Chapter Text
2032
They’re parked at Lake Tahoe when a phone call from Hope comes in.
It’s brief—barely a minute in length—but the contents are enough for chills to run down Jed’s spine. He shoots up from his place on a sleeping Ben’s chest—his boyfriend stirring with a mumbled whatizzit—clutching the phone with enough strength that, had he still been a wolf, probably would have destroyed it.
Hope ends the call with a quick goodbye (despite his repeated “Hope? Hope!”), the speakers catching her little snickers as she happily leaves him in a state of deep terror. Cruelty, thy name is Hope Mikaelson.
He is still staring at the phone clutched in a white knuckled grip in his hand when a head drops onto his shoulder. Arms wound around his waist, and Jed feels himself relax into the hold. Ben is still warm from sleep; sleepily peppering open-mouthed kisses on Jed’s bare shoulders and up and down his neck. He closes his eyes, content. With Ben wrapped around him like this, it is so very easy to just ignore the world around them, and just be.
If only his boyfriend didn’t shatter that peace.
And listen—Jed loves his boyfriend. So much. Ben is probably the best thing that ever happened to him. But his boyfriend is also a persistent little shit (you’re the one who insisted on never hiding things from each other again, the traitorous voice in his head—that sounds an awful lot like Hope AND Finch (and isn’t that a nightmare)—reminds him) who refuses to let Jed sulk on his own. Which is actually really sweet, and Jed would normally show how grateful he is via a makeout session on the nearest available surface, but he’s too busy panicking.
Soothing hands run up and down his arms. “Jed? Baby, what is it?” The endearment still sounds a little stilted in Ben’s mouth, but his efforts are enough to knock Jed out of his terror-induced stupor.
He drops a kiss on Ben’s cheek. “Nothing.” At Ben’s unimpressed stare, Jed huffs a laugh. “Okay, fine. It’s something. Something bad,” he says, turning to face his boyfriend. Ben looks concerned, Jed amending, “Well, not super bad. Not like Malivore or your dad's level of bad. More like middle-bad? Like somewhere between the time Triad attacked the school, and Josie setting half the school on fire kind-of-bad.”
He’s rambling badly, he knows. Ben’s eyebrows have gone all slant-y, the divot in between getting more and more pronounced the more Jed talks. His boyfriend raises his hand to cradle his face, his thumb softly caressing the skin underneath Jed’s eyes. “Hey, hey. Just breathe.”
When Jed does, Ben flashes him a soft smile. “Now, tell me about that phone call that got you so worried.”
Instead of answering, Jed leans up to drop a kiss on the little furrow on Ben’s brow. “Jed, stop it,” Ben giggles, his hands gently batting Jed away.
“Sorry. Sorry, you know I can’t help myself when you do that,” Jed grins, sounding not at all apologetic. Ben just rolls his eyes, leaning forward to place a quick kiss on Jed’s lips.
“Now, who’s getting distracted,” Jed teases, pulling Ben back in for a longer, filthier kiss. His hands are tracing down Ben’s back to his boxers when Ben pulls away, inciting a whine.
“You, I still think,” Ben says, breathless. His pupils are blown, the blue of his eyes almost gone, and with his kiss-swollen lips, Ben looks like a debauched angel. Jed licks his lips, almost laughing when Ben’s eyes immediately follow the action.
“Oh yeah. I’m definitely the only one distracted here,” Jed says hungrily. He leans in for another kiss, but Ben places a hand on his chest to stop him. Jed pouts at the action, but Ben just shrugs, giving him a languid smile.
He drops a kiss on Jed’s nose. “Now, do you want to tell me what bothered you? I’m assuming that was Hope, but you’re not in a frenzy to leave nor are you crying, so I imagine that everything at the school is fine?”
“The school, the squad, is fine,” Jed confirms, as Ben releases a relieved breath.
He takes a deep breath. “That’s not why she called. Her family—they have this tradition of throwing Christmas Balls every year. Hope used to drag me to each one as her date, but we haven’t really been able to go the last few times. Malivore,” Jed rolls his eyes.
Jed continues. “There’s one this year, and—,” Jed winces slightly at the bomb he’s about to drop— “I have it on good authority that they kinda, sorta, really, want to meet you.”
Silence. “Hope’s family,” Ben says slowly, "wants to meet me." Jed nods. “May I ask why?”
Jed sighs. “You remember when I told you about meeting Hope as kids? And how she was the one who tracked me down for Principal Saltzman?”
Ben nods.
“When I got to the school, nobody knew who I was, or how I triggered my curse. Except Hope. She knew everything,” Jed shrugs slightly.
He smiles. “She knew I didn’t have anywhere else to go during the holidays, so she’d take me with her whenever she went home. Her mom was always really nice, and her Aunt Freya, too. They never minded me hanging around during Summer break, or Thanksgiving and Christmas. Or the balls, once they started throwing them again.”
“I guess I didn't feel as alone when I was with them. Like I had a home again.”
Ben laces their hands together, giving it a soft squeeze. “I’m glad you had them.” They smile at each other. Then-
“Remind me to thank them at the ball.”
Jed blinks. “Wait. You really want to go?”
“Because we can say no, or well you can say no. At this point, I think I’m magically bound to attend,” Jed jokes.
Ben just shakes his head. “I’d be honored to meet them,” he says, smiling softly. It’s Jed’s favorite smile of his—gentle and affectionate, and overwhelmingly happy—and Jed can’t help but throw himself into Ben’s embrace. Ben catches him easily, and lets him rearrange them until Jed’s laying on his chest, Ben’s arms holding him tight against him.
“I love you,” Jed mumbles, pressing a kiss over Ben’s heart.
“As I love you,” his boyfriend responds.
The invitation—to a Jedidiah Tien and Ben-With-No-Last-Name (“Is there a reason why my name has hyphens?” Ben asks, squinting at the calligraphy. “Hope’s idea of a joke,” Jed explains with an exasperated sigh)—arrives in mid November. Which means the next month afterwards is spent with Hope dragging them out to various shops and tailors for a ‘proper outfit.’ Which, in Mikaelson-speak, meant bespoke suits that cost thousands of dollars each, and new dress shoes imported from Italy.
(The first time Jed sees Ben in the final product, it takes every last shred of his self-control not to drop to his knees and blow him on the spot, public decency be damned. From the look in Ben’s eyes when he sees Jed in his suit, he’s not the only one fighting their urges.)
D-day arrives faster than expected, and the two of them soon find themselves on the driveway of Mikaelson Manor, early enough that the ball hasn’t even started yet. They’re ushered in by one of the staff—vaguely familiar; one of Marcel’s vampires perhaps—and led to the ballroom where the Mikaelsons—Freya, Rebekah, Marcel, and Hope—are waiting.
Hope spots them first. “Jed, Ben,” she greets, making her way across the room to them. She looks beautiful in her dark blue and silver dress, her auburn hair styled to frame her face. She gives them both once-overs, and Jed can feel Ben relaxing at the approval he finds in her gaze.
Giving Ben a somewhat comforting smile, “Welcome to your first annual Mikaelson Christmas Ball. I know it can be a little overwhelming,” Hope assures him, “so if you need to, feel free to step outside to the gardens or use any of the rooms upstairs if you need a breather.”
“Thank you,” Ben sincerely tells her.
Hope’s lips quirk upwards into a mischievous smile. “Oh, don’t thank me yet,” she quips, looping her arms around theirs. “We still have introductions to make.”
Jed groans playfully, making Hope laugh in delight, as she drags them to where the Mikaelsons are watching them. She lets them go to grab a champagne flute off of Marcel’s offering hand.
Jed grabs Ben’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze in comfort. Ben smiles softly at him, gratitude in his eyes, and Jed has to squash down the urge to kiss him then and there. The only reason he doesn’t is because he knows he’ll never live it down. He settles for pressing a kiss to Ben’s knuckle, his boyfriend’s smile almost blinding.
He turns back to greet the Mikaelsons, who are watching them with soft expressions (Jed swears Rebekah probably would have cooed at them if she thought the act was at all dignified; Freya wasn’t doing any better). Freya immediately gives him a hug, while Rebekah kisses his cheek, and Marcel a ‘bro-hug’ while Rebekah mutters (rather loudly) about men.
“So, who’s this lovely young man you brought home?,” Rebekah asks, as if she hadn’t penned the guest list herself. His insides warm at the use of home. This isn’t the house he spent years visiting every holiday, but while the locations may have changed, the people have not.
Placing a hand on his boyfriend’s back, Jed flashes them a dazzling grin, “Everyone, this is Ben. My boyfriend.”
(“I like him,” Freya smiles as they walk arm-in-arm. “He’s good for you.”
Jed watches Ben as he talks to Keelin, his expression happy and animated. Little Nik is trying to get his attention, first by tugging on his pants, and then trying to climb up Ben’s leg when he doesn’t budge. His boyfriend is laughing, albeit awkwardly, as he picks the toddler up and balances him on his shoulders.
“He makes me happy,” Jed agrees. Ben looks back in their direction, as if he can sense them talking about him. He sends them an awkward little wave, wincing a bit when the movement causes Nik to grab his hair. Jed doesn’t know what expression is on his face, but if the look on Freya’s face is any indication, he knows it must be terribly dopey.
What can he say? His boyfriend looks hot in a suit, and absolutely adorable with children.)
2033
They’re fighting. Loudly.
If someone were to ask Ben what they were even fighting about that day, he couldn’t have given them an answer. It was like one moment they were fine, and the next they were throwing sarcastic remarks at each other on their way to Mikaelson Manor. He thinks it's probably something to do with him dying (twice) last week.
Which brings them to where they are now: hiding in a nook as far away as possible from the party without leaving it, snapping at each other. Normally, it wouldn’t be much of an issue—the little alcove they found was far enough that they shouldn’t be much of a bother—but most of the guests at a Mikaelson Ball were supernaturals. Which means they were currently being overheard by perhaps hundreds of vampires and werewolves. A spectacle indeed.
When he snaps at Jed, asking if his deaths were the reason for the sudden hostility, his boyfriend just shoots him a death glare. As if it was supposed to be obvious. “Oh look, dying so often has made the demigod stupid,” Jed shoots back.
Ben rolls his eyes, tamping down the urge to scream. Or push Jed onto the nearest wall and fuck him stupid. Whichever one that would make them less of a spectacle than they already are now. He thinks the sex would be less embarrassing.
A pointed cough interrupts their glaring match, both turning to see Hope, holding little Nik’s hand. “Sorry to interrupt your little lovers spat,” Hope cuts in, not apologetic in the least. Nik is grinning in her hold, hands already outstretched towards Jed in the universal ‘up!’ sign. From his periphery, Ben can see Jed softening, his boyfriend's rigid stance melting at the sight of the admittedly adorable four year old.
“But this little monster couldn’t wait a little longer to play with his Jed,” Hope continues, running her hand through the little boy’s dark curls. If anyone had told him last year that the godslayer Hope Mikaelson would be caught cooing at her baby cousin in public and letting him run sticky hands down her dress, he would have laughed in their faces. But Hope has changed so much in the past year, the hold of her no-humanity phase finally fading enough for her old self to shine through. Jed, he knows, is extremely relieved for it.
He can see his boyfriend hesitating, a part of him itching to grab the toddler, and the other wanting to stay and continue their argument. “Go,” Ben tells him, pushing him towards Nik.
“Fine,” Jed snaps. “We’ll finish this later.” He gives Ben a quick peck—a little more biting than usual—before leaving with Nick in his arms.
“Love you,” Ben calls out.
“Love you, too,” Jed grumbles, waving an arm in a semblance of goodbye. Hope is watching them with her eyebrows raised, looking very much like she’s trying extremely hard not to laugh.
“So, what was that?” she teases, looping his arm in hers. They start walking back in the direction of the party. Hope’s looking at him with those piercing blues of hers as if daring him to lie, but he can see no malice in them. Just amusement, and a touch of fondness, over their antics.
“It’s just something we do,” Ben shrugs, “to enhance our communication skills, and improve our relationship as a whole.” At Hope’s questioning glance, he elaborates sheepishly, “Never go to bed angry. Or, in this case,” he adds wryly, “never walk away from a fight without telling them you love them.”
When his answer is met with silence, Ben risks throwing his companion a glance. Hope looks contemplative, her stare a million miles away. “What, no teasing remarks?” Ben prods. Hope just shoots him an unamused stare, and Ben is silently relieved he didn’t accidentally give her an existential crisis.
“Actually, I was just going to say that it’s sweet,” Hope smiles. The curve of her lips turn sly. “A little too sweet. Cavity-inducing, actually,” she continues lightly, “but when are you both not?”
Ben just gently thumps her forehead, chuckling slightly at the ensuing pout. “Hush, you. Someday you're going to meet someone, and you’ll be just as—what did you say?—cavity-inducing as the rest of us.”
Hope snorts. “I doubt that,” she mutters darkly, and Ben feels a wave of concern at her bothered tone.
“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, stopping them in their tracks with a light touch to her elbow.
But Hope just shakes her head, waving him off with a small smile. “I’m fine, really. Just,” she heaves a sigh, “dealing with something stupid, I guess. Don’t worry about it.” Ben is definitely going to worry about it.
“Well, if you ever need to talk,” Ben offers, letting Hope continue their walk.
Hope rolls her eyes, “I know. But everything is just dandy, and oh look—we’re here.” Belatedly (and with no small amount of horror), Ben realizes that she’s dragged him out into the middle of the dance floor. The orchestra is playing some kind of song (waltz perhaps?), the other guests moving away to make space for them.
“I can’t dance,” Ben blurts out, panic in his voice bleeding through. The other guests are staring, waiting for them to start. “I never had the chance to learn to.”
Hope merely raises a brow, “Jed never taught you?” She sounds disbelieving, shooting a glare someplace off his shoulder (at Jed across the room, carrying Nik on his shoulders, his tie half undone, his mind supplies. Ben always knows where Jed is). They begin to move, a simple step that Ben tries to follow.
“Jed can’t dance,” he says, after the fourth time he steps on Hope’s toes. She ignores him in favor of shooting Jed another death glare.
“Oh, he can,” Hope disagrees. “Aunt Rebekah made sure. He just doesn’t like to.”
Hope throws him a wicked smirk. “It’s your job to make sure he does next year. Before my aunt drags him back to lessons by the ear. Again.”
Ben laughs. “We’ve got a deal, Miss Mikaelson.”
(Rebekah watches the pair dance with an odd look on her face. Her niece is laughing as the demigod steps on her feet for the upteenth time. Rebekah shakes her head. Thank god for vampire strength, or poor Hope’s feet would be bruised blue by morning. But terrible dancer Ben may be, her niece looks happy, and Rebekah can’t thank him enough for that.
But that’s not why she’s staring.
“Honestly, sister. Stare any harder and you’ll drill a hole into the demigod’s head,” says the voice coming from right beside her. It’s only because of millenia together that Rebekah doesn’t jump at Kol sneaking up on her. There’s only so little of them left capable of doing that.
“Now, tell me. What’s so interesting that you haven’t blinked in five minutes,” Kol asks, grabbing a champagne flute from an approaching waiter. He takes a sip, waiting for her to answer.
“Kol. Look at them. Do they remind you of anyone?” Rebekah’s voice sounds a bit shaky.
Kol turns his head towards where his niece was dancing, the demigod tripping over her feet yet again. He doesn’t get it at first, what Rebekah could have seen to shake her so. But as he watches them dance, the easy banter falling off their lips that he can hear from all the way over here, he thinks he gets it.
His mind takes him back—to where Rebekah’s must’ve taken her—to another time, another party. There isn’t any specific one, but the memories remain the same. Of glitz and glamour and beautiful dresses and fancy suits. Of brothers now long gone, only the legacy of their names remains. Well, their names and a child. A dark head and a blonde one, bantering through nights just like this. Dark hair, and a red dress he remembers seeing at the old compound.
It’s not a specific someone he sees when he watches them dance, but in his niece’s red dress and her dark hair, in the demigod’s head of blond curls and his blue eyes, if he closes his eyes, he imagines the loved ones he’s lost.)
2034
They’re making out in the same alcove they fought in last year—Jed trapped between Ben and the wall, exchanging hot, heavy kisses on the verge of more—when Rebekah walks in.
“Boys.” Rebekah’s voice interrupts them.
Ben pulls away first, his face flushed pink with embarrassment. He’s apologizing rather quickly, words tripping over slightly, but still slightly composed. Jed, on the other hand, is too busy dying of mortification to look. Maybe if his eyes stay closed he can pretend Hope’s aunt didn’t walk in on them on the verge of having sex. In her house. Jed thumps his head rather hard on the wall behind him.
“Jed?”
Oh no. That’s Ben’s worried voice. Jed sighs internally. Well, there goes my plan to ignore my problems until they go away.
He opens his eyes to see his boyfriend looking at him all worried. Jed sends him a comforting smile. He swallows, turning to face the music.
Rebekah looks vaguely disapproving, her eyebrow cocked and arms folded over her chest—a look that never fails to make Jed want to shuffle his feet like a child who got caught with his hand in a cookie jar. His face is still bright red, and growing still the longer she stays quietly looking at them.
“Rebekah, we are so sorry—that was—we definitely weren’t going to—,” Jed stammers, but Rebekah raises a hand to stop him.
There’s a smile tugging at her lips. “Far be it for me to judge, God knows I’ve done the same before,” Rebekah says, amusement dancing in her eyes. “But please, there are rooms available upstairs for a reason.”
He and Ben turn beet red again, and Rebekah shoos them off with a laugh.
Ben is dancing with Freya (whose all-knowing gaze and little smirk makes it very clear she knows exactly why his suit is a little rumpled, and his hair a mess), when he hears shouting. He stiffens.
Something is wrong with Jed.
He stops in the middle of the dance, ready to apologize, but Freya must’ve read the worry writ on his face because she just sends him off with a soft go. He can see Keelin already heading their way, so Ben smiles, thanking her before leaving.
Heads are turned towards the commotion, but the room is packed full. He weaves between the throng of dancing pairs—apologizing when he bumps into someone or interrupts a dance—desperate to find his boyfriend.
He finds Jed with his right arm trapped in another man’s grip. Jed looks furious, his face twisted in a wide snarl. But the man holding him against his will is larger and—from the way the ballroom lights glint off his obviously yellow eyes—definitely a werewolf. Jed is wincing—the man must’ve tightened his grip—and that is what tips Ben over the edge.
Jed never shows weakness to an enemy. Not unless he can no longer hide it.
Anger burns through him at the sight, his blood singing in a way it hasn’t since the battle with Ken. His hands are itching to draw blood. He quickens his pace, and with the way everyone around him moves out of his way, he can only imagine how terrifying the look on his face must be.
Good. Let them witness what happens when someone harms the man he loves.
From his periphery, he can see Marcel and Hope make their way to them, wearing twin looks of concern. At any other time, Ben would feel touched at their care, but not right now. Not when that bastard still refuses to let go of Jed.
Jed is swearing, his lips pulled back in a snarl. But it doesn’t hide the strain in his voice, or the pain in his eyes. In one smooth move, Ben grabs the arm gripping Jed’s, inserting himself between them.
“He told you to let go. I suggest you listen,” he snarls, tightening his grip. He pushes down the urge to just snap the bone underneath his hand.
The bastard let go with a drunken laugh, eyes narrowed in malice. “Or what?” he taunts, his face inches from Ben’s. Ben’s lips pull back into a feral grin, and he can feel his eyes start to glow. He sees the moment the man’s bravado falters, but stopping would involve caring, and Ben can’t seem to at the moment.
A wave of magic pulses through the air, wild and unstoppable, stopping Ben from making his first move. Hope. He can feel her magic find its target, settling into the man’s bones. The fingers on the man’s hand—the one that grabbed Jed—bend backwards unnaturally as he watches in horror. He releases a bloodcurdling scream, pieces of bone and blood sticking out of his now ruined limb.
Ben’s smile turns vindictive. Hope had shattered his whole arm. Good.
Marcel is there to grab the man, pulling him up and away before he can try to run off in the face of Tribrid Fury. Or before he passes out from the pain. But Ben could care less. He’s too busy looking at Jed.
(Jed is looking at Ben with an indecipherable expression on his face, his body tense as a live wire, and Marcel is about to interfere when—oh. Oh.
He bites back a smile. Trust Jed to find his boyfriend’s anger attractive—in a room full of vampires and werewolves to boot. Hope is wrinkling her nose at the sudden assault of pheromones, and Marcel has to try really hard to hold back his laughter at the sheer disgust radiating off of her.
Luckily, the asshole in question has finally gotten the message, running away with his tail between his legs. Marcel makes a mental note to tell Freya to put him on the no-entrance list. Then again, considering the amount of blood he just lost in a room full of vampires, there’s a rather large chance he won’t survive the night. A pity.
He turns to Jed to apologize, but a hand grabs him and drags him away before he can. Hope just shakes her head hurriedly, looking much too gleeful for her own good, but Marcel can’t help but look back anyway.
Jed and Ben are too busy staring at each other to notice them leave (Marcel doesn’t think either of them have blinked since the asshole scampered off), the air around them so intense Marcel can feel it all the way from where Hope dragged him off to (behind a particularly pretty flower arrangement; it’s nice to know Hope is still as hopeless at hiding as she was at eight.)
Finally, Jed breaks the silence. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.” His voice is quiet, even for vampire standards, like he’s trying really hard not to be overheard.
(Marcel almost feels guilty for eavesdropping, but sue him. Those two were this close to public indecency, and it was just staring. Hope, on the other hand, looks positively delighted.)
Ben steps closer, looking positively enamored. “I know,” he says, sounding fond. “But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
Jed thanks him, sending him a small smile, eyes soft. Ben bows, pressing a kiss to Jed’s knuckles, inciting a quiet giggle. Ben offers Jed his hand. “Dance with me,” he asks instead, smiling blindingly bright.
(Silently gagging, Hope mouths, “Too cute.” Marcel is inclined to agree. They’re adorable.)
Jed’s face is red like a tomato, but he’s smiling still, if a little dazed looking. “It would be my honor,” Jed murmurs, placing his hand in his boyfriend’s, letting him lead them to the dance floor.
(They’re watching them dance.
Marcel has to admit, they make quite the sight—two fairytale princes dancing through the night. His wife comes up beside him, wrapping her arms around his, her head resting on his shoulder.
“We’re adopting him,” Rebekah says suddenly.
Marcel laughs, putting his arm around her. He leans in to whisper into her ear, “Is ‘we’ you and me, or the whole family? Because I’m not sure how I feel about adopting a demigod over 20 times older than me.”
Rebekah just ignores him. “Ben Mikaelson. I’ve spoken to Hope about it,” she says, oozing self-satisfaction. “She approves, so that’s what’s going on his invitation next year.”
She’s already nodding to herself, mind running a mile a minute with plans to convince the rest of their insane little family to adopt the demigod 5 times older than them. Older, but perhaps young still.
Marcel just smiles, pressing a kiss to Rebekah’s hair. “It would be fun to have another kid around.”)
2035
The invites slide under their door like a scene from Harry Potter on a chilly October morning, weeks earlier than the usual mid-November norm.
There’s two this time: one signed to a Ben Mikaelson (+ Jed Tien), and another to a Ms. Jen-of-Olympus.
Ben cries over both.
(Jen does too).
(“Marcel, Rebekah, this is my older sister Jen,” Ben introduces.
“She is one of the gods, but harmless, I assure you,” Ben quickly reassures them. He blinks. “Well, mostly.”
“Sup, dudes,” Jen greets, raising a wine glass she pilfered from somewhere. “Nice digs.”
Turning to his sister, Ben explains, “Rebekah Mikaelson and Marcel Gerard—Hope’s aunt and her—,” here Ben makes a squinty, puppylike face of confusion, “—brother? Uncle?”
Marcel almost laughs at the stupefied expression on Jen’s face. “What can I say, family is complicated here.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Jen agrees. “There’s a reason I keep mine in coffins,” she says, taking a swig of her drink. Ben snorts.
Marcel and Rebekah blink. “Well, then,” Rebekah chuckles, “it’s nice to know the Mikaelsons aren’t the only family who solves their issues via entrapment.”
“Welcome to the family, Jen. You’ll fit right in.” )
2036
The invitation comes as it always does. Expensive cream paper. Silk bows. Smelling lightly of lavender and vanilla. Beautiful calligraphy in gilded black embroidery.
Ben traces the name on it almost reverently: Ben Mikaelson-Tien.