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illfoandillfie · 4 years

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5 Simple Rules for a Successful Fake Relationship: Failure To Launch

5 SIMPLE RULES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: Tensions rise as you try to deal with Ben's secret and keep your fake relationship afloat. But when the script calls for an argument, will too much be said?

Warnings: Still pretty innocent. Some swearing, passing reference to Ben smoking, references to sex but not explicitly so, a discussion of a douchbag ex, a public argument.

Words: 6587

A/N: We’re really in it now folks.

Originally there was going to be more in this chapter but it was getting too long and kind of undercut what is now the end of the chapter, so I rearranged some stuff. But that just means there’s a whole extra chapter that I didn’t think would be there when I wrote the masterlist lmao.

Taglist: @laedymoon @dtfrogertaylor @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @tenement-funstah

@coni-martina @johndeaconshands

When you finally found the courage to leave the bathroom Ben was waiting for you in the seat he’d vacated earlier, now under a crocheted throw and staring at his phone. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, smiling softly when he saw you. “Sorry,” you blurted out, dropping onto the end of the couch furthest from where he sat. “No worries,” he laughed, “you ready to keep watching?” “Mmhmm,” “Are you alright? You look a little pale,” “Fine, thanks. Just tired. Might call it quits after this ep.” “You wanna share the blanket?” “Nah, I’m not that cold,” your heart was racing with every word of forced naturality, white noise filling your brain and nervous butterflies filling your stomach. Did he always smile like that when he saw you? What other signs had you missed? You tucked your legs under yourself and pulled your phone out, a barrier between you and he, and a way to keep your hands busy as you tried to focus on the show. It was pointless though. It felt like an age had passed since you began the episode. A dramatic shift in your reality had occurred. You couldn’t remember what had been happening when the pause button was hit let alone understand what was going on now. There just wasn’t space in your head, not when you had to keep reminding yourself to breathe and not look over at Ben. God how you wished you hadn’t gone into the kitchen. Ignorance truly was bliss. You rubbed your thumb over the locked screen of your phone, occasionally unlocking it and opening an app before locking it again, the episode dragging on in the background. Finally, it finished, after much too much time. “Ready for bed or d’you wanna squeeze in one more?” Ben asked, apparently completely at ease. “Definitely time for bed,” you yawned as you stood up, praying Ben wouldn’t stop you. “Alright. I’m gonna stay up a bit longer so if the TVs too loud let me know.” “Night,” “Sleep tight, cuddle bunny.” You could feel Ben’s eyes on you as you headed through the doorway, only barely stopping yourself from sprinting to the safety of your room. You weren’t at all tired, but you turned the light out all the same, stumbling towards your bed by the glow of your phone. As you settled again the pillows you let out a long breath, finally allowing yourself to relax. There was nothing else to do but try to distract yourself, until you felt tired enough. You checked your emails again, but there was nothing new besides some spam for bitcoins. Then you opened youtube, hoping to find some sort of relaxing video that would help you get to sleep. It worked for a while, made you focus on counting your breaths and the meditation that was calmly being spoken. But then it stopped working, thoughts of Ben wriggling back to the forefront of your mind, making a lump form in your throat. A little while later you heard Ben’s footsteps pass by your door as he made his way to his room, the low hum of voices on the TV now quiet. You held your breath as he paused outside your room but his footsteps backtracked, a light flicked off, and then the door to your spare room shut behind him. You didn’t dare move until you were sure he was in bed. But he didn’t stir again, and you fell into a fitful sleep, interrupted by dreams in which you and Ben walked around hand in hand, sometimes blissfully happy, sometimes unable to separate, glued together like a bug caught on flypaper.

The sun had risen by the time you called a time of death on a decent night’s sleep, though it was still what you’d normally consider much too early. It was even too early for Ben who, as you’d come to learn in your months crashing at each other’s places, usually woke before you and enjoyed teasing you about being a teenager for sleeping in so late. You tiptoed to the kitchen and tried not to make too much noise as you brewed yourself a coffee. Maybe it was the new morning bringing clarity or maybe it was delirium from lack of sleep, but you felt you had a better grasp of the situation now. The fact was you didn’t like Ben in that way. And he knew that. So the obvious thing to do was nothing. If you said anything, confessed that you’d overheard him, it’d just end up with both of you feeling embarrassed and you having to put what you both already knew into words that would just hurt Ben more. And that would only add extra stress onto whatever dates and staged relationship moments you’d have to take part in. Because you couldn’t just stop pretending to date. Not when your story was creating buzz for your movie. Not when you were looking for a new job and every scrap of notoriety you could find would help increase your chances of actually landing some of the roles you auditioned for. You’d just have to grin and bear it for a few months. But you supposed that’s what Ben had been doing since who knew how long. With coffee in hand you made your way back to your room, fortifying yourself for what was to come.

It was a few hours before you saw Ben, sleep tousled and searching for caffeine. He took one glance at you and then stepped in close, bringing his hand up to your forehead. You were too stunned by the sudden warmth and how all the air suddenly smelt of him to do more than quietly ask what he was doing. “Checking your temperature. Not like you to beat me out of bed. And you still look kind of pale. Are you sure you feel okay?” “I feel fine Ben.” He withdrew his hand slowly but didn’t move away, his eyes darting to your lips and away again. You stepped back. Ben cleared his throat and turned back to the coffee he was halfway through making, “Are you still okay to give me a lift back to the pub?” “Yeah, of course. Just let me have a shower first.” “Yeah, no rush.” You managed to mostly avoid Ben until you were both in the car. The evidence of his breakfast was loaded into the dishwasher when you got out of the bathroom but he himself was standing on your back patio, looking up at the overcast sky as smoke from his morning cigarette dissipated around him. He waved through the window when he saw you. After that all you had to do was wait for him to brush his teeth and gather up his bag while you flittered from room to room making yourself look busier than you were. Once in the car you started a safe conversation about what you’d be doing for the rest of the day. “I’m going over to a mates house in the afternoon to watch the football but that’s about it. What about you?” “Um, nothing much really. I have a couple of scripts to look over but other than that nothing. I’ll probably just go back to bed though.” “Probably a good idea.” “Do I look that bad? I thought the concealer covered the worst of it.” He shook his head with a smile, “No, you look lovely. Always do. But I heard you tossing and turning a bit last night, didn’t sound like you got much sleep.” “Yeah, just had one of those nights,” you tried to wave him off, back to safer waters. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes, I promise I’m okay,” when Ben didn’t stop looking concerned you added, “Just had some weird dreams, that’s all.” “You should’ve come hopped into bed with me. Nothing like a boyfriend to scare off weird dreams.” You forced yourself to laugh along, “Not sure fake boyfriends work so well. And it really wasn’t that bad.” He shrugged, “The offer stands for next time.” You didn’t know what else to say so you fell quiet. On one hand it was Ben. Ben who’d come to be one of your closest friends, who could make you laugh at the drop of a hat, who geeked out about sports and didn’t mind when you teased him for it. Usually you would have called him a dork and made a joke about how you’d hog the blankets or kick him in your sleep if he was unlucky enough to share a bed with you. But now that didn’t seem right. You didn’t want to lead him on at all. Didn’t want him to read more into your dumb jokes than you meant. So you let the radio fill the silence until Ben thought of a new topic. Thankfully the pub wasn’t far away, and you only had to fill a few more minutes with idle chatter until you arrived. You followed Ben inside and up to the bar where an amused barman handed over the keychain as Ben thanked him profusely. “God I would have been screwed if they hadn’t been there,” he said, relieved, as you stepped back out into the grey street. “Good thing they were there then,” you knew your tone was off, knew you should be standing closer to him in case anyone was looking, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take the step, “Where’re you parked?” “Just around the corner. Thanks for the lift, cuddle bunny,” Ben stepped close enough to pull you into a hug. Your chest tightened as you tried to stay relaxed, throwing your own arms over his shoulders like you normally would have. “Have a good day. Get some rest,” he said, kissing your cheek as he let you go. “I’ll try. Have a good day yourself.” With a wave Ben took off down the street and you got back in your car, driving in the opposite direction. It wasn’t until you were back home in your pyjamas that you realised that if Ben had heard you not sleeping, he mustn't have been sleeping either.

Filming being over was a blessing, even if it did mean you were unemployed. It at least gave you a reprieve from being around Ben, although, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, it also felt weird to not see him every day. He’d become such a consistent part of your life, even without the whole fake dating thing, that the absence of his almost constant presence made you feel a little off kilter. You hadn’t seen him since he’d stayed the night, too nervous about how to act around him now, but you had exchanged a few texts and he called once to check that you’d caught up on sleep. It was the sort of thing a friend might do, so it didn’t make your stomach do flips the way seeing him in person did. But seeing him was unavoidable, especially after Mary called you to organise the next photo session. She gave you the time and the place and then asked if you had any concerns. You paused, weighing up whether it would be worth it to tell her. Would she tell Peter? Would it get back to Ben? “No, that’s all good. Ben knows?” “Yes, Peter’s talking to him about it. We’ve also been talking about the argument you’ll need to have.” “Oh?” “We’re considering planting someone in the area to record it on their phone. Pictures are good but video is better.” “Okay, that, uh, makes sense, I guess. I s’pose that means we should work out what it’s going to be about.” “That would be useful, Y/N. We’re leaning towards doing it next week.” “That soon?” “Yes, that soon. There’s been an upswing in comments online about the relationship potentially being fake and we’d like to try and clamp down on those.” “People are onto us?” “No, no, there’s always a few unbelievers, we were entirely prepared for that. Every Hollywood couple has endured the same sorts of comments at one time or another, no matter how real they were. But there’s been a few more this week than there were before. We hope that if people see you being unhappy with each other, they’ll be less likely to think it’s fake because A, fake relationships should be happy and B, it’ll make you seem more down to earth, relatable. Every relationship has moments when things aren’t the best and your relationship should reflect that to seem natural.” “Okay, so next week we fight. What about this week? Should we still act super happy and loved up?” “Look, there are pros and cons for that. On one hand if you act like everything is perfect now, it’ll take people by surprise when the argument happens which some people will see as normal and some will see as more evidence for it not being real. On the other if people suspect something is happening then the argument story could lose some of its impact when it runs. Either way, if people are talking about you it’s good, so it’s really up to you and Ben how you want to play it. Maybe give him a call and figure it out before you get there.” That made you feel a little better, hopefully any awkwardness or tension you weren’t able to hide would just be seen as a couple going through a small rough patch.

You bit the bullet and rang Ben as soon as Mary hung up, while you could summon the courage. “Hey, Ben, it’s -,” “Y/N!” A few male voices in the background rose up making high pitched oooo noises and someone wolf whistled. “Sorry, I’m just in the middle of kicking these dickhead’s arses in FIFA, gimme a sec,” “Sure thing,” You hung on the line, trying to work out what you were going to say as you listened to the guys trash talking each other and controller buttons being mashed. Eventually there was a cheer from Ben followed by a hearty suck on that, wanker, and then his laughter. “Hey, cuddle bunny,” The teasing voices started buck up again, but they faded as Ben carried the phone into another room. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked as he closed a door behind him. “Have you spoken to Peter yet?” Ben’s voice lowered, “You mean about the shopping photos? Yeah, he called about an hour ago, why?” “Did he mention the fight next week? “Yeah, it came up,” you weren’t sure whether the melancholy tone you heard was in your heard or not, “is that why you called, to work out what we’ll argue about?” “Not really. Um, I was more thinking about the photos this week and the sort of, um, mood they’ll have.” “Mood?” “Well, like, if we’re leading into a fight wouldn’t it make sense to, I don’t know, kind of hint what’s coming?” “I’d just assumed we’d be all over each other like usual.” “Yeah, I mean, not a huge change. We’d still like hold hands or whatever they want us to do but y’know maybe if we just like make things look a bit tense?” “Oh-kay,” there was definitely less of a smile in his voice now than before, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off though.” “You’re a good actor Ben, I’m sure you’ll manage,” “I wasn’t fishing for that but thanks. It’s more that I’ve missed hanging out with you as much since filming ended, it’ll be hard to hide how happy I am to see you.” “That’s sweet” You wondered if that was because of how he felt about you or just a change in routine throwing him off that way it had done you, “It has felt kind of odd not seeing you every day.” “So let’s just see how we feel on the day then, before we decide what we’re going to do.” “Ben you know I like to plan more than that,” “We have a plan. Go out. Hold hands while we go shopping or whatever and some guy takes our photos. Go home. That’s a pretty solid plan.” “Not quite what I meant though.” There was a muffled shout and you heard Ben cover the receiver and shout something back. “Sorry, the boys think we’re having phone sex or something,” he laughed. “No, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting, I should let you go.” “It’s okay, they can play without me for a bit,” “No, no, you go back to your game.” “Wait, we didn’t talk about what we’re gonna argue about.” “We can discuss it while we’re shopping. Wouldn’t want them to overhear you anyway. You go have fun beating your friends, I’ll see you in a couple of days.” You hung up before he could say anything, feeling more unsure than when you called.

The day of the photos you spent the trip into London psyching yourself up, reminding yourself that this was just acting, and acting was something you could do blindfolded with one hand tied behind your back. Besides, if some of your discomfort showed, it wouldn’t matter, at least you hoped it wouldn’t. Ben was already at the designated meeting spot when you arrived in the city, a photographer nearby waiting to capture your reunion. Having someone to perform for helped ease the tension that had been weighing on you. You smiled at Ben as you approached, legs feeling unsteady, heart racing. As soon as you were close enough you leaned in to steal a quick kiss and let him brush a strand of hair behind your ear, almost whispering your greetings. With the hellos out of the way he took your hand and began leading you up the street. “So where are you taking me this time, babe?” “Nowhere specific, babe,” he laughed, “They just want us to like, be out and about. I’ve been directed to walk us up this way, maybe pop into a shop or stop for a drink or something.” “Any idea how long it’ll take?” “Why? you got somewhere to be?” “Nah, just curious. I can stay for as long as the job takes.” Ben’s fingers flexed against yours, but you weren’t sure if it was in response to your statement or just a coincidence. Either way it made you worry that you were putting more emphasis than usual on this being work for you. Ben couldn’t suspect that something had changed, he couldn’t know what you knew about him. You corrected yourself by squeezing his hand and smiling up at him. As you walked you tried to treat it like you were filming a scene in a movie, just with less blocking and more improv. You were playing a role, playing the girlfriend, and nothing outside of the scene mattered, though occasionally you couldn’t help wondering what was going through Ben’s head. Was he trying to remind himself it was all manufactured or was he letting himself believe it was real? You shook your head and pulled yourself back into the scene. Together you ambled past shops, stopping to look in the windows of some, actually going into others. Inside a cute secondhand bookstore you’d seen but never been in before, Ben insisted on buying you something. He jokingly showed you a copy of the Kama Sutra, softly assuring you that the inernet would lose its mind if that book was seen in a photo. You shook your head and laughed and he put it back and let you pick something much less suggestive. You tried to tell him you could buy it yourself but he took it from your hands with a, “nuh uh, I spoil my girlfriends,” taking it up to the counter before you could protest. All the same you repaid the favour by pulling him to a halt outside a donut shop and buying the both of you a snack. It had the added bonus of giving you an excuse to drop his hand, needing both to keep from dripping chocolate ganache down your front as you continued walking. Ben wasn’t quite so neat as you managed to be, a spot of raspberry jam smeared across his lip and chin. As soon as you noticed it you pointed it out to him, earning a groan as he tried to wipe clean the wrong part of his face. “No, to the left more. My left, sorry.” “Why don’t you just get it for me?” “Really?” “yeah, c’mon. That’s the sort of cute couple thing they want. It’ll go over well on twitter with everyone who mashes our names together in hashtags.” You couldn’t think of reasonable argument not to so, with a smile you hoped didn’t seem too fake, you swiped your thumb over the patch of jam, hesitating for a second before you brought it to your lips and sucked it clean. A soft blush rose on Ben’s cheeks before your eyes and, seemingly unconsciously, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. You didn’t want to hear whatever he might possibly say so you quickly turned to set off walking again, “So, our argument next week.” Ben shook his head, “Right, that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s gotta sound believable if there’s going to be a camera.” “Guess that rules out all the which brand of tea is best type arguments,” “Yeah, it should probably be a little more serious than that,” you conceded with a chuckle “Have you ever had a public argument before?” “Umm,” his question distracted you from the tension you’d been fighting since you arrived, “not like a full on fight but there’ve been snippy comments and disagreements. Sometimes they turned into full on fights once we were home. You?” “Once. At her parent’s place during their anniversary party.” “Yikes,” “Yeah, pretty much,” he chuckled, “We found a spare room before we really had it out, but people still heard.” “God that would have been horrible. I think my worst one was when me and my then boyfriend went out for dinner with some other mates. They were new parents and it was like their first night out since the kid was born and they were talking about how wonderful it all was,” “It’s a miracle don’t you know,” You laughed, “So they said. But they were talking about how hard it had been to start having sex again and then my boyfriend said something like it’s hard enough to get Y/N interested and that’s without a kid.” “Jesus,” “It gets worse. He had another dig at me later for not being adventurous enough and I realised it was because I’d said I wasn’t comfortable with something he wanted to try in the bedroom.” “What an arsehole. Please tell me you broke up with him on the spot,” “God I wish. I stayed with him for another two months,” you sighed at the memory, “But what about you though, what happened with the anniversary fight?” “Uh, well, it all happened pretty quickly. One second I was joking about what we’d be like at our anniversary party, the next she was saying she didn’t see us getting married and then we were in her old bedroom tearing into each other. And not in the fun way.” “Oh shit,” “It was for the best. We were way to young anyway but, still, not super fun. I don’t know if that helps us at all, with our fake argument I mean.” “Well, ours both started with small comments, right? So maybe we start with something small, like how you never put the toilet seat down?” you nudged his shoulder. He laughed, “Yeah, makes sense.” “Then we just have to work out what it builds to,” “Uhhh, things couples fight about… moving in together? Sex? Money? Control?” “Not sex. I’m invoking rule one here, sex is off limits. That’s way too close to home.” “Okay, fair enough.” “What about meeting the parents? We’ve apparently been seeing each other for three or so months now, so that’s not an unreasonable thing to argue about.” “Yeah. And we’re already both coping it from our families anyway, so they’d believe it if one of us wanted to do the family meeting thing and the other didn’t.” “Exactly. So, should I be the hesitant one or you?” “Honestly? I normally would have brought a girlfriend home by now. My parents think it’s really weird that I haven’t.” “Okay, so that makes me the hesitant one then.” “You okay with that?” “Yeah, absolutely.” You were slightly relieved at your role, figuring it’d be easier to act averse to the concept than all for it. “Let’s stop in at that café up there, talk though some things we could say. Give them a shot of us feeding each other chips or something.” Ben said with a playful smile, pointing ahead. You nodded, letting him take your hand again, returning the reassuring squeeze he gave you.

You were woken from another dream about Ben by your phone ringing. Groggily you answered. “Y/N, oh my god, is everything okay with Ben?” “Felicity?” you groaned, trying to push away the surprisingly detailed picture of Ben and you and a page from the Kama Sutra that your brain had conjured during the night. “Were you seriously still asleep? It’s midday.” “Shut up, I’m allowed to sleep in. No job, no auditions. And a shit night sleep.” “Was it because of Ben?” “Why would it be because of Ben?” you asked too quickly. “I saw the photos of you and him out yesterday. Is everything okay between you two?” “What photos?” “They’re on the Heat homepage,” You wedged the phone under your ear as you grabbed your laptop from the bedside table, willing your fingers to work a little faster as you found your way to the website. There was a gallery of photos. You and Ben smiling as you greeted each other. Walking hand in hand. Him through a shop window holding up a book and you laughing at it. You licking jam from your thumb. You paused for a second longer on that shot than the others, automatically focusing on Ben’s expression. Did everyone else see the flush on his cheeks and the look in his eyes? “Why would anything be wrong?” you asked, forcing yourself to move to the next photo, “These all look fine. Normal.” “Really? What about those last few?” Rolling your eyes you keep clicking through until you reached one of Ben, hands in his pockets, frowning a little. The next was you, sitting at the café, looking away from Ben. “Are you going to break up with him?” “What? No, definitely not. We were just talking about something kind of serious, that’s all.” “Break up serious?” “God, Felicity, no,” you almost laughed at the irony of her suggestion, “I guarantee you, we’re not breaking up anytime soon.” An idea came to you. If the world was going to see you arguing about meeting his parents then why not get the ball rolling early, “We were talking about meeting each other’s families. We haven’t done it yet.” “Really?” “Yes, really. He wants to but I’m not super keen to rush into that and it was just a kind of serious conversation. Everything is totally fine.” “Well one of the betting apps has odds up for when you’ll break up. And for who’ll actually end it. Odds are on you, by the way.”

Later that day Mary emailed to let you know the photos were working perfectly – the talk of your relationship being fake had died down – and when the argument would happen. They wanted you to go out to dinner and leave before you were finished, looking like you were on the verge of blowing up. Easy enough. You were prepared. You and Ben had hashed out some things you could use in the argument, without going so far as to write a full script. But the mention of the photos made you curious. What exactly were people saying about you now? Could anyone see what was actually going on, how one sided it all really was? In the days before the scheduled argument you found yourself looking at your own photos more and more. When you weren’t spending your time rehearsing for an audition or with your friends you were on twitter, falling down a rabbit hole of comments and reposted photos. If Felicity, or anyone else you knew for that matter, had found out she would have called you a narcissist. So you kept it to yourself. Your guilty pleasure. Seeing the comments about what a cute couple you were made you feel simultaneously pleased and queasy. You got a strange delight from knowing people believed you enough to speculate about your future, to write fanfiction about you. It was hard to pull your eyes away once you started and it definitely didn’t help you stop dreaming about Ben. The trail of reposted photos in your couple name hashtag led to compilations of screenshots of every comment Ben had left on your photos. All of them flirty and playful and beyond sweet. And he meant them. They weren’t just for show for him, they were real. The queasy feeling grew but still you kept scrolling. Day after Day as you killed time, night after night before sleep took you. Photos posted on Instagram by you or people you’d worked with on The Perfect Match, copied and reuploaded to twitter followed by screencaps of yours and Ben’s comments. Photos of the two of you on set, on dates, cuddled up on your couch. Every single one of them commented on by him. Kiss face emojis or cutesy pet names or sincere messages of attraction, love. The more you looked the more uncomfortable you felt about the whole situation. If Ben really did feel something for you beyond just friendship, then your arrangement wasn’t just unfair it was downright heartless. But, as you reminded yourself, he’d chosen it. If he’d had a crush on you and had still gone ahead with the studio’s plan, that was on him. You could hardly be blamed when you’d been working with half the information. And if it had developed afterwards then it was on him to talk to Peter and call the whole thing off if he had to. You huffed out a breath when you saw the first photo he’d posted of the two of you. The last day of filming, snuggled up in bed. My perfect match. As fucking if. You scrolled further down the hashtag and then back to his photo. The queasy feeling was lessening, being replaced with frustration and anger. Why would he have agreed to the arrangement if his crush was real? Why wouldn’t he have come up with some excuse? You’d expected him to say no anyway, it wouldn’t have surprised you or upset you and they’d had made it clear that you had the option to say no. Who was he to indulge his fantasies about you like this? Without telling you. Was he so sadistic as to enjoy torturing himself like that? If you could only ask him why. Ask how long he’d felt like that. But you couldn’t without admitting to eavesdropping and you couldn’t put an end to it anyway. You were stuck. It was enough to make you want to scream. With a long exhale you made your way to the kitchen for a calming cup of tea. As you reached into the cupboard for a mug your fingers brushed against a handle of his, the one you’d painted for him. You pulled it out and examined the lyrics you’d so carefully lettered. Why’d you have to pick that song of all things? Did he take it as encouragement that you’d picked a song with such lovelorn, infatuated lyrics? You had the sudden urge to smash the mug against the bench top. But you refrained, putting it back and grabbing another.

By the time you were getting ready to meet Ben for the dinner before the argument you were fed up with him and the whole arrangement. You couldn’t open a social media app without seeing a comment or a direct message from someone about Ben, if not from the man himself. You had no one you could talk to about it since, aside from Ben, Mary and Peter were the only people who knew your relationship was fake and neither of them was going to put an end to it if Ben wasn’t uncomfortable enough to mention it himself. Once or twice you’d considered messaging Joe, since he apparently knew everything too, but you’d chickened out every time, not sure how to go about it since you’d never met him and he was likely to tell Ben, even if you swore him to secrecy. You’d even considered telling Felicity but, though you trusted her to keep it to herself, she was kind of getting on your nerves too. Whenever you saw or heard from her, her first questions were always about Ben. She was mostly well intentioned, checking that you were happy and asking how things were between you, but sometimes she was closer to straight up gossiping – updating you on the odds given to those betting you’d still be together by the end of the month, slyly telling you what the latest article in Heat implied. And every time you were reminded of the impossible situation you found yourself in you couldn’t help but blame Ben. You wanted to have a crack at him about it, call him out for being a selfish git. But you had a job to do, and you were nothing if not professional. You went over the plan again – a snippy comment about him not putting the toilet seat down, he’d say something about a bad habit of yours, you warning him no to start something, him starting something anyway by suggesting you weren’t as invested since you refused to meet his family. Lots of crossed arms and unhappy glances and then the strained suggestion you leave. You’d walk back to his car in silence and let the photographer get a few shots before you got in and drove away. Easy.

Ben greeted you outside the restaurant with an easy grin and a complement. “Tone it down, Ben, we’re not meant to be too happy tonight.” “Hey, I’m allowed to be happy until we get into it,” he stopped talking as you went inside and found your table, waiting until the waiter had disappeared with your drink orders before he said anything more to you, “You nervous?” “Not really. It’s just acting.” “So having a public spat doesn’t bother you but you almost lost your lunch over our first date?” You looked down at the menu, “That was just because the whole situation was new and I felt weird about going on a date with you.” “Right,” he looked at his menu too. You didn’t care if it had sounded mean or if he took it personally, it was the truth, “Are you nervous?” “A little.” “Any particular reason?” “Uhh,” he drew the sound out as long as he could, “I just get more nervous before argument scenes than love scenes. I don’t know why. They’re harder to make convincing maybe?” He shrugged and made a face like it was a random suggestion pulled from thin air and not an excuse he’d come up with while stalling for time. You put the menu down and tapped your fingers on the table, looking around at the other patrons but barely taking notice of them. Ben glanced at you but only for a second. It was a relief when the waiter returned with your drinks and asked for your orders, though that didn’t help the strained silence that fell once he’d left again. “So, seen Felicity lately?” Ben asked, making a valiant attempt at polite conversation that you weren’t going to rise to. “The other day.” “How is she?” “Fine.” “That’s good. She still subscribed to Heat?” “Unfortunately. Brings you up every time I talk to her.” You huffed. Ben sighed. Even that annoyed you. You bit your tongue to stop from saying something bitchy before the food arrived. There was a plan to stick to. “How’re you going with auditions?” Ben tried again. “Okay I guess.” “Any callbacks?” “Not yet. You?” “A couple,” he shrugged, “You’ll get one soon, I’m sure. You’re too good an actress not to.” “Yeah, maybe.” Ben took a sip of his drink and sighed again, the noise grating on you, “What’s got into you tonight, Y/N?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice so as not to be overheard, “I know we’re meant to argue but you’re obviously not in a good mood anyway. Did something happen?” “Nothing, Ben. Everything’s fucking peachy.” “Doesn’t really sound like it.” “Drop it Ben.” “Fine. Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and took another drink. You took a drink too, staring at the other side of the room. You hoped that the hired paparazzi was in position and getting some good shots.

The food arrived and you forced yourself to eat some of it, though you didn’t feel like it at all. Ben tried again to get you talking, asking how your meal was but you gave him another short answer. You stopped trying to eat and just moved the food around your plate. He took another drink and gave you a concerned look, “Y/N, if this is about something I’ve done, can you please just tell me.” You couldn’t hold back anymore, all thoughts of the plan, of the argument you were meant to be having, gone, “Of course it’s about something you’ve done.” “Then tell me what it is so I can try to change it.” “You can’t change it Ben.” “Not if I don’t know what we’re talking about. Just talk to me. Do I leave the toilet seat up? Do I load the dishwasher wrong?” He was trying to pull you back on track, “Whatever it is I can fix it. I never want to upset you.” His last sentence was said with such sincerity that you felt your chest constrict, “That’s what I’m talking about Ben. It’s too much.” “Babe,” he reached across to grab your hand but you pulled it back out of his reach, “What do you mean?” “I mean this – us, you and me. You’re so earnest and I can’t keep….” “Y/N, don’t.” “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay Ben. Not when you’re posting on Instagram that we’re a perfect match and you’re calling to check up on me and acting like we’re super fucking serious. You’re clingy and needy and I can’t keep pretending I love you as much as you love me.” You bit your tongue before you could say anything more you shouldn’t and stood up, “I’m sorry. I need some space.” Ben looked completely stunned only managing to blurt your name out once you’re back was to him. With a hand over your mouth you hurried from the restaurant, able to feel the eyes of everyone in the room burning into you. There was a clatter of cutlery as Ben stood up behind you. but you didn’t know if he’d followed. You didn’t turn back.

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #my writing #my fics #i dont even know what to say #skdfhkdsf #sorry but it had to happen

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