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zepskies · 11 months

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Love Actually - Part 1

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

AN: Here’s my last entry for the TGWRC: Christmas in July event! It’s set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Theme: Christmas movies Prompt: “That’s a poor excuse for a tree.”

Word Count: 3,100 Tags/Warnings: SB being himself, wee bit of angst, potential fluff overload!

Part 1: "Humbug"

He was late.

It was Christmas Eve, and your boyfriend was late.

With a large bowl of popcorn in your lap, you sunk further into your favorite corner of the couch, drumming your nails on its arm.

Your favorite Christmas movie played on the ridiculously large flatscreen Ben had insisted on when you two moved into this apartment. But you couldn’t get into the story like you normally would.

It was the first Christmas you and Ben were spending together since he’d started working with, instead of against Supe Affairs and the CIA. In fact, he was on an extended mission—hunting down a rogue supe in Idaho, of all places.

Freakin’ Idaho. Goddamn potatoes, you thought irrationally, shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth.

While he’d been gone, you went all out in decorating the apartment: red and white candles, stockings, various ornaments, multicolored string lights, and poinsettias. You’d even found a nice little tree that fit in the only free corner of the living room.

Well, you’d had to rearrange some furniture to make that happen, but in the end you’d succeeded. It felt like you were living at the bottom of a snow globe.

You hadn’t heard from Ben at all in over two weeks. The day he left you outside your office in the Surveillance department replayed often in your mind.

Two weeks ago…

“Don’t give me that face, baby doll.”

Ben quirked a smile at your concerned frown, and he propped a gentle fist under your chin. You crossed your arms.

You knew he had to go. Butcher and the rest of the guys were waiting outside the S.A. office. And you were proud of him for what he was doing, genuinely trying to put in the work on this “hero” thing. But you didn’t have to like the timing. It was only two weeks until Christmas.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Just get this guy quick. I don’t want to hear my aunt’s shady-ass sniping. Every time I show up to a family gathering by myself, she starts plotting my arranged marriage to her fucking pediatrist, her divorce attorney—mind the irony there—or even the guy who packages meat at the grocery store—”

“All right, Christ. I’ll be back in fucking time,” said Ben. He grabbed your arms to stop your verbal flapping. Then with a grin, his hands moved to the curve of your waist, down to get a healthy grip of your ass.

“’Sides, I’m the only one flingin’ meat around here,” he said with a deepening smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile threatened to take over your frown as he pulled you flush against him, trapping your hands against his broad chest. You found purchase on the hard fabric of his uniform.

“You’re so gross,” you said. But you pulled him down for a searing kiss. If you weren’t going to see his handsome face for a while, then you were going to make the most of this moment.

And it seemed your boyfriend felt the same way; his arms wrapped around your frame like steel bands. Your fingers swept through his hair as your tongue slipped into his mouth, making his grip on you tighten with a pleased hum.

“Oi! Sid and fuckin’ Nancy,” Butcher called from down the hall. “Got a fucking job to do. Today, if you don’t mind.”

Ben broke away from you, just enough to frown in irritation over your head.

“Calm your fucking tits, Churchill. I’ll leave when I’m good and damn ready.”

You couldn’t help but giggle into his chest.

Now, it was quite literally hours away from Christmas Day.

You would be seeing your family tomorrow, regardless. You and Ben were supposed to go to your mother’s house for dinner. But you were starting to think that he might not make it tonight, let alone tomorrow.

And if you had to deal with your aunt nosing into your personal business again, your hand might just “slip” while pouring yourself a rum-filled eggnog, so you wouldn’t be held liable for your actions when you inevitably snapped on the bitch.

Sighing, you continued munching on some popcorn while you focused on one of your favorite parts of Love Actually. Hugh Grant was shaking his ass to “Jump In” by the Pointer Sisters.

The music was infectious, and you found yourself doing a little shimmy yourself on the couch in time with one of your favorite rom-com Brits.

With the TV volume as loud as it was, not even the door of your apartment unlocking could stop your mini-jam session.

And the door soon opened, revealing a dusty, soot-covered Benjamin, still in his supe suit and tactical gear. He took a small step back when the gaudy Christmas décor assaulted his eyes, but he blinked through it as he turned his head.

His lips curved at the familiar sight of you—bundled up in your pajamas and a fuzzy blanket on the couch, bopping to the beat of some shitty ‘80s song he actually recognized. You were alternatively mouthing the words and eating fistfuls of popcorn.

Shaking his head, Ben stepped into the apartment and shut the door with some force. You finally perked up at the sound, your smile alight with happiness when you realized he was home. That alone made him soften a bit.

“Ben!” You paused your movie and bounded over to greet him with a warm hug and a deep kiss.

He brushed your hair back and allowed himself to revel in the familiarity of you in his arms.

“Aren’t you a fucking sight,” he murmured.

Ben was still getting used to having someone to come home to, but it was grounding. This place was his home now, mostly because you were in it.

“You okay? How did it go?” you asked, wiping off some soot from his cheek.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ben offered you a cocky smile. “We smoked that pyro bitch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“Relax, the supe’s alive,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it grated him to admit it. He wouldn’t tell you that the supe had two broken arms and probably a crack in his skull. “Being shipped off to prison as we speak.”

You nodded with a smile. “Good. I’m proud of you.”

His lips pulled at a grin. But then you took his face between your hands with a hard slap (though it didn’t even sting, the point was made in your annoyed frown).

“You’re late,” you said. Ben raised a brow.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You heard me. You’re fucking late,” you repeated. “Go take a shower. I already started the first movie without you.”

You tugged him by the hand and all but pushed him into the hall that led to your shared bedroom.

Ben wasn’t one to be manhandled though. He dug his heels in obstinately.

“Christ, I just got home. All I want to do is sleep…unless you want to give me a proper fucking welcome.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder with a more than suggestive smirk. He turned around and pulled you into his firm chest. His hands smoothed down your back and squeezed your hips, with his thumbs dragging under the hem of your pajama top.

While your lips threatened a smile, you had to wonder how he had enough energy for reunion sex, but not enough to watch a simple movie.

Still, his offer was all-too tempting, making heat prickle along your skin wherever he touched. Nonetheless, you managed to remain stubborn and pushed gently against his chest.

“Down, boy,” you said. “If I let you get your hands on me now, I’ll never get through my list.”

First it was Love Actually, then Christmas Vacation, followed swiftly by Home Alone and its sequel, Lost In New York.

Ben frowned at you. “So? Watch ‘em tomorrow.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Christmas Eve.”

You gestured to all your hard work in the form of the decorated apartment.

“Tomorrow, we have dinner at my mom’s house. So tonight, you’re gonna go shower," you said, pointing at him. "I’m going to make some more hot chocolate, and we’re watching all manner of cheesy, romantic, and downright silly Christmas movies until your Grinch-ass gets some holiday spirit.”

Ben released a tired sigh and dropped his hands away from you.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days," he said. "I’m not staying up all night again for some corny bullshit.”

You frowned in disappointment.

“Ben, come on. Please?” you tried, but he just waved a dismissive hand and continued his way to the bedroom.

For a moment, you watched him go in disbelief. Was he really going to be like that?

With a flash of hot annoyance, you huffed and decided that you weren’t going to let him ruin the night for you.

So you went into the kitchen and whipped up some hot cocoa, breaking out the actual Godiva chocolate bars you bought just for this moment. You poured out one mug initially. But you listened to the old water pipes working, knowing that Ben must’ve been taking a shower.

You knew he wasn’t just tired. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to tomorrow either, and was going along with it for your sake. Which, to be fair, could just mean he still wasn’t totally comfortable around your family. (Your sister Luisa still hadn’t totally warmed up to him.)

You also had a feeling that he just wasn’t into Christmas.

The question was why…

But you poured a mug for him anyway, adding some mini marshmallows into each one. You brought both mugs with you back to the living room and set them down on the coffee table.

Getting comfortable on the couch again, complete with your blanket, mug, and the popcorn bowl, you pressed “play” and continued watching the movie…even though you felt just a bit lonelier.

But then, a weight dropped on the other end of the couch. You flinched and looked over at your now clean and pajama-clad boyfriend, who eyed you begrudgingly with his arms crossed over a soft plain shirt.

You smiled at him warmly. “Hey, baby.”

His grouchy face was the very picture of “humbug.” Biting your lip, you set down the popcorn on the coffee table and handed him the spare cup of hot chocolate.

“I made some for you,” you said. He gave you a brief nod and took a dutiful sip. But not even rich, chocolatey goodness could curb his sour mood as he stared blandly at the screen.

You knew that face. That was his, I’ll do this for you, but I’m not gonna fucking like it—face.

When he stifled a yawn, you knew that he hadn’t been lying. He really was tired. Sometimes you forgot that while Ben was all but indestructible, even he had his limits. Chasing that rogue supe across the country must’ve taken it out of him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

So you reached over and plucked the mug out of his hand. His brows knit together as he watched you set it down on the coffee table with yours. Then you grabbed his hand.

“Come ‘ere,” you said, tugging him toward you.

“What now?” he groused.

“Just come on. Don’t bitch,” you teased. You guided him to lay across the couch, with his head pillowed in your lap. You grabbed an extra throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him, making sure that it covered him up to his chest.

“What am I, a damn kid?” he said. But you knew his griping had no real weight. Already he was humming deep with pleasure as your fingers carded through his soft brown hair. You let your nails drag lightly over his scalp, massaging his head. Your free hand stroked his cheek.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh through his nose. The movie continued to play, but you were no longer paying much attention. This was more important.

When he opened his eyes again, they were drawn to the small, four-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, next to the TV.

“That’s a poor fucking excuse for a tree,” he said.

You frowned and followed his gaze.

“I think it’s adorable,” you replied. And it was the only one you thought would fit in this cozy, but very narrow apartment.

Ben’s arms crossed over his blanket.

“I’ll go tomorrow, find us a real fucking tree,” he said.

Your frown deepened a little. “But I already decorated this one. All by myself, I might add.”

He eyed you then, a bit softer.

“All right, we’ll get a second one for the dining room,” he grumbled. “Getting the tree up is a man’s job anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at that. But you tried to see if there was anything deeper to read in his words. Not for the first time, you wondered how he’d spent his holidays in the past. No doubt with a lot of fanfare and celebrity parties during his hay day as Soldier Boy. You were more interested in his life before that.

“I remember, my mom would run the show at Christmas,” Ben said.

You blinked down at him in surprise. Without knowing, he’d opened up on your exact curiosity.

Or maybe he just knew you better than you thought.

“She’d have all the help in a damn tear around the house. Cooking, decorating, the whole nine yards. It was a perfect scene, like something out of a catalogue,” said Ben. “But getting the tree was always my dad’s job. His only job, really.”

You smiled and continued to listen with rapt attention. Your thumb continued to stroke along his neck.

“One year, he got this massive one. Must’ve been…I don’t know, twenty feet. I don’t even know how he got it through the door, but he was mighty fucking proud of himself,” Ben said.

His gaze trailed beyond you, lost in faded memories. They played in his mind like a reel, wordless, but bright and warm.

“Who decorated it?” you asked. Your voice drew his attention back.

“Me and him,” Ben admitted, surprising you yet again. “Meanwhile, Mom baked up a storm for the Christmas party they threw every year…”

It was a rare moment where Ben recalled what seemed to be a nice memory of his father. But soon enough, the nostalgia dimmed from his eyes.

He cleared his throat and swiped a hand over his mouth, as if that could erase his moment of vulnerability.

Then he turned to face the TV screen.

“So what’s even happening here? Seems like there’s four goddamn movies playing at once.”

You cracked a smile and continued brushing your fingers through his hair. You also rewinded the movie so he could actually follow the story.

“Yeah, that’s what makes this movie so classic. See, there’s Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. They’re married, kids, the perfect life, right? But he’s actually cheating on her with a younger, sluttier woman.”

“…And this is a fucking Christmas movie?”

“Yeah, you’ll see. Then there’s Liam Neeson.”

Ben perked up at that. “The Taken guy?”

You nodded. “Yep! He’s a widower, but he has a stepson who’s got a sweet little crush. So he’s gonna try and help the kid impress the girl by helping him learn the drums.”

Your boyfriend nodded.

“Musicians get plenty of pussy, that’s for damn sure,” he said. And with a knowing grin, “Actors get more though.”

You snorted and pointed to Hugh Grant next. “He’s my favorite. He’s playing the Prime Minister, who falls in love with his assistant, Natalie. That’s her right there.”

Ben raised a brow at your choice of “favorite.” If nothing else, he noted your type for older men.

But he smirked when Natalie kept verbally fumbling in Hugh’s presence, then stared along with the Prime Minister at the woman’s ass when she walked away at the end of the scene.

“Hmm, I’ll admit. She’s got a juicy peach,” Ben remarked. You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully. It worked an amused smile onto his face.

He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed the back of it to his lips. You blinked down at him, and you warmed with a smile at seeing his more relaxed face.

He kept your hand on his chest, his thumb drawing back and forth over your wrist.

So you proceeded to explain the various angles of the movie until he was all caught up.

You two watched the rest of it together. Like always, you cried when Colin Firth poured his heart out to his housekeeper, Aurélia, half in his mangled Portuguese and half in English. You cried again when Emma’s character finally confronted her cheating bastard husband.

And you held your breath when Hugh and Natalie kissed as the stage curtain fell down, revealing their relationship to the world.

By the time the credits rolled, you were an emotional mess. You were happy though. Typically you’d watch this movie with your sister, but it was nice to share the holidays with someone…

Someone who loved you enough to curb his Grinch attitude about cheesy romantic things, like tree decorating and watching rom-coms with hot cocoa.

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was asleep. He had turned onto his stomach. His head still rested in your lap, his cheek pillowed by your thigh, and he had a hand curled around your leg. Your big, growling bear of a man had a gooey center that sometimes surprised even you.

For one mischievous moment, you considered sticking a piece of popcorn up his nose.

He looked so damn peaceful that you didn’t want to ruin it…yet now you couldn’t get up either.

Shit, you thought, but your grin was soft. Oh, whatever. Sleep is overrated.

You queued up Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation next in your movie marathon and settled in. You laid a gentle hand on Ben’s back, between his broad shoulders.

And his story about his parents returned to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe he didn’t hate Christmas. Maybe it was just difficult for him to remember the genuinely good ones. Maybe he missed his parents; both of them, despite how contentious it had been between him and his father.

You could certainly understand that. But now, you would make sure he would remember this one for the “good” column.

You only startled a little when your cell phone chimed on the coffee table. The screen read 12:00 a.m. It was officially December 25th.

You then felt Ben’s warm hand squeeze your leg. His eyes were still shut though, his breathing deep and even in sleep.

With a smile, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

And you whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

AN: Yay! I hope you liked this fluffy one for SB. 🎄❤️

Did you like Ben's little day trip down memory lane? Let me know in the comments! 😘

**Note: There will be two more parts to this due to popular request!

Keep Reading: PART 2

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1mnobodywhoareyou · 1 month

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rewrite the pain

JatP | G | 2217 words | alive, aged-up AU

Is a special gift for @narcissusbrokenmirror - hope you like it! It'll get posted to ao3 sometime after I wake up :D

Bobby’s been running behind all day. Almost entirely of his own doing, of course: he’d stayed in bed longer than he should have, let himself get lost in nothing instead of getting ready, forgot to eat until it was almost too late. And it’s not even early. There’s no reason he couldn’t have been ready to be somewhere for 10am. Other than the way his brain just won’t LET him get things done.

He shakes his head to clear his mind, not letting himself fall down the self-hate rabbithole. He’s learning to not beat himself up about this kind of thing any more but, well, old habits die hard.

Bobby looks up at the house shrouded by more greenery than Bobby’s ever seen on a residential lot before. He doesn’t even want to think about how much time, energy, and money it takes to maintain this yard. So he doesn’t. Or tries not to, anyway.

He double checks the address and makes his way up the walk. He rings the doorbell and waits. When there’s no answer, he knocks a few times. He backs down the walk when he’s met with nothing and triple checks the address. He confirms that he is indeed in the right place and looks around, trying to find signs of life or clues to where everyone could be.

Bobby notices a sidewalk that crosses the front of the house and makes his way down it, peering around the side of the house as he reaches the corner. He can hear voices coming from the backyard and decides to brave the rest of the journey.

He attempts a futile knock on the gate, knowing that nobody will hear it anyway, before pushing it open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he notices people he recognizes.

Luke immediately catches sight of him. “Bobby!” he exclaims, running up to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Glad you could make it. Bex will be so happy to see you!”

Bobby huffs out a light laugh, “Thanks.” He holds out the gift that he’d had tucked under his arm. “Where do you want me to put this?”

“Oh, I’ll take it. Let’s introduce you to everyone!”

Bobby hands Luke the gift as he agrees to the offer. He trails behind Luke as they make their way around the yard to meet Bex’s… family, he guesses. Who knew that one child could have so many adults who wanted to show up for her? He smiles in amusement to himself as he notices a distinct lack of other children in attendance.

“So you’re Bex’s… babysitter?” one of the older men asks when Luke introduces them.

“Yes, sir.”

“Huh. How does a man your age wind up babysitting toddlers?”

Bobby gapes at him. It’s not like it’s a question he hasn’t faced before. Or asked himself, quite frankly. But it’s not often that people are so up front about it.

The more he sees about the inner workings of Bex’s family, the more confused he winds up about his answers to the question. How did he, a man in his early 30s, wind up babysitting Bex, a toddler with more than enough grown ups around to ensure she never gets a moment alone for the rest of her life? Granted, a LOT has happened in the last several months. Very, very quickly, even. But Bobby’s still not entirely sure how HE got here.

“Could ask how a man your age winds up at a toddler he’s not related to’s third birthday party, no?” a familiar feminine voice says from behind Bobby.

Bobby turns to greet Carrie with a smile. “Hey, Care.”

“Hey, loser. Don’t mind Caleb. He’s just…” she narrows her eyes at Caleb, “like that.”

Bobby looks back at Caleb who’s mid-eye roll.

“I’m here for the same reason the rest of us are. She asked,” Caleb rebuts.

“Yeah, lucky us,” Carrie mutters under her breath. She turns her attention back to Bobby, “Did you and Luke finish the rounds?”

Bobby looks around the backyard, noticing that Luke had disappeared at some point, and confirms that he had met everybody new. Most of whom were Julie’s family.

Carrie grabs him by the elbow and steers him toward the refreshment table.

“Luke should have at least gotten you a drink before subjecting you to the chaos,” she says as she shoves a plastic cup full of punch into his hand.

Bobby lets out a light chuckle. “It wasn’t that bad. Everyone seems nice and it’s only like four new people. They can’t be any worse than what I’m used to.”

Just as he’s about to take a sip, he’s shoved backward by tiny arms wrapping around his legs.

Bobby steadies himself and his drink, being careful not to spill it on Bex’s head. He looks down with a smile. “Hey Bex!” he greets, stopping himself from ruffling her hair when he notices that she’s sporting neat pigtails. He can’t help but wonder how many people it took to actually get her hair done. He laughs lightly to himself as he imagines a few possible scenarios.

Bobby crouches down to meet Bex properly. “Happy birthday, kiddo! You having lots of fun?”

Bex nods vigorously. In typical Bex fashion, she starts to rattle off all the things she’d been doing before he got there. Far too quickly for Bobby to follow.

When she finishes, she stares at him expectantly.

Bobby laughs. “Why don’t you just show me?” he offers.

She reaches up for his free hand and pulls him away from Carrie.

Bobby holds his cup up to Carrie in apology. She waves him off with a fond smile of her own.

Bex leads Bobby around the backyard, showing him all her favourite things (and people). He waves and nods in acknowledgement to everyone Bex (re)introduces him to. He can’t help but laugh every time she pulls him away before he can get more than two words out in any given conversation she butts them into.

Bex eventually bores of Bobby and is successfully lured away by games and treats and family. Specifically by Carlos deciding that he wanted to experiment with what kinds of things he could convince Bex to do. Bribery with candy included.

Bobby shakes his head in amusement as he watches them walk away. He looks around the backyard again, taking in the mishmash of ongoing conversations. He notices that every single adult somehow manages to keep half an eye on Bex at all times. It’s not something he sees often from families of his other babysitting clients, not that he gets to see them engage with their kids directly very often.

He tops up his cup of punch and climbs the handful of stairs to the porch. He leans over the railing as he takes in the chaos. While he has no issue being a part of the action when he’s wanted, he does still have a general preference for watching from the sidelines. Bex and Carlos are taking turns chasing each other around the yard, occasionally tagging in someone new who plays for a round or two before resuming whatever they’d been engaged in before.

The creak of the porch stairs redirects his attention. He turns to see Alex climbing up the steps, wiping at his eyes. As observant as Bobby is, he’d somehow manage to miss whatever it was that had loosened Alex’s emotions.

“Oh, shit. I didn’t think anyone would be up here,” Alex says when he notices Bobby, a slight wobble in his voice.

“It’s okay, man. There’s room for two,” Bobby moves over to sell the point. “Y’alright?”

Alex sniffs before directing a grateful look Bobby’s way. He settles in against the porch railing in the open space beside Bobby. “‘S just a lot, you know?”

Bobby coughs out a dry laugh, “Which part?”

Alex turns to look at Bobby, brows furrowed. “All of it.”

They both redirect their attention to the party below them.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind…”

“I won’t. But thanks.”

Bobby hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything further. While he doesn’t get it, he gets it. It’s weird coming from a life like his and seeing kids be loved so deeply. It’s beautiful but hurts in a way that he can’t quite put words to. He can only imagine how much more complicated those feelings are as a parent.

They stand together in silence for several long minutes. Bobby takes a sip of his punch. “This is how it should be, you know?” he finally says, breaking their not-quite-but-almost-comfortable silence.

“What d’you mean?”

“This,” Bobby repeats, gesturing out at the backyard. “A group of adults showing up for their kid. Loving their kid.”

Alex nods slowly. “Yeah. We try.”

Bobby huffs out another light laugh. “I’m not just talking about you, you know. Look at all these people who love Bex. It’s incredible. You built the most beautiful family. Every kid deserves this.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees softly, “they really do.”

They fall into another comfortable, contemplative silence.

This time, Alex breaks it. “Do you want your own one day?”

“Kid? God no. I’d only fuck them up. I love kids, obviously. But the best part of what I do is that I get to give them back. And any trauma I cause is probably pretty easily fixable, on the grand scale of things.”

Alex coughs out a dry laugh. “Yeah. That’s fair. Reggie had that fear for a long time. But I know some people never really get over it.”

Both of their gazes track over the backyard, landing on Luke who has Bex perched on his shoulders. She’s pulling on his hair and ears to steer him around. Alex and Bobby share a chuckle at their antics.

“No, I guess not,” Bobby agrees with a fond smile. “I’d guess it’s probably pretty common for people who come from fucked up families. They either want to save anyone else from experiencing what they did. Or they overcorrect hard in the other direction and want to do it all different. Prove it’s possible.”

Alex hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, maybe,” he agrees before letting a grin take over his face. “That’s a lot of words for a Bobby,” Alex teases.

“Yeah. Just been thinking.”

“Careful. I’ve heard that kind of thing’s contagious. And can hurt.”

Bobby lets out a dry laugh.

“I think that might be one of the hardest parts about parenting?” Alex says after a moment. “Imagining what could have been different. Questioning why things weren’t. For us, I mean.”

Bobby hums in acknowledgement, encouraging Alex to continue.

“I don’t know. I mean, I know we’re gonna fuck up. We have fucked up. But it’s not that hard to just… love your kid?”

“So then you keep asking why you weren’t deserving of that love?”

“Exactly. Shit hurts.”

“Do you and the guys talk about it often?”

Alex shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, we don’t really need to. We all get it. We’ve been all each other’s had for pretty much our entire lives.”

“And now look at you. Giving Bex everything you never got and then some.”

Alex laughs bitterly. “Who knew there were families overflowing with so much love that they’d so readily adopt 4 wayward rockstar slash artist adults and their toddler.”

“The Molinas seem as great as you’ve all been saying.”

“And more,” Alex sighs. “We’re so lucky to have them. But it also shows how… I guess, unfair it all is? We should have had more. Bex should have had more. Like, yeah, gratitude for what we have, blah blah blah, but that doesn’t change what could have been, you know?”

Bobby offers Alex a wry smile, “I think Reggie or Julie would call that grief or something.”

Alex laughs. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, they don’t deserve you.”

“That’s what Willie and Reggie try to remind me of. ‘If they can’t love all of you, they don’t deserve access to any of you,’” Alex says, mocking their voices. “And they don’t deserve the joy that is Bex either. And she deserves better than them.”

“Exactly. Enter the Molinas.”

“Enter the Molinas,” Alex firmly agrees, “The family none of us could have ever dreamed of.”

Bobby lets out a self-deprecating laugh, “Can you imagine what it would have been like being raised by someone like Ray? An adult who cares about where you are. What you’re doing. How you are? More than just some trophy to show off? Or inconvenience to hide away…”

“Loves and encourages you in your full self.”

“What would Luke even write about without shitty parents?”

Alex laughs. “Would we even have the band? This family? I guess that’s a silver lining or some shit.”

“Or some shit,” Bobby agrees with a grin.

“It’s cake time!” Reggie yells from the kitchen, just inside the porch doors. He must have snuck past them at some point. Bobby and Alex exchange a fond smile.

“Time to give this kid and her… everyone even more of a sugar rush,” Alex says through a grin.

Bobby offers Alex his fist and Alex immediately knocks their knuckles together. “Right behind ya,” Bobby agrees as he follows Alex into the house.

#there's absolutely no reason whatsoever that this is scheduled for exactly right now #nope #this takes place alongside the final chapter of the main bex verse fic (that is absolutely not written yet)#so contextually this might not make complete sense to all of you #i'm kind of almost halfway sorry #but also enjoy the preview?#bex verse #jatp #fanfic #nobodys fics #julie and the phantoms #bobby shaw #alex mercer

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