party in Soho… And I went, but then, and you’ll never believe that happened-” recounting the improbable story felt good, and you took pleasure in the attention Neil gave your every word.

“Let me guess… Liam showed up?” his interjection followed your dramatic pause flawlessly.

Of course, he got it. Of course, he guessed. You shook your head at his eager smile, aware of the glee in your eyes:

“Damn, you’re good” your low approving whistle reverberated in the space. Most shockingly, there was a certain level of joy in sharing the story, even as your skin crawled with the embarrassment of what transpired, “Yeah, and it turns out that getting blocked did not make him smarter. It became a whole thing, along with him getting down on his knees in the middle of a kitchen and proclaiming his undying love to me,” you wondered if Liam was still there, kneeling on the tiled floor and waiting for your return.

Partially, you hoped that was the case.

Throwing you out of the strange ruminations, Neil shook his head and offered you a serious look:

“Blimey,” his tsk almost got lost in the PA announcement, crackling from the speakers. When it ended, Neil met your gaze with a sympathetic smile, “No wonder you ran away,” his knee nudged yours, triggering something you would not understand even in months.

Sitting upright, you nodded fervently:

“I had to” the emotions you did not know were present poured out from your lips as the next words fell in the space between you, “And like- He doesn’t even know me? He never saw me on the stage, and he thinks that making me cum a couple of times is enough?” a frustrated growl tore from your chest as you finished the tirade with a tired sigh and simple punchline, “Bullshit,”

There was no time or willingness to take apart where all that anger came from or why it was suddenly so important Neil understood your reasons. It just was. Later it was easily blamed on the alcohol still present in your veins. For now, you met his gaze and shrugged, answering the questions he seemed too shy to ask.

“With that, I must agree. It’s bullshit” nudging you with his shoulder, Neil smiled, brightening the clouds that still seemed to hang over your mind.

You shot him a brilliant grin, brushing away the concerns with terrifying ease. They had to wait, ideally forever.

“Thanks, babe” sugar coated your smile as you allowed yourself to gaze, taking note of the blush spreading on his cheeks. Although you would never admit it out loud, the blue of his eyes was slowly becoming your favourite shade of the colour. It was that thought that triggered your next confession, “Admittedly, meeting you here is a highlight of the night,” you watched as his eyes grew wider, evidently not expecting to hear something that honest. The moment stretched for what felt like ages until you found the strength to look away, focusing on the timing screen and the issues it posed, “Though, those delays are bullshit, too” your eye-roll elicited an instant laugh, which only added warmth to the kindling sparks in your chest.

“Mhmm,” Neil’s hum acted like an anchor, tying you to reality.

It was a better place to get lost in than the chaos raging in your head. You chose to stick by it, following the easy way out with a simple question:

“How come you’re here?” you turned towards Neil, hoping to block the platform and the world beyond from view.

Even if just figuratively and for a short while. If the answering bright smile was anything to go by, Neil was happy to humour you:

“I’ve been out for drinks at a pub, but then our crowd isn’t very… boisterous, so we all went our separate ways, and here I am,” he signed off the summary with an explanatory shrug, but you should have kept your guard up. Once his gaze settled on you with an intensity of intent, a pathetic instinct kickstarted your heart with all the subtlety of trainwreck, “Bored as fuck until you’ve shown up” the joy in that simple sentiment was enough to make your cheeks heat up.

Of its own volition, your brain provided the fresh memory of how Liam’s attention in that cursed kitchen had made you feel. How running away was the only option you saw then. It was different now; the quiet focus of the man sitting next to you was a welcomed change. A company you were happy to keep. For however long you were allowed.

“How long do you think till it’s-” ignoring the shyness that did not seem happy to be buried in Neil’s company, you changed the subject with all the grace of an elephant.

It was evident in how you stuttered, quickly abandoning the idea of finishing the sentence and letting it trail off into the quiet. It was too early to raise your head from the depths of shame it was drowning in. It was all a little too much.

“Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour… or never,” Neil’s voice gained a cheeky edge as if conscious of your minor crisis and happy to offer a distraction.

You risked a peek at his face, finding the signature smirk gracing his face. That expression never failed to feel like a sharpened knife piercing through the walls of your uncertainty. It complimented his face too well, dragging the attention to Neil’s sharp features and his remarkable eyes that always felt like they could see right through your bullshit and the pretending. It was terrifying.

It was then, in the light of his frightening beauty, that you decided what to do next. What was necessary to keep you (moderately) sane. One look at your tote bag lying on your lap offered inspiration:

“Fab,” your dry comment elicited Neil’s laugh and sealed the deal on what you wanted to do next. There was no backing out. You straightened your spine and swivelled on the seat to face him fully. When your knees touched him, Neil’s eyes widened almost comically. But that was only the beginning of the wild ride for him, you were sure of it, “Well, then… Dance with me,” the delivery of that line required a special nonchalance.

One that required you to hold Neil’s gaze long after you had finished speaking, and the words had only just dawned on him. Once they did, his eyes got comically large, and his lips parted on what could only be a mute expression of horror. A giggle got trapped in your throat, but you fought valiantly against it. For now.

“Pardon?” Neil’s choked-out question came after sequenced opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming up.

Your poker face was tearing at the seams. Foolishly.

“Dance with me, Neil,” repeating the request (order?), you extended your hand towards him, signing off the invitation for what it was.

The shock was still present on his face. Despite that, Neil slipped his palm, warm and fitting perfectly, into yours. You could tell that it was not entirely conscious on his part.

You sure did not mind it, though.

“I might have had a drink or two, but I didn’t think I was drunk enough to be hearing things,” Neil’s incredulity bled into his tone as he stared you down as if hoping the sheer disbelief would be enough to deter you.

Tough luck.

“Come on,” squeezing his hand, you switched the tactic with a question, “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” there was no judgment in your gaze, and you hoped Neil knew that.

If asked, you could not explain why that was something you wanted to do with him, there and then of all places. But it still felt important. Urgent, even.

The no-bullshit look you got in return almost made you burst into laughter.

“You’ll see me dance,” Neil deadpanned as if it was clear.

As if that was the peak horror that could befall him at your hands. Using the lifeline of your joined palms, you rubbed your thumb over the tender skin of his hand, hoping to let that act as a reassurance. That was a nonsensical fear to have.

Who gave you, a mediocre ballerina, the right to judge? Absolutely no one.

“And?” you offered Neil a brilliant grin, doing your best not to think about how right it felt to have his hand resting in yours.

That question seemed to catch his attention, pulling him back from the precipice of self-doubt. You watched as Neil pondered the answer, staring at you with that bright-eyed, anxious expression, complete with his teeth nibbling on his lower lip. He picked at the worried, fragile skin, and you did not think about soothing the damage with your tongue. Not at all.

“I don’t know… You’ll leave and block me?” when he finally found a plausible answer, it was the last thing you expected Neil to say.

Despite the seriousness on his face, you could not hold back the laugh that spilt from your lips. What an idiot [affectionate]. The adorable pout in his bottom lip was responsible for the recklessness you chose to implement.

Without thinking about it too much, you leaned in and used your free hand to cup his face, eradicating the remains of the gap between you. As your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, Neil gasped, barely disguising the sound with a cough. The grin spread over your face as you spoke:

“It takes a little more than that for me to block you,” that was true; you could barely fathom blocking Neil, least of all because of such a trivial reason. It was only after a beat that the second meaning of what he said sunk in. The meaning you expected Neil did not exactly consider slipping out like that. You grabbed it with both hands and a knowing smile, “Also… you enjoy talking to me that much?”

The jackpot shot came with a furious blush on his cheeks and an embarrassed scoff as Neil turned away from your watchful gaze. Your hands stayed linked. That, too, was an adorable reaction. It made that pleasant warmth in your chest burner brighter, though you refused to inspect it too closely.

Before you could consider pushing him for a reply further, Neil jumped up from the creaky seat and pulled you to standing using your tight handhold. The fake pep was visible from miles away, especially in that manic grin that almost seemed too wide on his face. But you did not have the time to question it.

“Okay, let’s just dance,” Neil tugged at your hand impatiently.

He did not seem capable of standing still, hopping from one leg to another. If that was a sign of what was coming, you knew you were not ready. Your eyes narrowed in what you hoped was a mildly threatening look:

“That’s a deflection tactic,” still, you took a step closer to him, finally putting that handhold to use.

“Yes, it is,” Neil nodded as his arms opened in a shrug.

That was your answer. You could only cement it with a smile as you allowed him to pull you closer, almost into his open arms, except-

“Wait, we need music,” remembering that crucial missing piece, you let go of his hand and darted back to the tote abandoned by the seats.

“No shit,” Neil’s dry comment was accompanied by the scuffling of his shoes over the cracked tiles.

You grinned, triumphantly holding out the speaker you had fished from the bag. That was the only pro you could think of that came from your earlier practice, and no time in between that and the disastrous party.

“Lucky for you, I came prepared,” you showcased it like a spoil of war and turned the speaker on, awaiting the sound confirming it had connected to your phone. When it came, you ceremoniously placed the device on the vacated seat and pressed play on your phone. Only once the music was playing, you turned back towards Neil with a flourish, “Voila,”

It took him an additional second to identify the song, the synthesizer filling the empty platform with a special kind of vibe. When the proper beat kicked in, you started shimmying your hips and shoulders to the rhythm, awaiting Neil’s reaction. You were not disappointed when he gaped at you with joy barely disguised underneath a frown:

“Really?” still, his foot started tapping with the singer’s voice.

Shrugging, you spun around him, feeling the music fill your body like it always did. You always felt the most alive when dancing. When your feet were following the choreography, and head was deliciously empty of everything but the musical notes and lyrics.

When you stopped to meet Neil’s gaze, you found him staring back in awe.

“What? It’s not me; it’s the holy spirit of the shuffle,” the song started heading towards the chorus, so you added the hand movements, orbiting around Neil and hoping to pull him along, “Can’t argue with it,”

‘Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me

Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me’

It was an all-time favourite. A bop you did not have the heart to resist whenever it came on. Now was not any different. Your lips started whispering the words as your body moved through the space, overcome with the feeling of dancing. At that moment, you were grateful for the sensible footwear your past self had chosen that morning. Sure, dancing in high heels was possible, but the Converse made for a much better choice. They slid along the cracked tiles without resistance, allowing you to double the efforts.

It did not matter that you had an audience. Or that it was a particularly attentive one, for you never once felt Neil look away. He was still staring, standing almost stock-still, save for how his feet tapped out the beat. That had to change.

‘Don't you want me, baby?

Don't you want me? Oh!’

You stopped, chest heaving and limbs still too giddy with the effort. You met Neil’s unwavering gaze over the space and mouthed the chorus, aware of the interpretations he could easily reach. That was fine, nothing you were opposed to. In a way, him noticing half your actions did have a tentative hope behind them would have saved you time. And words. But that was a thought for another time.

Once you heard the female vocals come in, you reached out towards him, yet again presenting Neil with your open hand. Yet again, he did not hesitate, letting you pull him close. When the distance had been eradicated, Neil placed his hand on your waist with an experimental level of timidity. As if he was still fully expecting the move to backfire. Silly goose. Your hand ventured up his chest to his shoulder as you steeled your frame into what was expected of ballroom dancing. The habits were hard to shake off, after all.

Despite the booming synthesizers and grooving rhythm, you let him lead you into a slow dance. With each step, Neil’s confidence seemed to grow, for his grip became firmer as he splayed his hand over the small of your back and pulled you closer. It did not matter that his technique would bring your snobbish teachers from ballet study to tears. What mattered was that you felt safe within his embrace, never shying away from Neil’s gaze as it stayed trained on your face. What also mattered was that the genuine smile was fixed on your face. Especially when the song was slowly ending, and Neil was not letting go. What a novelty that was. You worried that once you tasted it, it would be impossible to let go. To forget this careless feeling, encapsulated within a simple, tender hold and open, beautiful eyes.

“That was hardly a song for slow dancing,” when Neil spoke, the remark came upon a hesitant smile, so at odds with how sure his hand was within yours.

“We made do, didn’t we?” you could only offer him a smile, aware of the wobbly edges of your voice and the yearning of your treacherous heart.

Even with years of practice, it sometimes wanted what it could not get. Affection, namely. Or the tenderness that meant something, rather than the mindless touch of a loveless fuck. You hoped one day those two would disappear, leaving you perfectly satisfied with what you had.

As if aware of your dangerous thoughts, the song switch came at a perfect moment. The last beats of The Human League died down, replaced with an equally cheesy rhythm. If not worse. Neil’s reaction was instant. He stopped dancing abruptly, making you nearly miss stepping on his foot. Your eyes darted to his face as curiosity soared in your chest. The barely masked joy you found there only made that warmth in your heart feel like tongues of fire. You disentangled from the embrace to place your hand on his chest and push him back lightly:

“Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you’ve got,” you completed the encouragement with a wink and stepped back to give him space.

The hesitation stage lasted much less this time. Neil stared at you, evidently weighing the pros and cons of giving in, but as soon as Falco opened the song with the lines in German, he had made up his mind. It was your turn to be dumbfounded as you watched Neil thrash to the music, almost keeping up with the beat. He slid across the tiles, barely managing not to slip as Falco went on about Mozart and his flair.

‘Er war ein Virtuose, war ein Rockidol

Und alles rief: Come on and rock me Amadeus’

It was easy to say Neil got lost in the music as his lean body twisted and turned, claiming the space he was allowed to occupy. There was grace in his movement, as well as carelessness, perfectly balancing the dance into an ideal mixture. A rare spark of envy kindled in your chest as you did your best to ignore the question of what it must feel like to be this free. During the poor attempt at moonwalking as he circled you, you could no longer hold back the laugh. Neil’s hands weaved through the air as he threw his head back to shout the hook along with the singer. With each call of Amadeus’ name, the affection in your chest grew, becoming increasingly lethal. A show of that kind displayed not only his trust but also what kind of a man Neil could be if he got rid of his shyness and inhibitions. It was something you doubt you could ever forget.

And that could be a problem.

When the song drew to a close, and Neil’s heaving breaths alerted you that he was probably worn out with exertion, he stopped. The reverberating beats sunk into the background as you met his gaze, aware of the silly softness you could not eradicate from your eyes. Neil looked manic, his pupils dilated and irises sparkling. He was breathing hard, the exhaustion making him shrug off the jean jacket with impatience, so far that Neil did not bat an eyelid when the article landed on the dirty floor. The reveal of an old, worn-out t-shirt underneath that hugged his broad shoulders and biceps just right made your jaw fall slack.

That, too, could be a problem.

Despite the common sense screaming at you to look away, you stared on, aware of Neil gazing right back. A wiser person would have shaken awake in time to switch off the music and call this quits before any further damage could be done. But you were never the wiser person.

You looked on as the song switched into a different era of music, and gentle, cheesy chords of piano and percussion filled the platform with a ballad almost everyone knew. Neil was not any different. You noticed the change in his eyes, switching from playfulness to mild seriousness. As if he, too, knew your fates were being decided at that exact moment.

However, the results of those decisions would not be noticeable until much later.

Using Elvis’ crooning as a backup to help drown your thoughts, you reached out your hand towards Neil, repeating the invitation. It was up to him whether he wanted to take it. Just like everything else in your friendship. The eager hope was hard to nip in the bud. It itched and ached until you could hardly stand still, awaiting the sentencing for what felt like hours. At last, Neil closed the gap and took your proffered hand with an impassive look.

The second time bore all the experience of the first, making it easier to fall in place without hesitation. Neil clasped your hand in his and let his other arm wind around your waist, pulling you close. Much closer than before. Your hand found its way to his shoulder, curious fingers stroking the expanse of his neck, revealed by the t-shirt collar. You did your best not to notice the goosebumps rising on his skin. It was impossible to tell which of you moved first, leading into the gentle sway. Only once you started waltzing around the empty platform, it was impossible to stop.

‘Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?’

Halfway through the song, you tilted your head back from where your gaze had been trained on the expanse of his chest and met Neil’s waiting gaze. The shock passing through your system felt like a fatal blow. There was no denying the fact that this was a first. The first time you had ever danced like that with someone, motivated by nothing else but the desire to do it. There was also no denying the fact Neil’s watchful eyes and the soft strokes of his fingers, running along the expanse of your waist down to your hip, felt like nothing else you could have ever experienced before or after. It was well past your usual flirty chats and casual innuendos. Well past the daily playfulness of whatever it was blooming between you. It was well past the worn-out tracks and lived-in spaces.

Absolutely fucking terrifying.

‘Take my hand,

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

For I can't help falling in love with you’

It was impossible to say what had tipped the scales right then. Whether it was the song lyrics, drawing attention to all those things you would rather ignore till the end of time or the unwavering eye contact you had maintained as you spun across the space with grace that had not been there previously. Or whether it was due to how Neil held you steadily, all the while allowing himself to stare, eyes roaming over your face in a meticulous study. But perhaps it was just a trick of fate, a sudden loss of reason and logic that made you tip forward and give in to the gravitational pull of his orbit. Perhaps Neil was guilty of the same thing.

Before you knew what had failed and why, you were close enough to feel the gasp of his breath fan across your face. The air ghosted your lips as your nose brushed against Neil’s, and the time slowed to a crawling speed. There was no denying the fact that you wanted it. The want hummed underneath your skin and made it hard to think clearly.

You only knew that Neil closed his eyes, and his sharp intake of breath hit your lips, making you tilt forward. Making it oh so easy to let go and-

“This is Piccadilly Line service towards the Heathrow Airport,” the PA system crackled to life, forcing you to separate as if burned.

You blinked awake, barely noticing the train slowing at the platform and the music still playing from your speaker. One glance at Neil told you all feelings were very much mutual. It was a close call. So close you could almost feel the kiss that never happened. An uncertain smile played upon your lips as you turned off the music and jumped aboard the train. You could only hope the King of the Rock’N’Roll himself was wrong about this one.

***

It was a well-known truth that a pretty boy could make you a little stupid. Stupid enough to do things that, under normal circumstances, would be off the table. But all it took was a flash of blue eyes and a charming smile, and boom, logic gone, reason decimated. Usually, there was a price to pay for that.

But the potential costs meant nothing in the face of the revelations the Saturday night brought. Namely, the kiss that never happened but you could easily dream of. Which you did, just to brighten up the restless sleep. Needless to say, that night unlocked some things. Things that perhaps were best left untouched. But hindsight was a gift you did not yet possess.

Instead, you battled with a single idea that was difficult to eradicate. Sure, that night, or how it had almost ended, was never mentioned again. As early as the next day Neil reached out to you and set the tone you were happy to follow. But the memory remained, nagging at your brain for a week and not once letting go. It was a seed that planted another thought. The thought that nothing was preventing you from reaching out for more. That there was no script to follow with Neil. That idea was like a brainworm making a home inside your skull.

Because, yes, you were known to be a little stupid for attractive boys. And Neil was potentially the most beautiful man you have ever met. That proved to be a problem.

Exactly a week after that Saturday, you caved in. The autumn breeze was hitting your face and tangling your hair as you stared at the Thames. There was no better place to start a catastrophic chain of events than the Blackfriars Bridge. Or so you told yourself. You took out the phone to stare at the messages and opened the text conversation with Neil. It took an additional fortifying breath to start typing out the proposition and start the exchange.

/ 🏹, 5:39 pm/ So, I figured, since we already broke the rules on our hangouts last Saturday

/ 🏹, 5:40 pm/ Would you like to grab coffee tomorrow?

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ That’s unexpected.

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ Why the sudden change of heart?

/ 🏹, 5:46 pm/ I liked your moves.

/✝️, 5:47 pm/ I’m pretty sure no one’s ever said that to me.

/ 🏹, 5:49 pm/ Maybe they just weren’t looking. I knew I was.

/✝️, 5:51 pm/ Okay, yeah. I’d like that.

/✝️, 5:52 pm/ Any labels I should be aware of?

/ 🏹, 5:52 pm/ Nah, fuck the labels.

/ 🏹, 5:53 pm/ Unless you want to bring me flowers. Then let’s call it a date.

/✝️, 5:55 pm/ Then it’s a date 😘

You stared at the phone long after the screen went dark. Along with the buzzing joy and anticipation of what tomorrow would bring, there was also an eternal question. The question you had avoided pretty damn well so far. What the fuck have you done?

***

By the time you were meeting Neil in a café (chosen because of its perfect location between St. John’s Wood and Swiss Cottage), those nerves of anticipation had transformed into anxiety. The worst was that you did not even know what you were so nervous about. A date (that was not really a date) was nothing new. You have done it many times before, usually to great results. But suddenly, when Neil was inserted into the equation, all that you got was uncertainty. And a strong fear of fucking it up. It did not make for a good mix.

Part of it dissipated once you turned the street corner and saw him waiting in front of the café, a bouquet in hand, despite your line being nothing more than a throwaway joke. An affectionate smile was impossible to get rid of no matter how hard you may have tried. It stayed as you closed the remaining distance and met Neil’s gaze. Then it got transformed into a stupid grin as your eyes scanned him head to toe (hair just as messy as always, leather and jeans completed with sneakers – in other words: fucking hot). Once that foolery was complete, you could shift your attention to the flowers, now held out in your direction like a sheepish offering.

It was a colourful bouquet of wildflowers, freshly bloomed and coming from a florist rather than Sainsbury’s. The thoughtfulness was enough to make you blush. Before you could delve into an embarrassing attempt at cover-up, Neil broke the silence:

“You haven’t specified what kind of flowers,” his shyness was easily seen from the fidgeting hands and eyes unwilling to stay on your face longer than necessary.

That was your cue to get yourself together and accept the bouquet with a courtesy. That, too, was just a trick to drag that shy smile onto his face. It worked.

“Those are perfect, thank you,” with another smile, you turned towards the entrance and went in as Neil held the door. It was a cosy café with only a few tables and a bar-service ordering. You motioned towards the smiling server behind the counter with a question, “Wanna go order coffee?”

You did not expect in response to your innocent ask for Neil to come to a strange stand-still in the middle of the entryway and measure you with a look that spoke volumes about him having something to say and no way of expressing it. You raised your eyebrow, urging the words to come out and save you from death by perplexation.

After a beat, Neil seemingly found the ability to speak again and stumbled through a sentence:

“I’ve got… uh… a thing,” the emphasis on the final word was accompanied by an awkward shift, his hand automatically reaching up to comb through his hair and messing it up even more.

That did not help. At all. You blinked, aware of the comedy role you had just been awarded without warning. You were vaguely conscious of the server’s gaze, undoubtedly staring at the spectacle presented with fascination.

“Jesus, what thing?” when Neil did not elaborate, you prodded with another question, gaining a slightly hysterical edge.

It was probably that tone which made the most impact. Neil seemed to wake up, his hands gesturing as he attempted to explain:

“A thing about figuring out people’s drink order,” he shrugged, almost as if already embarrassed by ever bringing it up; that would not do, “Like a-”

“A kink?” you interrupted his explanation with a devilish grin, knowing that it would do the job.

That and the teasing, of course.

The reaction was instantaneous. Where previously there had been mild shyness and uncertainty, the furious blush had bloomed. Neil looked horrified as he took a step in your direction as if considering sealing your mouth shut before finally admitting defeat. What you got instead was a glare and an affronted reply:

“What? No! More like talent, I guess,” Neil shrugged, visibly battling the dilemma you were not privy to. You decided to help him the best way you knew how – by reaching out and squeezing his hand. Once. Just once. It was enough to do the job and make your fingers itch with an inexplicable desire to prolong the contact. Luckily, it disappeared when Neil recovered from his internal crisis and gestured towards the counter, “May I?”

You could only nod, happy that whatever had just transpired was past you. Not that it was not fun, but because of the audience that did not deserve to see what had happened. Whatever it was.

“You’ve got me intrigued, so now you have to,” shrugging upon Neil’s hesitant smile, you ventured inside the café, scouting for a perfect table.

Soon enough, the ideal booth had been located and taken as you awaited Neil’s return. You did not have to wait long, for as soon as you settled and placed your coat on the backrest, he sat in the chair in front. That sheepish smile was still in place, so you tried to bring back his confidence with dumb chitchat until you were interrupted by the server approaching your table. It worked. As you both fell quiet, Neil was visibly fighting a grin threatening to transform his face. The pride surged in your veins without respect towards your sense of humility.

The woman shot you both a bright smile as she set neared the table and put a steaming porcelain cup in front of Neil:

“Flat White for you, sir, and for your girlfriend-” you never got to hear the end of that sentence as Neil’s horrified expression and a loud interruption stole your attention.

“Oh, we’re not-” your laughter was almost enough to drown out his protest.

Almost because the server still looked extremely apologetic as she placed a larger cup in front of you with a clink.

“-Caramel Macchiato,” you waved off the atonement she seemed ready to launch and smiled, the curiosity at his choice already occupying your mind.

“Thank you,” as soon as the woman was out of earshot, you turned your cheeky smile onto Neil and covered his hand resting on the table with your palm, “Are you ashamed of me, my darling?” your favourite blush spread upon his cheeks, widening your grin in the process.

A blunder like that was not something you would ever lose sleep over. Even less so, considering that you were there with Neil. Even with your deep-rooted dislike over anything that had to do with relationships and the complications they lead to, you could not possibly be angry over being perceived as belonging to Neil. If anything, it was flattering.

“Stop it,” he shook off your hand, way too gently, and shook his head as if desperate to clear it, “I just didn’t-” after a beat, he dropped your gaze, giving up the fight, “It doesn’t matter, sorry” although you would do anything to understand the thought processes unfolding behind those slightly vacant blue eyes, you were not given a chance. Instead, he took a fortifying sip of coffee and looked at your cup, (not so) swiftly changing the topic “So… how did I do?” the anticipation in that gaze offered no space for a bargain.

You glanced at the beverage in front of you and slowly raised it to get a tentative taste. The warm liquid slightly burned your tongue, but before you could mourn the damage, the caffeine and creamy caramel filled your mouth with pleasurable goodness. It was a top-notch choice, making you follow that first sip with another almost without a break. Burned tongue be damned.

“Very good, actually,” raising your head, you met Neil’s proud smile. It was a much better look than the embarrassed expression from earlier, motivating you to add, “Maybe you should try getting into BGT with that talent,” you winked at him, even if to prolong the blush, which had begun to fade.

But also because it was fun to compliment him, considering that you meant every word and because of your suspicions that Neil did not get them often. That alone was a travesty, in your opinion.

“Very funny,” rolling his eyes at you with a happy smile tucked in the corner of his lips, Neil looked even better.

It was easy enough a conclusion that lightness and happiness were a good look on him. Especially when you were the cause. You tried not to let that go into your head, but… Well.

“I know,” you matched his smile with a smirk of your own, “Hysterical,” with the perfect pause to take another sip of the glorious coffee, you shifted the topic, “How was the week at the clergy?”

Without Neil’s continuous amused reactions to the same old joke, you would have dropped it by now. But how could you if it still got a laugh out of him each time? You couldn’t let opportunities like that slip by. No chance.

This time, Neil hid the joyous huff of laughter in the coffee cup as he pondered the answer.

“It’s been good. Fine,” a noncommittal shrug offered no room for guessing what it was that he did, which was still a mystery, but you counted wins where you could find them, “A bit busy, but what can you do. I might have a work trip coming up soon, so…” it was only when the second part of his reply was processed by your brain, currently preoccupied with staring at Neil’s mouth (which was a very normal state of mind to have), that you perked up.

That was important information. For two contrasting reasons. One was that whatever Neil did for work involved work trips, and that narrowed down the field, albeit barely. Two was that it would mean he would not be around every Wednesday, ready to meet you. That second deduction took hold of your heart with the icy grasp of disappointment.

“So, no more Wednesday meetups?” it was impossible to keep the sadness out of your tone as you settled a wary gaze on Neil.

Sure, it was survivable. But where would be the fun in it?

It was not fun to see that same apprehension creep into Neil’s eyes.

“Yeah, but only like… for a few weeks,” from his sudden dislike of eye contact, you guessed that the estimation might have been an understatement. Though you did hope he was not lying. The pitiful look must have been still present on your face, for Neil followed the statement with reassurance, “I’m sure you’ll survive without me,” he hesitated for a millisecond before returning your previous gesture and giving your hand a comforting pat.

You did not move it away, the pleasant warmth and weight of his palm seeping through your skin and soothing the sudden spell of sadness. It was difficult not to let that inexplicable feeling lead you into the deep end as it was not something you understood. It settled in the darkest cavern of your heart and accompanied its beat with its foreboding presence. There was no choice but to push past it.

“I don’t know, I’m going to miss you,” the confession felt dangerously light on your tongue as you registered Neil’s reaction. His beautiful eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he quickly dropped your gaze, choosing to stare at the table instead. The only sign that you were heard was how his thumb stroked your hand repeatedly, “I hope you’ll be back before the premiere,” using the only way you knew of lightening the conversation, you made sure to slip in a playful tone.

Ever since the day you had shared joyous news with Neil, he often asked about the preparations for the ballet. He seemed genuinely interested in the process, the rehearsals, and your impressions at every stage.

When you innocently hinted at a costume fitting in your texts Neil immediately asked for a picture. You complied, gleefully posing in the dressing room mirror wearing the whole get-up, complete with pointe shoes, tights, and a white ballet tutu with the accents of blue flower petals. All in all, you had the right to believe that Neil would be interested in coming to see the ballet when it premiered. You had that covered.

“I’ll do my best,” his hopeful smile was enough to distract you, for soon Neil followed it with a question, “Do I get an invite?”

The cheeky smile was back in full force, almost wiping you off the surface of the Earth. More of that, please. Feeling brave, you slowly tangled your fingers with his to raise your joined hands from the tabletop and squeezed his palm. It was a silly question to ask. You had to make sure Neil knew that.

“Well, duh,” you started with an eye roll, taking pleasure from the feel of his hand holding yours, “I’m going to need a personal cheerleader for when I fail big time,” it was a rare thing to hear you admit the fear and anxieties out loud.

Most of the time, they only existed in your mind, never expressed. And especially not in a conversation because that fear of someone else confirming all you feared was overwhelming. It was better to appear invincible to the world than to let them know your weaknesses. Somehow this logic did not want to apply itself to Neil. No, he has heard it all. And yet, he did not seem keen on confirming you were right to doubt yourself.

“That’s not going to happen. You’ll be the perfect Cupid,” punctuating the encouragement with a squeeze of the hand, Neil shot you a brilliant grin.

The nickname was growing on you. It was also the cause of a few silly smiles during the rehearsals when you were addressed with your character role. That was alright, too.

Now, with the force of his beautiful smile shining upon you like a rare beacon of hope, you tried your hardest not to let the praise consume you whole. Instead, you turned to the faithful vice of sarcasm as you let go of his hand and settled your chin on your folded palms. Eyelashes and doe eyes in full force. Naturally.

“Wow, my charms must be working if you’re this blindsided,” curling the corner of your mouth in a smirk, your eyes roamed over his face in familiar patterns.

It was refreshing to remember why you invited him out in the first place. Why you have decided to break the unwritten role and step on the line you both had been tiptoeing from day one. Why nothing was holding you back from reaching for what you wanted.

This time, Neil did not turn away from your taxing gaze and met it head-on. Almost as if permitting you to proceed with whatever you desired.

“You’ve no idea, sweetheart,” mirroring your tentative smirk, Neil offered you a wink and picked up the coffee cup.

You were certainly not going to eschew a chance like that.

***

As far as first dates (could he even call it that?) went, meeting up for coffee and letting the conversations run without a disaster somewhere in between was rare. Even rarer still considering that Neil did not know how he got to this point and whether it was not all a dream. The jury was out on that. Even though Sunday was now two days ago, the meeting was still fresh in his mind, posing a thousand questions.

Because he really did not know how he got that place. The only certainty was that sometime between the surprising Saturday night meeting at Leicester Square station and the day after, Cupid made up her mind and chose to strike. Alternatively, she decided to act considering the realisations he was not privy to. Sure, that night at the station almost ended with a kiss. He knew that. He was there. But it did not offer answers as towards why an almost kiss made her behave in contrast to what Neil thought he understood about her.

Because a date was definitely a step above flirting. And it was hard to understand what that meant. If anything at all.

Now, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Neil stared out the window of the HQ cafeteria and tried his hardest not to think about it (her) for a change. It was not going well, as one could expect. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Ives was staring. Those piercing blue eyes (bluer than his, which has once or twice been proved during a night out as those things usually are) have been glancing his way instead of focusing on the sandwich on his plate. What a prick (affectionate). After what felt like a fiftieth glance, Neil dropped the napkin onto his place with force and turned towards Ives with a glare. The patience has worn out.

“Oh, just spit it out,” Neil hissed the words with ire.

The grin spreading upon Ives’ lips did not help a bit. The soldier leaned forward, abandoning his food and setting the perceptive eyes upon his friend. Mercilessly. With years of friendship, Neil knew this was not ending well.

“I haven’t said a word,” the man shrugged; a picture-perfect nonchalance.

If only.

“But you’ve been staring,” Neil’s attempt at covering up the tension with a bored tone failed.

He knew that as soon as he saw Ives’ unimpressed smile. There were no doubts about where this conversation was heading. It was the interrogation Neil had feared from day one. It was only a matter of time. Damn it.

“Go ask Henrik. Maybe he can help you gauge my eyes,” in moments like this, Ives’ cockney accent came out in full force, tearing at the shreds of patience Neil seemed to have.

Despite himself, he cracked a smile at the comeback.

“Doubtful,” quickly hiding it in the sip of tea, Neil muttered a quip of his own.

While Henrik, the team’s medic, was a peculiar man, it was improbable he would be into that kind of thing. Unfortunately.

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it past him,” before he could hope this was the end of the conversation, Ives levelled him with another no-bullshit look and delivered the sentence in four simple words, “Mate, spit it out,”

If only it were that easy. For one, Neil did not even know what there was to tell. Sure, he has met a girl. He was probably thinking too much about said girl daily. But that was it. The end of the story. Pathetic, as per usual.

“I’d rather not,” as the last resort of keeping his dignity intact, Neil averted his gaze and fixed his stare on the dirty floor of the cantina.

A solitary potato chip was lying there, attracting attention. For one, maddening second, his brain tried to concoct an elaborate metaphor in which he was like that lonely, forgotten chip on the ground.

Thankfully, the idea was soon dispersed by his irreplicable companion and his booming voice, cutting through the idiotic thoughts:

“I beg to differ,” the hint of reassurance in Ives’ voice was responsible for luring Neil into listening, just as the soldier delivered the question, “What’s her name? His name? Their name?”

Admittedly, the inclusive way of asking was a nice touch from someone who frequently lacked decorum. Or, more accurately, did not bother with it. It was that addition that made Neil crack, with the final resolve crumbling as he tried to protest:

“There’s no- Cupid,” giving out a tired sigh, Neil finally raised his head and repeated the nickname with something ridiculously close to the softness of affection, “I call her Cupid,”

It made no sense. He knew that. But it did not help that whenever he thought of her, that stupid, embarrassing part of his heart was roused awake from periodical slumber. So much for being reasonable.

As soon as Ives whistled lowly and that familiar sardonic grin appeared on his face, Neil knew it was a mistake.

“Kinky,” his murderous glare got ignored in favour of another pressing question, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Lucky was definitely an overstatement if you asked Neil. But he did not fancy getting into the specifics of the relationships yet. Instead, he happily let himself delve back into memories of that first meeting. He still could not find other apt ways to describe it than a strike of fate. Dramatic? Sure, that was his second name.

He did doubt that Ives would appreciate the insane poetic ruminations, however.

“I’ve met her at the Tube, and she’s a ballerina… Pretty fucking cool, at that” that was a non-negotiable fact. Period.

Yet from the way his friend stared at him, Neil could easily deduct that here, too, he sounded like the insane idiot that he was. An idiot that finds friends on the Tube and lets that develop into something else. Something he tried very hard not to define. It was going splendidly well. Of course.

“Uh oh,” as if reading his mind, Ives, the prick, pasted on a silly grin and bated his eyelashes down at him, continuing the interrogation, “Is that a crush I’m sensing?”

Fuck. That was, indeed, a mistake.

Not that there was a crush because there absolutely wasn’t anything of that sort. Idiot, he might have been, but not… No. No. Which is exactly why Neil had to pause to cover his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. Conveniently ignoring Ives and his bullshit assumptions.

Only once he felt like the annoyance had simmered to an acceptable white noise, Neil dropped the hands covering his face and met his destiny in the form of an infuriating sardonic smile.

“No, she’s just… I’m fascinated, okay? I’ve never met anyone like her before, and we’ve got a good thing going with weekly chats and… stuff,” running out of steam, Neil let the last word trail off into silence.

He knew what it all sounded like. He did. Except that there was no better way of describing it (them) to the outside world. And he was certainly not keen on showing Ives the texts. Not after the last conversation this morning, which involved more innuendos and another rendition of What socks are you wearing? - his favourite game. Truly. What made the exchange more incriminating, however, was the fact that Cupid’s current socks brandished an image of an adorable pug with a caption: “Send dog pics”. Yeah, that. That was a theme he was so far happy to ignore. Kind of.

“Did you kiss her yet?” another ridiculous question acted like a wake-up call as Neil felt the loathed, crimson blush fill his cheeks.

“What is this? Middle school?” another outburst got met with a stoically blank face, not helping to ease the shame of being so goddamn transparent “No, I didn’t,” I wish, “We danced” offering the alternative lowkey felt like self-sacrifice.

Not because Neil was embarrassed of what had happened that Saturday night but because it stayed a secret to anyone who was not him or Cupid. At least, that is what she told him, much to inexplicable surprise, which he could not and would not try to understand.

“I never knew you dance,” the soldier’s remark, as always, missed the mark.

Annoyance at the whole world, at this rate, rose at a steady pace. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that Neil was frustrated at the circumstances of the relationship with the woman in question, but it was too soon for self-realisation to do its work.

“Of course, I do,” instead, it was the distant feel of pity that nagged at the edges of his soul as Neil allowed the dismissive reflection to be voiced without the veil of fake pep, “Anyway, none of it matters. She’s not into relationships, so…” he shrugged, aware of the pitiful picture.

In a way, it was easier to know that about her ahead of time. It was perfect information to push at his brain and heart whenever they got too comfortable with the situation. To remind them (and himself) that it was not going anywhere, and it never would.

But, for some infuriating reason, the heart tended to be a stubborn beast holding no regard for facts. Not that heart had anything to do with this just yet. Of course not. Neil just… liked her. As a human being likes another human being. Platonically.

“Surely, your roguish charm will convince her otherwise,” as expected, Ives looked as if he was trying very hard not to feel sorry for him and was failing.

The reassurance hardly worked if Neil was being honest. The existence of said roguish charm was highly debatable. But who was he to argue?

“Nah, it’s fine. I can be just friends with her” manifesting much, or whatever. It was a blessing to have a different topic to switch to, “Anyway, I’m not going to see her for the next couple of weeks since we’re leaving,” another attempt at a nonchalant shrug got lost in the heaviness Neil could not shake off if he tried.

Going off on a mission right now, in the middle of it all, was far from ideal. Neil liked his job, loved it even, but then, some operations felt like a drag from the moment they appeared on his desk. That was one of them.

“Yeah, Lisbon is on,” from the tiredness written all over Ives’ face, Neil could tell the lack of enthusiasm was shared, “Two weeks, but it might be longer,”

“Great,” sarcasm dripped from the word as Neil glanced at his friend and asked, “We’re going to bunk together?”

It was only half a joke. Because only the company made the perspective of that mission seem a little less daunting.

“You wish, love,” the answering grin on Ives’ face was the perfect punchline to the dramatic conversation. The soldier got up from the table with another quip, “You know I’m not into blondes,” he walked away without another glance, yet the laugh he elicited from Neil could be heard in the room above the cantina.

[fsbc-librarian]

- Bucky time travel anon here Lol

Oh dear what have I done? I really dragged you down the stucky rabbit hole

I’ve been looking and looking and I can’t find anything that matches what you described 😓 here is some other time travel ones that certainly live up to their hype though for the meantime, but I promise I will keep looking

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to memory now I can't recall

Etharei

While on a mission storming a HYDRA facility, James Buchanan Barnes touches one of the many strange alien devices collected by the Red Skull. He does this, in fact, twice— in the past, and in the future.

Next thing he knows, Bucky Barnes is opening his eyes in the 21st century, which is full of great gadgets and coffee, and at least includes his old pal Steve. (And, inexplicably, a different Stark.) Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier finds himself in the middle of World War Two, helping Captain America hunt down HYDRA (which is at least familiar), pretending to be Bucky Barnes (which is not), and figuring out the very noisy group of soldiers who call themselves the Howling Commandos.

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square

Speranza

Natasha wanted to tell him the whole story of wartime London and the pub and seeing who Steve Rogers was before he lost everything, and meeting The Winter Soldier only to find out that he was just a young charmer named Bucky Barnes.

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

To Live It Again Is Past All Endeavor

trinityofone

Time travel bodyswap! Present-day Steve and Bucky wake up back in their old bodies in 1938, while past Steve and Bucky wake in a future where they're both built like comic book heroes and Bucky's got what he thinks is a swell future robot arm. Adventures are had, and the ethics of time travel are debated. Also, everyone trash talks Willem de Kooning.

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

I can’t remember how this started (but I can tell you exactly how it ends)

gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)

“And this is the thing, Steve. I would rather relive this day for eternity than watch them win and you die, or see you be enslaved to them the way I was.” (Groundhog Day)

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

four dreams in a row where you were burned

voxofthevoid

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Steve Rogers.” Steve straightens, looks Bucky in the eye. Remembers all the times he’s said this, in a future that this world will never see. “I’m your friend.”

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky repeats, mouth twisting bitterly. “Captain America. The same Captain America who’s buried in ice, who fucking sacrificed his fool ass to stop the Red Skull, who crashed a motherfucking plane into goddamn ice nine days ago.”

“Twelve,” Steve corrects a little numbly, because that’s the easiest part he can address. “I went down on February 2nd. It took them a while to determine whether or not to let the public know. To weigh the demoralization my death will cause against the vengeful heroics my sacrifice will inspire. Clearly, they decided on the latter eventually, but I’ve been told it was pretty close.”

_

When Steve uses the last of his Pym Particles to travel to 1944 and save his best friend, he doesn’t have a plan beyond leaving behind the battlefield and living his life alongside the people he loves.

But time has a will of its own.

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

Cross The Same River Twice

littlerhymes

In the fall of 1940, a stranger with Bucky's face saves Steve and Bucky's lives. The stranger claims he's from the future and that his only mission is to protect Steve Rogers.

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

[stargir1z]

hii maybe wrong time to ask this but im moving to london from the north for uni in september !!(albeit on the other side of the river frm csm) i was wondering if you had any good recs for underground clubs/bars or just general underrated spots to visit !!ty if u answer ⭐️🤲🏽

Bro of course!!! i could give a more proper answer if i knew what specifically you wanted but the best rave nights in terms of music and crowd are fetchish net, dionysia, and riposte. for a more chill bar time, you could go to shapes in east, or the sake bar kanpai if you’re ever around peckham. i also love the standard in King’s Cross and the hoxton in holborn for a drink, chilling, studying until late, etc. also there’s a beautiful caffe nero on the water in borough open until 8 or 9.

for art/cultural stuff i love pushkin house, mimosa house, conway hall, reference point, freud museum, and the ica. Prince charles cinema in Leicester Square is genuinely the best cinema but rio cinema in dalston and the whole everyman line (especially screen on the green in angel) are also pretty up there. deeper into movies shows indie films in pubs. reference point is a book shop/library/bar that does chess nights every Wednesday.

foodwise let’s see.. Woo Tea is the best bubble tea shop in London hands down. the best cheap date night is flat iron, great steak for like 12 pounds. best sharing plate style places are jolene in newington green and towpath in haggerston (it’s along the canal!). for italian go di paolo in goodge st or la vita e bella in angel. great cheap udon at marugame, it’s a fast food chain but 5 bucks for a whole lovely soup meal.

the most wholesome place in London is the neighbourhoods around islington (like canonbury, Highbury, De Beauvoir Town) on a sunny Thursday morning.

the most evil place in London is any simmons at any time.

best coffee in King’s Cross is the columbian chain, hermanos. best coffee on the go is gails. It really is..

that’s all i can think of for now. let me know if you have more specific things to know about! ive been eating out and walking a lot recently and would love to share more recs

[solediamondltd]

Expert Carpet Cleaning in Leicester: Top Questions Answered for Spotless Results

Carpet cleaning plays a vital role in maintaining a healthy and fresh environment in your home. If you’re looking for the best carpet cleaning in Leicester, you’re in the right place. In this blog, we’ll answer all your questions about professional carpet cleaning. Offer valuable insights to help you keep your carpets looking pristine.

Why Carpet Cleaning Matters

Carpets endure a lot—foot traffic, spills, dirt, and allergens. Over time, these elements accumulate, leading to dull, stained carpets and even potential health risks. Regular carpet cleaning in Leicester isn’t just about appearance. It ensures a cleaner, healthier living space.

Professionally cleaned carpets last longer, reduce allergens, and improve indoor air quality it is important for families with children or pets. But many homeowners wonder, is professional carpet cleaning worth it?

Frequently Asked Questions About Carpet Cleaning in Leicester

How Often Should You Get Your Carpets Cleaned?

Many people don’t realize that carpets should be professionally cleaned at least once every 12-18 months. However, if you have a busy household with pets or kids. You may need carpet cleaning in Leicester more frequently—around every 6-12 months.

According to industry experts, regular cleanings can increase the lifespan of your carpet by up to 50%!

What’s the Best Method for Carpet Cleaning?

When it is about carpet cleaning in Leicester, there are a few common methods: steam cleaning, dry cleaning, and shampooing. Steam cleaning is considered the gold standard. Because it deeply penetrates carpet fibers to remove dirt, allergens, and bacteria.

Dry cleaning is quicker, as it uses minimal water, and the carpet dries faster. However, steam cleaning provides a more thorough cleaning. Making it ideal for homes with allergies or sensitive skin.

Can Carpet Cleaning Remove All Stains?

Professional carpet cleaning in Leicester can eliminate most stains, including those caused by coffee, wine, and mud. However, older or deeply set-in stains may require special treatment or may not completely disappear.

Carpet cleaning experts use high-quality equipment and powerful detergents that penetrate fibers more effectively than any store-bought solution.

Is Carpet Cleaning Safe for Children and Pets?

Absolutely! Professional carpet cleaners use safe, eco-friendly solutions that are non-toxic and safe for pets and kids. If you’re worried about chemicals, you can always request a green cleaning service.

How Long Does It Take for Carpets to Dry?

Drying time depends on the cleaning method used. Steam-cleaned carpets typically dry in 6-12 hours, while dry-cleaned carpets are ready within 1-2 hours. Good air circulation can help speed up the process.

Benefits of Hiring Professional Carpet Cleaners in Leicester

While it might be tempting to rent a machine and do it yourself. Professional carpet cleaning in Leicester offers several advantages:

Superior Cleaning Results

DIY carpet cleaners can’t match the power of professional-grade equipment. Trained technicians know the exact methods and cleaning solutions for various types of carpets, ensuring your floors are spotless without any damage.

Time and Effort Saving

Professional carpet cleaning in Leicester is a hassle-free solution. You don’t have to move heavy furniture or deal with cumbersome machines. Cleaners come prepared to handle everything, saving you time and stress.

Improved Air Quality

Over time, dirt, dust, and allergens settle deep into your carpet. Regular vacuuming only removes surface debris. Professional cleaning digs deeper, improving the air quality in your home and reducing potential health risks.

Extended Carpet Lifespan

Carpets are an investment and professional cleanings ensure you get the most out of them. Without proper care, carpets wear down faster and lose their vibrant color.

How Much Does Carpet Cleaning in Leicester Cost?

The cost of carpet cleaning in Leicester varies based on the size of the area, the cleaning method, and the condition of the carpets. On average, expect to pay between £20-£40 per room. Many companies offer discounts for larger jobs or additional services such as upholstery cleaning.

Carpet Cleaning Tips for Leicester Homeowners

If you’re looking to maintain your carpets between professional cleanings, here are some handy tips:

Vacuum regularly: Aim for at least once a week or more often in high-traffic areas.

Address spills immediately: The quicker you act, the better the chance of avoiding permanent stains.

Use door mats: This reduces the amount of dirt brought inside on shoes.

Rotate furniture: It prevents permanent dents in the carpet fibers and evens out wear.

Eco-Friendly Carpet Cleaning Options in Leicester

As eco-awareness rises, many companies now offer green carpet cleaning solutions. These methods use non-toxic, biodegradable cleaning agents that are just as effective as traditional methods but without harmful chemicals.

If you’re environmentally conscious, you can request eco-friendly carpet cleaning in Leicester and enjoy a spotless home while reducing your carbon footprint.

Why Choose Carpet Cleaning in Leicester for Your Home?

When it comes to keeping your home clean and healthy, professional carpet cleaning in Leicester is one of the best investments you can make. Whether it’s to remove stubborn stains, improve air quality, or simply refresh your home. Expert cleaners are ready to provide a thorough, safe, and efficient service.

Key Insights of Carpet Cleaning in Leicester:

Importance of Regular Cleaning: Regular professional carpet cleaning not only improves the appearance of carpets but also enhances indoor air quality. Making it essential for a healthy living environment.

Frequency Recommendations: It’s advised to have carpets cleaned every 12-18 months, or more frequently in homes with children and pets, to prevent the accumulation of dirt and allergens.

Preferred Cleaning Method: Steam cleaning is highlighted as the most effective method for deep cleaning carpets, while dry cleaning is quicker and may be suitable for less heavily soiled carpets.

Stain Removal Potential: While most stains can be removed by professional cleaners, older or set-in stains may be more challenging to treat completely.

Safety for Families: Professional carpet cleaning services use eco-friendly and non-toxic cleaning solutions, ensuring safety for children and pets.

Cost Insights: The average cost for carpet cleaning in Leicester ranges from £20-£40 per room, with discounts often available for larger jobs or additional services.

Don’t wait until your carpets look dirty to schedule a cleaning. Regular professional carpet cleaning in Leicester helps keep your carpets looking their best, improves the air quality in your home, and extends the lifespan of your carpets. Whether you need a deep clean to remove stains or just want to refresh your floors, the benefits are clear. Ready to give your home a fresh start? Contact your local professional carpet cleaners today for a service that’s tailored to your needs

[thinktank2024-max-love]

Andy Robinson

Andy Robinson is a front of house engineer/production manager and has been working in live music for 13 years spanning a range of different jobs/roles along the way. Whilst studying at De Montfort university in Leicester, he started to do volunteer to local venues/rental companies and worked his way to the sound desk. A pivotal moment starting off for Andy was working his way into O2 academy, “I went to a club night and there was a guy packing down a mixing desk, so I asked him if I could get work experience.” After persisting, Andy was able to work his way to securing a paid job which is where he met Wolf Alice. “Ended up on tour with them for a year, and off the back off that I’ve been able to make enough contacts to be able to tour for the last 10 years.”  

This kick started his career as a touring freelance FOH engineer and has been regularly touring all year round for the best part of 10 years working with artists such as Raye, Beabadoobee and Ashnikko.   

It is vital that Andy can accommodate what the artist is requesting but staying within budget and being able to hire all the required people and equipment to do so. With this, comes a lot of compromising and effective communication, interpersonal skills and being able to adapt to new situations/issues to make the show possible.  

Touring is a mixed bag with its opportunities come a full range of responsibilities and roles which can affect people differently. Both physical and mental health was a theme when talking about his working life and how important it is to take care of yourself. You are often expected to work long and unsocial hours (in Andys case even beyond 24 hours), you’re constantly travelling and are expected to live an unhealthy lifestyle and to work in often horrible, dirty venues. Which expectantly is not great for one's mental health over time with the mixture of poor options for food, sleep deprivation and high stress situations.  

Unfortunately, it's no surprise that the music industry can be an incredibly difficult one to be in, from the performer to the engineers. In 2019, a study by Swedish digital platform Record Union concluded that “73% of independent musicians struggle with mental illness. Which increases to 80% when looking at ages 18-25.” (Musicians Union, 2023).  

Irregular working patterns, unsociable hours and even safeguarding issues like sexual harassment are all factors into musicians and engineers' poor mental health. Especially as “1 in 5 people in the UK are neurodivergent”. And from research carried out by AFEM and the Musicians Census its suggested that this figure is higher in the music industry. (Musicians Union, 2023). It can be especially hard for those who have mental health conditions which adds more to the workload when sometimes the world isn’t wired the same as yourself. 

Thankfully awareness and support for mental health for people working specifically in the music industry is increasing each year. Confidential counselling from organisations like Music Minds Matter and specialist support groups around drugs and alcohol abuse such as Music Support are so vital. Andy mentions in his talk that there is “a lot less drinking involved these days”, people are going for coffees instead which is a great step forward for young musicians starting out. 

Tackling drug and alcohol abuse has always been an issue within the industry, and it's encouraging to hear that musicians have places to go such as Music Support. A 24/7 helpline consisting of volunteers who have experience in music business who can offer support for those struggling with urgent issues regarding addiction and mental health issues. Because it is hard to manage all these work-related issues and responsibilities on top of being, in Andy’s case, on the road away from loved one's 200+ days a year. And personally, I know so many musicians and engineers who are neurodivergent or have anxiety and it can really make you feel like you’re not built for the environments around you. Especially if you’re constantly moving about to unfamiliar surroundings.  

[all-airport-transfer]

Popular ways to transfer from London Heathrow Airport to Covent Garden

London Heathrow Airport offers a  range of transfer options and is one of the most important locations in the UK. The bonus is that the London Heathrow Airport transfer is suitable for all budgets and needs. When travelling to Covent Garden from London Heathrow Airport, there are many places that you can visit to make your trip to Covent Garden unforgettable. Covent Garden is a very popular shopping and entertainment centre in the West   End of London. It's full of fashion boutiques, craft stalls, an apple market and the Royal Opera House. There are also London Transport Museum houses, classic vehicles, luxury restaurants to answer your questions and three lists full of shows and musicals. There are many things to do in Covent Garden as it is packed with tourist attractions. So if you are in Covent Garden and looking for good coffee then you can visit Amorino which is a famous ice cream parlor in Covent Garden. It is located on Garrick Street near  Covent Garden tube station. 

This place is known for its traditional Italian gelato ice cream. Amorino opened in  2013 and has had quality jelly ever since and many people who visit Covent Garden prefer this place. As a bonus, they also have a wide variety of options for vegan customers. In addition to authentic Italian ice cream, you can also choose from amaretti, waffles, pancakes, drinks, milk coffee and hot chocolate with a choice of 10 different flavours. Asia in Covent Garden for shopping is the best place to find fun brands to choose from. It is home to some of London's most desirable men's and women's boutiques, from A-line designers like Burberry to BA&SH. They also have Chanel, CARAT London, Michael Kors and Ralph Lauren. So if you are a shopaholic, Covent Garden is a must.

The distance from  London Heathrow Airport to Covent Garden is just 26 miles via the M4 and  A4 motorways and the journey takes just 55 minutes to 1 hour. There are several ways to travel from  London Heathrow Airport to Covent Garden and if you are looking for the cheapest way to travel between these two destinations, London by land is your salvation. However, if you are looking for the quickest and easiest way to get to Covent Garden from  London Heathrow Airport, the Heathrow Express is the perfect option for you. It only takes 15 minutes from Heathrow to Paddington Station. Choosing the London Underground is another hassle-free option, with two or three stops to Covent Garden every 10 minutes, with a ticket only costing around £3-5 and the journey taking around 45 minutes. If you prefer a direct transfer from  London Heathrow Airport to Covent Garden, the only direct train from Heathrow Terminal will take you to  Leicester Square Station, this service runs every 10 minutes every day. The other cheaper option is to take the bus that connects these two destinations, although this may not be the fastest option as the journey takes around 1 hour and 15 minutes. 

But if you have a long flight and don't have much time to travel, you can always use private transport. The quickest way to get to Covent Garden from  London Heathrow Airport is by taxi, but it can cost a little more than public transport and the benefit is that you can get there in just 30 minutes. And if you choose a private transfer, we offer you many services like a driver right after the flight, we take care of your luggage, you can have a small tourist station on the way and stop anywhere for a quick purchase on the Spree or a snack. You can also choose the type of vehicle you want as there is a wide variety of vehicles to choose from ranging from sedans to 8-seaters depending on how many people you are travelling with.

[wessexpsysoc]

“Lord of the Flies: A psychoanalytic view of the gang and its processes”

Professor Mark Stein

Wednesday 12th July 19.15-21.15

Drawing on William Golding’s classic novel ‘Lord of the Flies’, and using psychoanalytic ideas, Mark will explore ganging phenomena. Mark argues that, following a trauma, ganging may develop in private, public and voluntary sector organizations, as well as in governments. He utilises psychoanalytic and especially Kleinian ideas to examine these themes. Worryingly, he argues, precisely because of the widespread trauma that will inevitably be left in their wake, phenomena such as climate change, famine, wars and pandemics could lead to the pervasive spread of ganging processes.

Mark’s paper received the 2020 Gavin MacFadyen Memorial Essay Prize from a field of 60 essays. The prize honours the memory of Gavin MacFadyen, who was Professor of Investigative Journalism at Goldsmiths, University of London. The Macfadyen Prize committee described the paper as ‘a great achievement’, ‘erudite’ and ‘particularly relevant’ in the current political climate.

Mark Stein PhD is Professor Emeritus of Leadership and Management at the University of Leicester; an Associate Lecturer in Organization and Consultation at the Tavistock Clinic; a Career Consultant at Careers in Depth; and an Executive Coach and Organisational Consultant. He has been a Senior Lecturer at Imperial College London, a Research Fellow at the London School of Economics and Brunel University, and a Researcher and Consultant at the Tavistock Institute of Human Relations. He has also held visiting or associate posts at London Business School and INSEAD, Fontainebleau, where he has been an Adjunct Professor and Visiting Scholar.

Mark has been awarded the European Academy of Management’s iLab Prize for innovative scholarship; an Emerald Citation of Excellence; the ‘Group & Organization Management’ best paper prize; the Gavin Macfadyen Memorial Essay Prize; and the Richard Normann Prize, of which he is the only recipient.

Meetings open at 19.15 pm for Tea, Coffee & Cake! Presentations 19.45 – 21.15 pm.  The meetings are held in the Cranbury Room at The Hilt, Hiltingbury Recreation Ground, Hiltingbury Road, Chandlers Ford, Hampshire SO53 5NP and jointly via Zoom.  

There will be an opportunity for a Q&A session after the presentations, moderated by one of our Committee.

There is no charge for current, paid up Members. Annual membership is £50.00 (£25.00 Students/Retired Members) and can be paid by Bank Transfer. Non-members are charged £15.00 (£7.50 Students/Retired Members) per meeting. Each meeting awards 1 ½ hours CPD per meeting.       

E: media@wessexpsysoc.org.uk  

[vegan-health-food-cafe]

The best coffee in Leicester, Leicestershire can be enjoyed by the coffee lovers at Prana Cafe. Our cafe is located next to town hall square,in a stunning Grade II listed Historic building. Get the best latte art Coffee is from award winning coffee roasters-Square Mile, London!

[freshstartfromscratch]

The Great British Bake-Off AU!

Yes, this is happening. So a little while ago, I got inspired by this shitpost:

The OG question was sent to @kiatheinsomniac and then bounced to @asscrackcreed from whom I shamelessly have stolen this idea. So shoutout to them I guess.

It was the sign that I needed to write headcanons for the Great British Bake-Off AU. Ngl, I do have a soft spot for this show. It kept me sane when I had to spend a month bedridden during my illness.

Anyway, On your marks? Get, set, bake!:

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad

Originally from Syria, he moved to the UK with his parents as a child. Altaïr learned to bake in the home economics class and took a liking to it. He lives in Leicester with his wife Maria and two sons, Darim and Sef. When he's not baking, he's a book illustrator and stay-at-home dad.

While baking, he likes to use earth-flavored spices like nutmeg, vanilla, cinnamon, cardamom, sumac, and mace. He enjoys using orange and lemon zest in his baking too.

Altaïr's strongest side is the technical challenge, and his weakest side is pastry construction. He can make beautiful patterns to decorate his bakes but can't do creative structures. It'll always end up as sth like a square. 

He is one of the calmest bakers on the show. Everything is perfectly planned and tried out multiple times before the challenge. Altaïr doesn't go into a panic mood while under pressure, or at least he doesn't show it.

His signature recipe is cinnamon walnut cake.

Ezio Auditore

Ezio learned how to bake from his mom, and cooking together was their bonding activity when he still lived in Italy. He's a banker living in Edinburgh. When he's not baking he participates in all free-to-air cooking game shows. 

Unsurprisingly Ezio is a master in the cream department (nothing sexual about this sentence.) He likes using cream, mascarpone, meringue, and egg whites. White, fluffy, and puffy!

Ezio likes deep and slightly bitter additions to his cakes, like coffee or chocolate. He always balances them out with the perfect amount of sugar. It's not too sweet, but you can still taste the deep flavors.

His signature bake is ricotta cheesecake with coffee. He does have more Italian classics in his repertoire, like Torta della Nonna and Torta Paradiso.

He's a very emotional contestant who would cry if something goes wrong (because it's NOT just a cake!) He's very harsh on himself and tends to exaggerate his mistakes. His baking has to be perfect. Otherwise, he'll be dissatisfied with it. He's loud and a show-off in front of the cameras, so the public loves him, and the producers love him.

Connor Kenway

Connor, though born in the USA, currently lives in London. He works as a home health nurse in Camden (I picked Camden because it's where the Kennway Mansion is ) for a man named Achilles. He bakes to relax after work, and his numerous friends are big fans of his goods.

Due to his job, Connor is good at all the physics and chemistry related to baking. He knows how to structure his bakes and what temperature of the chocolate is the best for the best glossy effect. Things like this.

He's the super competitive baker. He's in the show to win and won't accept anything less than the finale three. His determination is sometimes scary as if he wanted to murder someone who killed his family.

Connor's signature bake is something typically American with a twist. It is a recipe connected to his roots, but a look into the future too. I'd say it's pistachio, pecans, and pumpkin NY-Style cheesecake.

Connor likes to mix tradition with modern ideas but still keeps them quite conservative. There's a fine line between a modern twist and a  baking blasphemy to him, and he tries to balance it out. 

Edward Kenway

He is a single dad of two, living and working in Swansea as a shipwright. He's an ex-sailor who used to work in the British West Indies. Edward started to bake eight years ago as a pastime with his now teenage daughter Jeniffer after her mother died. When he's not baking he likes to sail with his children and friends. 

His specialty is in the West Indies bakes. Brown sugar and rum are his favorite ingredients, and his signature bake is a burnt sugar essence sponge cake. He likes to use juicy fruits like pineapple or mango in his cakes too.

Edward is the contestant who should add one tablespoon of rum according to the recipe but pours half of the bottle instead.

He's the chaotic baker. His section in the cooking tent always looks like something exploded there.

He's the "I don't want to be the first baker to leave the tent" kind of contestant. He didn't sign up because he believes he's the best, but:  "If I'm not the last, that's a victory to me" kind of guy.

Arno Dorian

Arno is from Paris but works and lives in London's most posh Royal Borough - Kensington and Chelsea. He's an actor and a ballet dancer. Arno is an artist and a perfectionist. He likes to express himself, and baking is yet another way to do it.

Arno is an expert on anything related to fruits. Jam, marmalade, or addition of fruits to cream or decoration. He likes to use flowers too.

His strong side is the visual aspect of his bakes. He can make the most creative, baked constructions, but they often lack stability. He can make a flying plane cake that looks real, but it'll fall apart way too soon.

Lavender and blueberry meringue cake is the staple recipe of this baker. However, his mother's recipe apfelstrudel is to die for, and it saved him from elimination.

He is a bit dramatic and a natural performer, but he's not as dramatic as Ezio. He still is dramatic.

Jacob Frye

He is the youngest baker in the tent. Jacob learned how to bake from his grandma in Crawley. Jacob lives in Whitechapel with his partner and a newborn son Emmett (Canon Jacob had to be a young parent if Lydia was born in 1893 when Jacob was 46. Emmett's name comes from the list of known British Assassins used by the Templar Isabelle Ardant and a fanbase theory that he's Jacob's son.) He works with at-risk youth in a Youth Centre as a Mentor/caretaker and is a football (soccer) coach of their team, "The Rooks."

He's the one who adds controversial ingredients like beetroots to his sponges to make them moister. He can come across as pretentious, but he's just an unconventional baker. 

Jacob is the kind of contestant who everyone thinks is going to be eliminated, but he manages to get by and wins the "star of the episode" title in the next episode. You never can tell how he's going to perform in the show.

His signature bake would be something random that nobody expects, like Medovnik cake.

He's the "started baking, had a breakdown, bon appétit!" kind of contestant.

[roamwithahungryheart]

I have to thank @darklydeliciousdesires for giving me the push I needed to start writing this! I wasn't going to share it just yet because I've only just gotten started, but I'm throwing caution to the wind and doing it anyway! Here's a little preview of yet another story which will be making its way into the universe in the near future! x

Prestige Rentals is London's top car rental company.

Grace Sutton is their top employee.

In all her time with the company, she's dealt with more than a few divas. But her next customer is about to take her on the ride of her life.

“Welcome to Prestige Rentals, how can I help?”

I’m smiling, but I’m not happy. From the look of things, neither is the woman standing in front of me. Either that or she has a serious case of resting bitch face. Her dark hair is tied up into a slick ponytail and her scarlet lips are pressed into a tight line.

“We spoke on the phone. Is the car ready?”

I try my best not to squint in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure-“

“Dany!” Claire, my colleague appears, clutching two Starbucks to-go cups. I hope one of them is for me, but my hopes are dashed when she hands the second one to Dany. “We’ll have the car ready for the weekend, no problem.”

“It won’t be under my client’s name, of course.” Dany says flatly.

“Of course.” Claire nods at me. “Grace will confirm your details and then you’re good to go.”

I slip back to the desk and scroll through the log on the computer.

“Okay, according to our records we have a Mercedes S-Class reserved for Dany Garcia. Correct?”

Dany smiles. It’s genuine. “Correct. Thank you for your help, ladies. There just might be a free ticket to the premiere for you.” She winks. Okay, maybe she isn’t all that bad.

“Oh, you don’t have to-“ I start, but Claire cuts me off with a dig to the ribs.

She grins. “That’s so kind.” She’s such a suck-up. “We’ll see you on Friday.”

Dany leaves the dealership. Claire watches me intently as I perform mental gymnastics. Being denied my morning caffeine fix, as Claire knows all too well, gives me temporary amnesia. “Huh, Dany Garcia. That name’s familiar.” I scroll through the log again. “September 24th. Odeon Luxe, Leicester Square.”

Claire slams her coffee cup on the desk. “Get there faster!”

I jolt as it hits me. “Holy shit. We’re renting a car to Henry fucking Cavill!”

“And potentially getting free tickets to the premiere of The Double Down! I don’t give a shit what Alex says, we’re coming to work in full glam on Friday. We’re VIPs now.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I think she was just being nice.”

“I know it’s Monday, but can you indulge me for a second?”

“You’re right.” I pause. An idea hits me. A very bad idea. “We have her contact details…are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Claire looks at me like I’ve just grown an extra head. “We are not going to fucking dox Henry Cavill. Not even for a drunk sext.”

“Well now I want to do it even more. I can be very charming when I’m drunk.”

“Grace, no. We could get arrested!”

“It would be worth it, though.” I raise an eyebrow mischievously.

“You’re right. But just so you know, even though we’re friends, I’m not above fighting you for him. And I could totally beat you in a fight.”

It’s true, she could. The woman kickboxes. She’s frighteningly strong.

“This is all your fault.” I say, shooting her a faux death glare.

“How is it my fault?”

“You’re a bad influence. I’m a nice girl, I know how to behave, I’ve had lessons!”

“Oh, shut up, you love it.”

She has a point. If it wasn’t for Claire, I probably would have quit by now. I’d be living with my parents because London rent prices are eye-poppingly high. So, to end up with a best friend and a chance encounter with a total hunk? I guess this job has its perks after all.

@harrysthiccthighss @foodieforthoughts @cavillsbestgal @blowing-mikey @captainsy-cookiemonster @pussyverson @sillyrabbit81 @viking-raider @zealoushound @keanureevesisbae @honeyloverogers @littlewrenofrivia @beck07990 @christhickevans @luna-aestas @luclittlepond @kebabgirl67 @angreav @omgkatinka @greensleeves888 @cavillsthighs @littlebirdofrivia @angelcavill66 @henrys-little-princess @herefortherealdeal @cavills-little-princess @mis-lil-red @nuggsmum @thwick @marytudorbrandon @nerdyoldsoul @charmed-asylum @starstruckkittyangel @thereisa8ella​ @miss-rebel-without-applause @abschaffer2 @scorpiobitch95 @marantha @burberrybaby @notabronte @unauthorizedhenry @dream-ell @oh-for-fic-sake @babyyhoneyydarling @spazzymamahenrylover @donutloverxo @winter2112rose @blakerogue

[houseisekai]

House Isekai: A Realm Reborn - Part 15, Taking Point (Prologue)

Act 2 Masterlist

—

With House Isekai's arrival in Leicester Territory, Buck leads his squad to investigate the Separatists, with the assistance of Rean and Jean.

[New Morning - The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel III OST]

Mercedes sat alone in the mess hall as she sipped her coffee, brushing her hair aside.

It was very early in the morning, 7 AM the last time she checked.

She couldn't help but think back to the meeting the staff had nearly a week ago now.

…

(Sitri) "I believe our best course of action for investigating Those Who Slither and the Separatists is to split our forces. If we were to move as one group, we'd draw far too much attention to ourselves."

(Kazuma) "Uh, I think we do that enough just by the way we dress."

(Aigis) "I still agree with Sitri, however. We can cover more ground, just like our first assignments."

(Towa) "Then what about the students?"

(Sitri) "After careful consideration, I've decided that Kazuma, Aigis, and Towa will be leading them as we investigate."

(Rean) "And me?"

(Sitri) "Your role for now will be accompanying Buck's team. They said they'd be investigating the Separatists, and they could certainly use the help of Valimar."

(Sothis) "You're sure thats a good idea? Duvalie will definitely be pissed about that."

(Sitri) "Given our situation, I'm afraid she will not have the luxury of being picky of who's going. We can expect no official support in the Leicester Alliance."

Sitri crossed her arms, shaking her head.

(Sitri) "Were it so easy, I'd have asked Edelgard for assistance. But given her history, I've no reason to believe she'd give information willingly."

(Mercedes) "Then what about you, Sitri?"

(Sitri) "I will be getting off at Garreg Mach when we make our stop there. I have my own investigations I must attend to there."

(Rean) "You sure your students will be okay without you?"

Sitri nodded.

(Sitri) "As long as they have you four, I'm sure. Recette, Tear, I'll be entrusting the train to you two."

(Recette) "O-Okay, Miss Sitri."

(Tear) "Then hopefully your investigations bear results, ma'am."

…

Rean came through the door, yawning before seeing Mercedes and smiling.

(Rean) "Morning."

(Mercedes) "Good morning! What are you doing up so early?"

(Rean) "Well, I figured it might be best to make sure I can catch my students and say goodbye to them before we all head out."

He walked behind the counter and began making himself a light meal.

(Mercedes) "If I can be honest for a moment, I'm not entirely sure splitting up is a good idea. I thought we had all agreed that we needed to find out how to fight together."

Rean turned around as he fried eggs in a pan, replying to her.

(Rean) "That had me confused at first before realizing what she's doing. You see, the original Class VII did something similar for our field studies. Sara had us split up into small groups and investigate situations or areas relevant to our teachings."

He put the eggs onto a plate and sat down next to Mercedes, to which she made the appropriate space for him.

(Rean) "Kind of what we did when we got our first assignments in Fodlan. But this time I can tell she's confident in her choice as well. Besides, there's only so much we can do as a big group."

(Mercedes) "I suppose that's fair."

Mercedes finished the last of her coffee,, then turned to Rean.

(Mercedes) "Are you not worried, though?"

(Rean) "For my students? I always am. Especially here in Fodlan. It may be similar to home, but it might actually be more dangerous thanks to Those Who Slither and the Church. Not to mention the Separatists."

Rean looked down at his plate, sighing.

(Rean) "I have to admit, I do feel pretty nervous leaving behind my students alone again in order to do some behind the scenes work. I can only pray they somehow don't find a way to get to me like last time..."

He chuckled, finally turning to Mercedes.

(Rean) "But, we have to let them go at some point, right? I bet this is how the original staff felt about us."

Mercedes laughed, her hand covering her mouth as it opened.

(Mercedes) "I think you misunderstood my question, Rean. Everyone knows you worry about your students! Who wouldn't worry about their own group?"

She held up her hand before Rean could respond.

(Mercedes) "I meant worrying about how being with your group is going to go. Duvalie seems to hate you a lot."

(Rean) "...Oh."

He awkwardly cleared his throat before shrugging.

(Rean) "Honestly, she's not that bad of a person when you get to know her. And besides, she must be doing something well if the soldiers haven't kicked her out yet. So, not really."

When he finished, the students of Class VII and Garreg Mach came into the room.

(Kurt) "Instructor Rean, Mercedes."

Both of them nodded at the groups coming in as they put their dishes up.

(Mercedes) "Everyone, please sit down! I'll cook you all breakfast."

(Rean) "I can help out with that."

(Kairos) "Oh, but that's not necessary-"

(Mercedes) "Nonsense, you're going out on a mission today. You're going to need all the strength you can!"

(Ash) "Won't hear me saying no to a free meal. Appreciate it."

(Stefan) "Mind if I help? I can cook decently."

(Musse) "How thoughtful, thank you so much!"

(Altina) "...I would like pancakes, please."

(Elizabeth) "My, that's quite an expensive breakfast."

(Juna) "Huh? That's a totally normal breakfast food though."

(Mercedes) "In Fodlan dear, that's usually a food Noble families get, commoners like us don't tend to see them a lot."

(Kairos) "Yeah, my family couldn't afford them very often, but I do remember liking them."

(Astrid) "Bah, overrated flat bread is what they are. How can you eat something so dry?"

(Rean) "Then it looks like I need to show everyone what our world's pancakes are like. Mercedes, Stefan, care to learn?"

Mercedes smiled slightly but Stefan looked genuinely excited.

(Stefan) "You bet!"

(Mercedes) "How curious, we can make them not dry?"

The students all sat together on a massive table as everyone else began entering the train car, the Knights of Favonius joining them while the Auxiliary members sat at a separate table, as well as the staff.

Kazuma, Aigis, and Towa watched Rean interact with Stefan, Mercedes and a few of the other students as they all exchanged friendly banter while the three cooked breakfast.

(Towa) "If only our breakfasts were so calm."

Aigis laughed as she reminisced with Towa.

(Aigis) "Minako and the other class clowns would cause so much chaos first thing in the morning."

(Towa) "I kind of miss it, in a weird way."

Kazuma scoffed as he yawned obnoxiously.

(Kazuma) "I sure as hell don't miss the chaos. People always blamed it on me too, I'm just glad we can have something not explode."

(Towa) "I suppose that's fair, if you told me that I'd want the mornings back all those years ago, I'd have called you nuts. But I mean, don't you miss them? It seemed hectic to deal with at the time, but...Now we have to worry about this."

Kazuma and Aigis looked at Towa before they both looked back at the students.

(Kazuma) "Hard to believe being under Rhea's control and having people drop out of the blue to join us was the 'good ol days'."

Noticing how their expressions darkened, Kazuma changed the subject.

(Kazuma) "Ya know, they call us teachers, but have we actually taught shit to these kids besides our first week?"

Aigis and Towa thought about it for a moment before realizing he had a point.

(Aigis) "Maybe we should enact some sort of lecture period since we are on the trains for so long."

(Towa) "Oh, I think I have a few good ideas!"

...

Dutch walked back to his table with drinks in hand. Everyone had to shift awkwardly since they were still in their armor, excluding Duvalie who was in a more casual dress.

(Dutch) "Only had OJ in there, though guess we can't complain. Better than drinking some piss poor water here in fantasy land."

Romeo took his cup and shrugged.

(Romeo) "Surprised they know what orange juice even is if they haven't heard of modern pancakes."

(Mickey) "This world doesn't make any kind of logical sense."

(Buck) "At this point gentlemen, we go with the flow."

Buck slid the glass to Duvalie, which she caught perfectly.

Raelyn took the cup and accidentally crushed it when he tightened his grip.

The juice went all over the table, some of the glass getting stuck in his hand.

(Raelyn) "...Ah."

(Duvalie) "Ah, damn it's all over-...Uh, doesn't that hurt?"

(Rean's Voice) "Everything okay over there?"

(Raelyn) "Superficial wounds. I will be fine, thank you."

(Buck) "Think he meant more about the glass, big guy."

(Romeo) "Superficial? Dude. The glass shards are inside your hand."

(Dutch) "Honestly? I'd be more surprised if the glass could tickle ya, Amuto."

Raelyn couldn't help but chuckle.

(Duvalie) "Ugh, here keep still."

Duvalie winced slightly as she took out the glass, noticing how he didn't even flinch.

(Duvalie) "Can we get a healer over here?"

(Jean's voice) "Please, excuse me for a moment."

Jean walked over to the table as she extended her hand.

(Duvalie) "W-Well, I don't think we need THAT much healing power."

(Buck) "Heh, like calling up an ER for a splinter."

(Jean) "I insist. Besides, we're about to go on a mission together, it'd be best to know how much power my Vision needs to put out should you get injured more."

(Duvalie) "W-Wait, you're going on a mission with us, Miss Jean?"

(Raelyn) "Understood."

Raelyn put his massive hand over Jean's.

Both of her hands barely made up half of his one, but she continued nevertheless.

Everyone felt a small gust of wind blow their hair back as their hands glowed a soft green before vanishing.

(Jean) "Not as much as I thought."

Jean took a step back from the table then turned to Duvalie.

(Jean) "And yes. Myself and Rean, were you not told?"

(Duvalie) "Oh, it's no problem at a-...Schwarzer is coming too?"

(Raelyn) "I thought this was common knowledge."

(Mickey) "I knew this too."

(Dutch) "Same here. Gunny, I thought you remembered to tell her when we got the orders?"

Everyone turned to Buck who was tapping his finger on the table.

(Romeo) "Clearly not."

Duvalie turned to the students, who were now looking at them.

(Duvalie) "Did you brats know about this too?!"

Buck elbowed Duvalie.

(Duvalie) "Ow! Ergh, did you know about this too?!"

(Kairos) "Since last week."

(Kurt) "Day 1."

(Jean) "We were among the first to know before Sitri stepped off the train to Garreg Mach."

Duvalie slowly turned to Buck.

(Buck) "Y-Yeah. I might've forgotten."

Duvalie grabbed him by the collar, with strength far more than he anticipated for a woman with her stature.

(Duvalie) "THIS IS PRETTY DAMN IMPORTANT TO JUST HAVE 'FORGOTTEN' ABOUT!"

(Buck) "Listen, we know your hate boner for Rean is like this, which is why I didn't say jack! Little help here boys?"

(Romeo) "You're the sarge, maybe you can talk her down."

(Duvalie) "I WILL SHOVE THIS SHARD UP YOUR ASS, ROMEO!"

(Mickey) "...Jean, thank you for the healing, it's gonna be a pleasure working with you."

(Dutch) "How about we get ya outta here, ma'am?"

(Raelyn) "Duvalie will be at this for a while."

(Jean) "E-Erm, allow me to defuse this situation."

Jean tried to calm Duvalie down while the Knights of Favonius watched with mild amusement.

(Diluc) "Maybe one more of us should go with them to make sure they're gonna be okay."

(Kaeya) "And miss this? I think not."

(Venti) "Kaeya's got a point! This is pretty funny."

(Lisa) "In all seriousness, I doubt she'd let her personal grudge get in the way of performing admirably. She did save our classmates' lives after all."

(Kurt) "That much you can bet on, miss Lisa."

(Amber) "What's with all this sir's and miss's? We're classmates, you should treat us like it!"

(Juna) "Sure but...feels weird when you guys are so much older than us."

(Mercedes) "Oh, it's no problem! I'm thirty two, and Annette treats me like a younger sibling sometimes!"

(Astrid) "Holy- you're thirty two?! You're so much older than you look!"

Astrid's outburst made the Knights and staff laugh, while causing embarrassment for the Garreg Mach students.

(Helena) "You should really have Kairos or Elizabeth teach you some tact."

(Astrid) "Oh shut up! You're the LAST person I want to hear that from!"

(Stefan) "I don't think I've ever heard Helena mention something like that out loud, at least."

(Astrid) "NO ONE ASKED!"

Rean chuckled and looked back to the Auxiliary, sighing.

(Rean) "Maybe I should be worried about our group after all..."

[Hey Kids!! - THE ORAL CIGARETTES]

===

House Isekai: A Realm Reborn - Part 15

“Tonight We honor the hero!!”

Obstructing NO masks and the frenzied kids that break them – Do they hate lies? Destruction? These days are cast downward. The honey of sweet body-temperature permeates its smell, Bringing a stimulating flavor -flavor -flavor…

I just wanna hold your hands! I just wanna hold your hands! I just wanna hold your hands!

“Hey people! Let’s go back to zero!”

Get crazy, Hey Kids!! The era changes in succession; an never-ending uneasiness! Get crazy, Hey Kids!! Along with you, whom I expected to see here! With frenzied tears, I want to stay connected, searching out this love I can’t forget, So get crazy, Hey Kids!! Would you still say the future is empty?

Get crazy, Hey Kids!! Send flying your worthless ego – a pointless struggle. You’re okay going crazy?? So won’t you just go ahead and spit out my name?

“I swear I respect the hero!!”

Taking Point

[footballfanfictions]

The thrill of the chase - Chapter Six

Pairings: Mason Mount/OC, Ben Chilwell/OC

Warnings: Grovelling Ben and a very upset Mason. 

------------------------------------------------------------

Katie

  Three more days passed with radio silence from Ben. I stormed into my office on Thursday morning feeling incredibly grumpy and resentful towards everyone else. That was until I opened the door and the smell of fresh flowers hit my nose. 

Every available surface apart from a small workspace on the desk was covered in vases filled with white roses, lilies and purple flowers that I didn’t recognise. 

As I moved some of the vases to make space to set up my computer and tablet next to my screen I realised that there was someone stood in my doorway.

“Billy! I’ve not seen you for days. How are you?”I asked chirpily, my bad mood already lifting.

“Ye good darl, see you got Chilly’s flowers then?” he stepped closer to one vase and inspected the flowers before saying “I think mine for Bri were better.”

I laughed, shaking my head at him. The start up screen on the computer flashed up and I logged in. Immediately I started to get google alerts and other pop ups for our social media channels and some of the players’ personal accounts.

“You’re going to be busy today. Mason’s mrs has been all over social media going bat shit crazy all evening, accusing him of cheating and allsorts.” 

I narrowed my eyes at the screen trying to pick out Mason’s name in the pop ups. 

“Are you sure?” I asked as I scrolled through.

Billy was right though, Mason’s social media was flooded with people commenting in the defence of his girlfriend, asking how he could ever dare cheat on her. I clicked through from Mason’s page to hers and listened to the short clip from her tik tok where she explained that Mason’s head wasn’t fully in their relationship and she felt that could only mean one thing, that he was cheating on her. I rolled my eyes but at the same time I didn’t quite know what to think. Was Mason really that type of guy? Footballers have a really shit reputation for cheating because they can basically get any girl that they want but we had that chat the other day when I was upset about Ben and he had told me that he didn’t want to end things with her because he was scared of being alone.

“Do you think he actually did it? I can do a better job of squashing this if he didn’t” 

Billy shook his head and straight away said “No way. Ok he’s not really in it anymore but he feels really bad about that because they’ve been together so long and she even went with him when he played for Vitesse.”

“Do you think that you can send him my way when he’s free? I’ll do my best to block the trolls and we’ll deal with the rest when I see him.”

 --------------------------------------------------------

  “I am so sorry for running out on you last weekend.” 

Ben had come in from training to spend his lunch break with me and was currently grovelling. I was quite enjoying having his attention again and wasn’t going to let him off the hook for disappearing that easily. 

“Can I ask what was so important?”

“It’s going to sound stupid but I went back to Leicester. There was this kid there that I used to give my shirts to every week and he tweeted that it was his birthday and that he never got my shirt from the last game I played so I kind of panicked and drove up there with it.” he said.

He seemed genuine and if true, that was a very nice thing to do for a young fan. I felt the ice wall around my heart melt a little. 

“I guess I can forgive you then.” I smiled.

“I hope no one told you to stop seeing me.” he mumbled, his head slightly turned in the direction of the door as if he was checking no one was listening.

I laughed and took a dramatic pause before I responded. “Bri was too loved up with Billy to give any kind of real opinion on the matter and the only other person I spoke to was Mase who told me that I should give you another chance.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of Mason’s name which seemed a little bit weird but then again he probably knew about what was happening in Mason’s relationship right now so dropped whatever he was going to say about it. 

“Do you want to go and see a movie later? Mads has been going on and on about one he saw recently. Can’t remember the name of the top of my head but it sounds good.” 

“That sounds nice. As long as it’s not a horror film then I’m up for it.” I responded.

Then feeling bad that I had been a bit stand-offish with him, I leant across the desk and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. As I sat back down in my seat he mumbled “tease.”

“Sorry you still don’t get to go back to full benefits that easy Mr Chilwell.” I grinned. 

“Ok then gorgeous. Can I pick you up at about 7? I’ll look at the film times and see if we can squeeze dinner in before.” he said, standing from his chair and subtly trying to brush crumbs from his sandwich onto the floor. 

“Yeah ok, I’ll be ready by then. I’m hoping that I won’t need to stay late tonight.” I stood from behind the desk to see him out and pecked him again on the lips just outside my office. 

“See you later.” he grinned before leaving in the direction of the training pitches.

Just as Ben turned the corner, Mason came towards the door from the opposite direction, his brow furrowed. 

“Are you here to see me?” I asked him.

“Of course, you asked for me?” 

He sounded very upset so I tried my best not to get snappy at him.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t sure if you had gotten the message that’s all. Come in and I’ll make us a drink.”

His expression softened a little then and he entered the office, heading straight for the more comfortable chairs over the in the corner.

Thinking that it might be more comforting than a coffee, I made him a hot chocolate and finished it off with whipped cream on top. The only thing missing from it was some chocolate sprinkles.

He laughed when I passed him the mug and said “hey where are the smarties or the dolly mixtures?”

“It does seem like it needs something on top of the cream doesn’t it?” I laughed.

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes while Mason sipped his drink and tried to calm himself down. 

“I’ve seen her video.” I started.

“It’s a load of shit. You know it’s a load of shit right? Do you know what brought her to post that? They have a fucking new song coming out that’s about cheating and revenge and she wanted to use our relationship to promote it so their PR people told her to post a video about suspecting me of cheating to get her social media engagement up!” his voice escalated in volume as he spoke.

“Are you telling me that it was fake?”

He nodded. “Sorry for getting so angry and aggressive about it but how dare she shit on me and my image to further hers?!”

“Fuck, ok. I’m trying to think about how we manage this. If we come out and say that you haven’t done anything then I’m sure she’ll make your life living hell for it. If you were to break up with her over this, she can then make it spiral even more out of control and can use that to almost confirm her story.” I sighed, feeling so frustrated and angry for him. 

“I want to break up with her now. I can’t stand the sight of her face. I don’t think I can go home and see her tonight. I don’t know what to do. I know you say she can then make it worse but I don’t know if I care at this point.” he put his head in his hands.

“Speaking to you as a friend, I think you need to do what is best for you and we will deal with the fall out from it together. We put out something this afternoon on your socials that deny her claims and we continue to do that until the story dies.” I said.

He looked over the top of his hands at me and nodded.

“Do you trust me to do this for you?” I asked.

“Of course. I’m grateful for your time. I know this isn’t exactly part of your job.”

“Marina would never forgive me if I let this get out of control and it started to affect your performance of the pitch or brought the image of the club into disrepute.” I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, hoping that he found the little bit of contact reassuring. 

He looked at me, the hands that had been covering his face now in his lap and bit his lip. There was a silence between us again, and just as I was about to ask him if he felt any better, he leant in and pressed his lips against mine, his left hand coming up and cupping my cheek.

It took a lot longer for me to react and pull away from him than it should have, and he looked shocked when I did.

“Fuck!” he shouted before scrambling out of his seat and walking quickly to the door, running his hands through his hair. “Fuck!” he shouted again before slamming the door shut behind him.