Instant Regret (Ben Chilwell)
Masterlist
Word count: 1.1k
Summary: Fed up with Ben's lack of communication in regards to commitment, you channel your petty side and force him into action. (Photo courtesy of @bellinghamjobe )
Take it down.
When your phone screen lights up with the message from Ben, you roll your eyes. Of course he answers now, after you've posted something semi revealing on your Instagram. Of course that's what it takes to get his attention- has he returned your calls or texts from the last few days, in which you told him you needed to speak about your relationship, or rather the lack thereof? No. No he has not.
And now, as you're getting ready to head out with your sister and some friends to celebrate, you take great care to ensure you look amazing. You style your hair just how Ben likes it, pick his favorite necklace to wear, and let him see what he's missing.
Your phone vibrates again, and you smile to yourself. I'm serious. Don't post things like that.
What are you gonna do about it?
You hesitate before sending it, finally deciding to press the arrow and leave it up to cyberspace. Jealous Ben lights a fire in your gut; knowing he's stewing at home is enough to have a smile on your face.
"Are you ready babe?" Your sister asks when she pokes her head in your room. You nod and she grins, "I take it Ben hasn't responded to you."
"Nope," you confirm, popping the 'p'. "Not once, until I posted a photo of this outfit on my story. He wants me to delete it."
"Fat chance! You're stunning- he needs to know what he's missing!" Your sister clicks her tongue, letting herself in and swiping away a bit of extra powder from your chin. "If only he'd responded, he could come out with us as well. But alas, he's an idiot, and you'll be hot all on your own tonight!"
"Exactly my thoughts. His loss! Is everyone else here? Group photo! I'm posting all these photos on my story ladies, we need to prove a point!"
The next photo you post tempts fate. Thanks to your sister, the full length photo is an instant favorite of yours. Your cleavage is on full display, your black velvet dress cut so low it exposes more skin than you're normally comfortable with. Tonight however, you're feeling like the baddest woman in the city- and you want the world to know.
Delete it. Now.
Ben's reply to your story is expected, but so basic that it doesn't warrant a response from you. You tuck your phone in your bag and hop in the Uber with your group, headed off for a night of fun. You don't so much as think about Ben until you take a selfie in the bathroom mirror an hour later, your hair slightly messy from your best friend pretending to tousle it for you. It gives the illusion that maybe you've spent your time dancing with someone- which isn't an issue, seeing as you and Ben aren't exclusive. He made that very, very clear. And while you do enjoy the slightly toxic edge to his messages, you won't give in so easily.
So you post another photo, this one with your best friend, posing with your faces pushed so close together that your flat, stuck out tongues are nearly touching. You look hot as always, and you know Ben will lose his head when he sees it.
You check the viewers a few minutes later, noticing that Ben saw it but hasn't said anything. You roll your eyes, figuring he's over your teasing by now, and focus on having fun instead. You sing along to the music, order another drink, and lose yourself in your pocket of the club. In the company of your girls you let your worries free, refusing to let the thought of Ben bother you. You're focused on the here and now, wanting to enjoy this night with your friends.
So when a hand lands on your hip, you whirl on the offender with venom on the tip of your tongue. The words melt away when you're met by a familiar woodsy cologne, recognizing the man's baby blue eyes in a heartbeat.
"I told you to delete those photos, love."
"Ben," you breathe, the shock of seeing him here wearing off. "What- how did you know where I was?"
Ben drags a knuckle down your bare sternum, smirking when your breath hitches in your throat. He lays his hand flat between your breasts, feeling your heart speed up under his touch. "There was a coaster with the name of the club in your last post. Made it easy for me."
"Yeah well you shouldn't have come. I'm out with my friends!" You shove at Ben's chest, though the man doesn't move an inch. Ben laughs, one hand snaking down to your ass whilst the other settles on your hip.
"When you look like this? I have every right to be here and fend off the competition. Because I-"
"You have no right! You won't even properly ask me out-"
Ben shuts you up by placing a finger on your painted lips. He waits for the fire in your eyes to dull a touch before he removes it, tipping your chin up so you're meeting his eyes. "If you'd let me finish, please. I have every right to be here because I think it's high time I made you my proper girlfriend. Don't you think?"
"You're an arse," you mumble, though the insult carries no heat. "It took you this long to ask me that?"
Ben shrugs, "I was nervous, can you blame me? Look at you, you're so far out of my league I wasn't sure you'd agree to dating little old me. And you still haven't given me an answer yet."
You should put up a fight. Sober you would, and if you hadn't had that last pair of shots you may have at least pretended to object. But as tipsy as you are, you are powerless to resist when Ben offers you exactly what you've been craving for weeks.
"Fine, I'll be your girlfriend. But you have to stay and dance with me!"
"What do you think I got all dressed up for?" Ben dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth that leaves your head fuzzy. "It's all for you, love. I'm not going anywhere."
