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ceruleanmusings · 4 years

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Fandom: Big Time Rush Pairing: James Diamond x Mickey Mason (OC) Rating: T (for some cursing) Word Count: 11.3k Summary: When James gets a secret admirer gift on Valentine’s Day, he drags Mickey around the Palm Woods to find the sender – not knowing the sender is closer than he thinks. Contents: mentioned social anxiety, angst, idiots who like each other being idiots, semi-reluctant pining, show-standard humor and highjinks, implied disordered eating, valentine’s day, envy, self-loathing A/N: I was going to wait until the 14th to post this but I need to get it off my hands so I can stop picking and editing it to death. Have at it! Hope you like it! ALSO! Someone please let me know if it gets truncated at James’s text. On mobile it says the post is too long and cuts it off at the end but on desktop it’s fine. If I have to delete this and make it a two-parter I will! You need to see the proper ending! Also please leave comments on the fic if you liked it and feel so inclined (no pressure obvs), I’d love to read them on the body rather than tags so I can save them somewhere. :) Happy Valentine’s Day! Tag: @mystic-scripture @foxesandmagic @witchofinterest @juliesdahlias @raging-violets @ocfairygodmother @lareiism

Propping the large wicker basket against her popped hip, Mickey knocked on the door right beneath the square 2J placard. Her knuckles briefly touched the wood on the fourth knock when the door swung inwards. She quickly stopped her extending arm in its tracks, her fist resting inches from Kendall’s face. Eyes crossed, staring at her knuckles, he took a step back.

“Oh! Sorry Kindle. I didn’t think you’d get to the door so fast,” she apologized, wrapping her arms around the basket, bringing it to her front.

“You know, the door’s always open. You don’t have to knock.” As Kendall spoke, he moved to the side and brought his arm back in a sweeping gesture.

“Excuse me?” Mickey’s eyebrow popped upwards and she walked past him. “Kindle Knight, my momma’d have my hide if I just barged into someone’s home!” She carefully set the basket down onto the nearby table. Leaning her weight against one palm on the tabletop, she placed another on her hip. “I know there’s such a thing as being ‘Minnesota Nice’, but y’all’re asking for it.”

Kendall scoffed. “What do you mean? The only person who’d come right in is Bitters—and I see your point,” Kendall said. Mickey winked and made a clicking noise out the side of her mouth. “Is that it?” He gestured to the basket as he approached.

“Yep!” Lifting the lid, she removed a gallon Ziploc bag and set it aside as she leaned forward to review the contents. Not that she needed to, she made double-triple-quadruple sure everything she’d prepared the night before and that morning was in its rightful place before she snuck out. Jazz hadn’t noticed beneath her flurry of helping Mel pick out something for her date with Dak to Malibu. “If you don’t mind, I took a few liberties with what you wanted.” When he’d originally pulled her aside during a recording session asking her to make a picnic for him and Jazz, he’d merely shrugged and suggested that she put in anything “Valentine-y” when she asked if he wanted anything specific. So, she zhooshed it up a little; her sister deserved the best and that’s what she was going to ensure Kendall gave her. “You have a bottle of sparkling cider, strawberries, smoked salmon, caper, and goat cheese topped crostini, spinach and feta cheese pastry spirals, barbeque bacon and chicken bites, and, for dessert, slices of strawberry rhubarb pie and two flutes of beignet tiramisu with chocolate ganache.”

Kendall’s nose wrinkled. “Chocolate guh-whaaa?”

“Goodbye!” Mickey shoved the basket into his arms. Tilting her head to the side, she studied his red plaid shirt and reached out to fix the collar. “Keep the cold stuff in the insulated bag until you’re ready to eat it or else the beignets will start to get soggy.” Her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth when she went for the fringe of hair poking out from beneath his beanie. Ordinarily she’d balk at the sight of him wearing it, on a date no less, but Jazz liked him in his beanies so she could let it slide. Taking a step back, she surveyed the rest of his appearance and nodded her approval. “You’re all set! If you’re worried about your breath, I threw in some Ice Breakers and mini floss. Jazz is waiting for you at the park.”

“Thanks so much for this, Mickey,” he said, flashing a dimpled smile. His green eyes crinkled in the corners. “I really appreciate it.”

She beamed and a rush of satisfaction sent a pleased flush to her cheeks. She rocked back and forth on her navy Docs. “What are friends for if they can’t help you woo their sister?”

“…To give me free food?”

She pinched his cheek. “You’re lucky I like you.” Making a ‘shoo’ gesture with her hands, Mickey pushed Kendall towards the door. He flashed a finger guns sign at her and hurried away. Shaking her head, she turned on her heel, her locs cascading over one shoulder with the turn. “Okay Katie, he’s gone,” she called up to the loft above.

With a thumping commotion, Katie spilled out the open mouth of the swirly slide. Rounding the table, she crossed her arms. “You got the stuff?”

Mickey mimicked her gesture, raising a brow. “You got a cooler? I’m not letting all my hard work go to waste.”

Katie lifted her chin. “Yeah, I got a cooler.”

“Then I got your stuff.” Mickey picked up the Ziploc bag and handed it out to her. “Homemade chocolate turtles, at your service. I think seven per bag is a good amount. If anyone tries to push for more, remember that they’re the ones who are trying to get candy at the last minute on Valentine’s Day.”

“Got it!” With an eager—and almost manic—grin, Katie snatched the bag out of Mickey’s hands and shoved them into the small red cooler sitting atop of the breakfast bar. She dragged the cooler off the counter and hurried past her, making a beeline for the door. Calling over her shoulder she added, “And we’re splitting the profits 55-45.”

“Freeze, Kid!” Mickey squinted at Katie’s back, her hand gripping the doorknob. “We agreed on 50-50.” She wiggled a finger in the space between herself and Katie’s back.

Katie whirled around. “Yeah, but I have to think about my college fund. Between your band and playing bass for Big Time Rush, you have all the money you could need.” Mickey snorted. With widening eyes and a pout to her lower lip, Katie said. “Do you want to be the one to tell my mom you’re denying me the funds for a college education?”

Mickey pressed her lips together, doing her best to keep a smile off her face; partly in awe at her gall, and also partly with pride. The kid was good. Too good. Or else Mickey was a sucker for a well-placed pout. She poked her tongue into her cheek, dragging it against the soft, smooth surface and exhaled a sigh. “Fine! But if anyone asks where you got the candy from, make sure to mention my name. I want to try and get Mickey’s Morsels off the ground while I can. Guilty pleasures can be a good cash grab.”

“Then I want 10% of any future profits for the promotion.”

“Deal.”

“Deal!” Like Kendall, Katie pointed a finger gun gesture at her and hustled out the door.

When it slammed shut, Mickey dug her fingers into the side of her head. Geeze, this holiday. She didn’t mind making treats for her friends to use at their discretion, but she wanted no part in the holiday itself. It made people crazy, trying to find ways to profess their love for people. And for just that one day? The idea had never sat right with her. Why contain their appreciation to one day when the other three hundred and sixty-four were available? Not to mention the price gouging on flowers and candy—the turtle prices were reasonable!—and society’s penchant for making the single people feel like losers for not having that special someone for the one day.

Not that she was a loser. Okay, so maybe she had been slightly irked when she learned Mel and Jazz had plans with their boyfriends for the day. Her other sister, Sammi, had already flown to Nashville to be with her long-standing boyfriend for the occasion. Hell, even her aunt Kelly had a blind date for the night, a double with Miss Jennifer. (It wasn’t a blind date for Miss Jennifer, she was going out with Fabio. It was who Fabio was bringing for Kelly that attached the ‘blind’ classification. When Jazz offered up the suggestion Gustavo was her date, Kelly nearly broke her neck with how fast she denied that claim.)

She wasn’t envious, not at all, it’s just…well, it was a bit odd to be the only one without plans. They were supposed to do everything together, right? Wasn’t that the point of being born with them? How’d she miss the memo on getting a boyfriend? Not that it mattered. And she got over it anyway. Helping her sisters and her friends have special days was all she needed to feel fulfilled. With Kelly’s apartment empty, she had a pint of Häagen Dazs, a few pop-punk playlists, her pet ferret, and Legally Blonde to keep her company.

“Ahem.”

Or not.

Eyebrows crinkling, Mickey turned only to yelp at the sight of James stretched out on a black and white checkered blanket, one arm resting on a propped-up knee, the long stem of a deep red rose clamped between his smiling teeth. The orange couch had been pushed aside, allowing for the blanket to take its place on the floor. Plates of heart-shaped candy, brownies, soft pretzels, cookies, and cinnamon rolls covered the surface, nestled near two cans of Diet Coke, all beneath a crackling fire.

Mickey’s eyes widened and her thoughts raced so fast they nearly collided with one another. When did he get there? How did she not hear him? How did he set that up so fast? Where did he hide it? Where did he manage to find heart-shaped cinnamon rolls? He had to go for the pretzel too, didn’t he? Darn her appreciation for bread. And—was that a fireplace? Where the hell did he get a fireplace?

She sucked a breath in through her nose, fighting to ease the twitching to her lip and the racing of her heart and the quivering in her legs. Upon closer inspection the fire was only a setting on a tv screen propped up on the floor. Okay, that was good. Why he didn’t just use the one hanging off the wall she didn’t dare ask. Like with Carlos, sometimes it was better to not ask questions.

James removed the rose from his mouth, his smile not budging an inch. “I was just thinking, since we’re both here, and we’re both single, and it’s Valentine’s Day, how about you and me”—he gestured to the space between them with the rose; Mickey watched as a petal fell off and fluttered to the ground—“spend the day together. We could even make-out—ow, thorn.”

Oh, dear god. She had a feeling God wouldn’t help her if he came up with this form of torture for her to walk into. But it was enough for her to grab her wits—not that his deepening voice shook them loose or anything—and look him in the eye. Away from his smile. He had a nice smile; she could admit that. Okay, it was a great smile. But that wasn’t the point!

“No thank you,” she said shortly, managing to find her voice after swallowing the lump of panic rising in her throat. “This…” she gestured to the scene in front of her, “this was nice but…no. No thank you.” Turning to the door, she jumped when she spotted James blocking her path. What the…? A glance over her shoulder showed an empty blanket. Facing him, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder and asked, “How did you do that?”

James ignored her question. “Maybe we can go see a movie instead. They’re replaying Kiss and Tell.”

She didn’t know which was worse: his suggestion or her traitorous mind considering it for a second. A fleeting second, it shot out of her brain faster than it came in, but it existed. And that was enough for her to shut it down, banish it away and keep a tighter hold on herself. In fact, she wrapped her arms around herself, as if she needed to hold herself back from doing something she couldn’t take back, something ridiculously stupid. Because she knew what he implied with that suggestion; the switch from his frank sharing of his intentions to a covert suggestion nearly knocked her off kilter. She really needed to get a grip.

“No thank you,” she repeated, firming up the three words. She moved to walk around him when he took a large step to the left, blocking her path. She took a step to her left and he mirrored her, still standing in her way. She allowed a smile through, remembering he did the same when they first met nearly a year ago. Some things changed, including the cut of his long shaggy hair (thankfully!), and some things stayed the same.

“What else do you have to do today?” The roll of his shoulders, the shove of his hands into his pockets, and the relaxed ease as he offered up the question, as if he knew the answer, rankled her.

Shifting her grip, she crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Stuff.”

He squinted. “What kind of stuff?”

“Important stuff. It’s…” she stretched out the last letter, sounding much like a hissing snake as she quickly thought. “It’s my hair day.”

“Your hair day is usually the third Sunday of the month. It’s only the second.”

Shit. She should have known he’d know that. He was the only other person outside her family who had dedicated hair days and she may have asked his opinion on scalp detox treatments once or twice. “I need the extra work. My locs are dry.”

“I can help.”

Help by touching her hair? Help by erasing any sort of space between them? Help by being close enough for her to spell the warm ‘Cuda man spray clinging to his neck? (They’d changed something in the formula, so he didn’t swell up into a hive monster anymore.) No. Nope. Bad idea. Her eyes darted to the oven nearby, displaying the time, and her pulse thudded at the time. 12:30? Crap, crap crap!

“Again, no thank you. I just want to be alone. Oh, is that the time? I have to go!” Finally, she managed to get around him and made a quick beeline for the door.

James followed her. “Who wants to be alone on Valentine’s Day?”

“I do.” She had to get out. She had to leave now. Good thing they never locked their door, she could make a quick exit. Just had to open the door and make her escape and get to the bus and—shove her face into the fronds of an aloe plant. She lifted her brown eyes, zeroing in on the name stitched into the navy shirt: Busy Bee Florist.

Oh nooooooo.

“What’s up? I gotta delivery for’a James Diamond.” The deliveryman’s strong Brooklyn accent threw Mickey for a loop. Yes, that was the reason she still stood in the doorway, gaping at him, rather than making her escape. She may as well have closed the door in her own face. Escape was futile.

“I’m James Diamond.” Out the corner of her eye, Mickey saw James point to himself. She needed to move, she needed to leave, but weights in her legs kept her rooted to the spot despite the alarm bells going off in her mind.

“Sign ‘ere.” The deliveryman shoved the plant into Mickey’s hands and removed the clipboard from beneath his arm. James quickly scrawled his signature at the bottom of the paper and handed the clipboard back. The deliveryman lifted his cap in a halfhearted gesture grumbled, “Have a bee-utiful day”, and walked away.

Humming, James closed the door, pinching the sleeve of Mickey’s white and navy stripped shirt to tug her out the way. With puckered eyebrows he took the plant out of her hands, turning the cream-colored base side to side, studying the long blades of the plant. “Oooh! What’s this?” Eyes settling on the white card wedged between a few blades, he set the plant down on the dinner table and plucked it. With a twist of his wrist, he turned the card around, eyes scanning the line of text on it.

Mickey took the chance to tiptoe towards the door. She knew exactly how long it would take him to read the short note written on the cardstock. She knew exactly how long it would take him to read it again. And if she moved fast enough, she could be out the door and safe and be back at her apartment cuddled up with her ferret and he’d be none the wiser and she’d be safe.

James’s hoot of excitement dashed her hopes when he raced over to her, grasped her shoulders, and shook her, sending her blue and black locks shooting forward and back. “Do you know what this is?” She didn’t get a chance to get a word out when he continued speaking, “It’s a secret admirer note! I have a secret admirer!” She stumbled away when he let her go, grasping onto the dinner table to keep from falling over as her world tilted and swirled. Blinking a few times, she waited for her eyes to stop rolling and her legs to keep her firmly planted on the ground. Only when she righted herself did she notice the smirk curling on James’s lips and the sparkle shinning in his hazel eyes. “Well, I wonder who the lucky lady is getting a first-class seat on Air Diamond. Destination: love!”

…Huh. Mickey pressed her lips together, straining to keep away the curl of…something she didn’t want to name which fought to appear on her face. Not only ten minutes ago he tried to put the moves on her and now he was up and ready to find some other girl? Then what was the whole point? Something stirred in her stomach, a sour bubbling led to a crackling beneath her skin. A livewire, making her fingers twitch against the table.

“—Okay, let’s go!”

Crap. She hadn’t been listening to him. She looked up at him from behind her curtain of hair. “Go where?”

“My secret admirer is out in the Palm Woods somewhere and you’re gonna help me find her.”

Her breath knocked out of her all at once when his words landed on her. No, no, no! He wasn’t supposed to do that! He wasn’t supposed to try and trail it back to the sender. The note was anonymous for a reason! Wasn’t that the whole point of a secret admirer? The idea stoked her panic and had her uttering in a pitchy squeak, “What!? Me!? Why me?”

“Because you’re a girl and you can send out your girl signals to help me figure out who it is.” He wiggled his fingers in her direction as he spoke.

She stared at him, an eye slowly closing to a squint as his words registered. “…Girls aren’t bats! We don’t have some sort of…girl…echolocation radar!” Make him change his mind, get him off the trail, do something!

“Maybe not. But you can’t say no to this smile.” James pointed at his face, as if she somehow forgot what his smile looked like when his lips pulled back to let the dazzle shine through.

She swore she heard a record scratch sound off in her head. And she stared. She didn’t plan to, she didn’t want to, but it just…happened. The staring. When he smiled at her like that, it was if her brain went to mush and needed time to power down and process that a smile like that was directed at her. And the worst part? He knew how to work it and get her flimsy resolve to crack. It scattered at her feet, useless. “…Godammit.”

If possible, James’s smile shined brighter. The boy could light up all of Vegas with the wattage powering him. Mickey looked away, or else she’d do something she’d regret to wipe away that self-satisfied look in his eye.

The smug jerk.

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Okay, okay, don’t panic Mickey, don’t panic! It’s just…a matter of putting everything into perspective. You sent James a plant. Just a plant. People send people plants all the time. No big deal. Okay, so there was a note too, but it was just a note. A nice note. Just something you’ve been thinking. People share thoughts all the time! It’s not a big deal! …But now he’s dragged you around the Palm Woods because he wants to find whoever sent him the plant. Because of course he wasn’t going to let it go, you big time dumbass! You could probably tell him that you sent it and end this…but then he’d probably blow that out of proportion and—

“Okay! Do you remember the plan?” James popped out from behind the line of bushes around the Palm Woods pool, a tree hat sitting comfortably on his head.

Lifting herself up next to him, Mickey spat out a few leaves coating her tongue and brushed away the few sticking to her hair. “Is the hat really necessary?”

“Yes! All of our good plans involve tree hats!” Mickey’s mouth turned to the side. Since when have their plans turned out well? Or could be called good? The boys somehow manage to turn doing nothing into complete chaos and James thinks their plans work? The boy really did float along on a cloud of his own ego. “By the way, I got you one too.” James pulled a hat from seemingly out of nowhere.

Mickey frowned at it. “You know I can’t wear it. Hats don’t fit over my hair.”

“Oh, I thought about that. I got it a size bigger. And!” He flipped it over, pointing at the interior. “I custom ordered it. The inside is lined with satin so it won’t pull on or damage your hair.”

Stunned, it took a second for her to reach out and take the hat, carefully placing it over her hair and, whaddya know, it fit perfectly. “Thanks James,” she said with a soft smile.

His shoulders bounced in a jaunty shrug. “No problem.” Then he reached out, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and drew her into his side. A strangled sound rumbled in her chest and a flush darkened her cheeks, the one squished against his pec. Electricity shot down her arm, right beneath his soft grip, but that was nothing to worry about. Just a static shock. “Now remember: you go over to the Jennifers, strike up a conversation, and then I’ll slip in and close the deal.”

“Yeah, but James, this is the seventh girl you’ve tried.” Mickey lifted her hand and started counting on her fingers. “You’ve already called that Annie girl who you thought was a mermaid, you called Heather Fox, you texted Mercedes—”

“How could she not want this”—he gestured wildly to his face—“as one of her potential boyfriends? How could she not pick me? Huh? How?”

“—then there was that Muffy girl who you say tried to kill you—”

“Yes, but that was only when I was a vampire,” James supplied.

Mickey studied his face, trying to find any hint of jest only to come up empty. Anyway! “After that you tried some Penny Lane girl who you say was a spy.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “You just tried with Sunblock Girl—”

“Yeah, that still stings,” James mumbled, rubbing at a slightly reddened eye. “She has good aim with that sunscreen.”

“—and then there was that contest winner. Tiffany? Or Jeanette? …Which one did you end up calling anyway?”

James made a face. “I don’t know. Tiffnette?”

Mickey slapped her palm against her face and pulled her features down. This boy. “I’m just saying, you’re zero for seven. Why don’t you quit while you’re behind? Isn’t the secret admirer part supposed to be kept a secret?”

James swung his head around to face her, his bottom lip pulled up into an angry pout. “If I wanted someone to make things make sense, I would’ve brought Logan with me.”

“Logan’s on a double with Carlos.”

“I know!” he all but shouted, eyes blazing, “Don’t remind me! Everyone else gets to be so happy! When’s it gonna be my turn, hmm? Don’t I deserve to be happy too? It’s not like pretty people don’t have problems!” Mickey bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t going to touch that. “And right now, my problem is that I’m not dating a Jennifer. Now get over there and help me.”

“Which one do you want me to ask?”

“Yes!” He pushed at her shoulder and she stumbled sideways, catching her balance before eating it on the cement around the pool. Grumbling, she yanked off her tree hat and tossed it over to James.

Curling and uncurling her fingers, Mickey counted every step she took as she got closer to the Jennifers. They sat around their table by the cabanas as always, drinking identical pink smoothies, scripts held up to their faces. Mickey blew out a breath through her pursed lips. It wasn’t that she and the Jennifers didn’t get along, they were nice…enough. She liked Jennifer 3, sometimes they talked about hair treatments or what skincare products to use for dark marks. But it was hard to get her away from the other Jennifers so their conversations were few.

In unison they arched their brows, lowered their scripts, and removed their large, round sunglasses from their faces. Mickey’s attempt at a smile stalled halfway beneath their perfect, poreless, pristine auras. They sat cast in a golden outline, as if a permanent spotlight illuminated them. And there she stood by comparison, rusted silver, barely. It’s no wonder James insisted it had to be one of them.

“Hey guys,” Mickey greeted them, shoved her curled hands into her pockets. She rocked back and forth on her heels and used her chin to point towards the bound pages on the table. “New scripts?”

“We have an audition coming up for Savannah Louisiana: normal girl by day, singing spy by night,” Jennifer 1 explained, her lips curling in a pleased smile.

“Yeah, but why are you studying them today? I figured you’d have some sort of date or something. It is Valentine’s Day.”

“We need to give the boys of the Palm Woods time to think they have a chance with us,” Jennifer 2 said. With a sweep of her arm, she motioned to the piles, buckets, and of flowers, teddy bears, and wrapped gifts surrounding them. An easel nearby held looked like a large poster of the three Jennifers but was really, upon closer inspection, made out of M&Ms in varying colors.

Mickey let out a low whistle at the sight of it. Talk about dedication. “…Don’t know how I missed that,” she mumbled. Out the corner of her eye she spotted James removing his tree hat and whipping out a handheld mirror to check his hair. He winked at his reflection and cocked a finger gun. A flash of irritation coursed through her. “So…you have a lot of admirers.”

“Of course we do,” Jennifer 3 said, shoving her sunglasses into her hair. She spoke as if the notion was obvious. Which it probably was for them. They probably got mountains of cards and gifts back in school, being the envy of the hallways. Mickey knew that type well; her sister Sammi was one of them.

“Did you give any out?”

The three girls shared a look and burst out laughing. Mickey tugged at her hair again, fighting off the familiar unsettling pooling in the pit of her stomach at their laughter for asking such a question. “We don’t give out admirer notes. We just get them,” Jennifer 2 corrected, a slight sneer curling her lip and wrinkling her nose. “We have a reputation to uphold. We’re not desperate.”

She ignored the sting of their unintentional dig, spotting James walking towards the Jennifers with an odd pattern to his steps. As if he listened to bouncy disco music only he could hear. Oh no, oh no, oh no! Clearing her throat, Mickey lifted her voice, eyes darting back and forth between the Jennifers and James, “So…you’ve never sent out admirer gifts to anyone? Ever? Not even today?” James continued his approach. Geeze, how could he not hear her? Even the Jennifers caught onto the stilted wave of her questioning.

“No,” Jennifer 3 replied, eyes squinting. “And even if we did we wouldn’t wait until the last minute.”

“Besides, we have dates with the Owens Brothers tonight. They’re taking us to Nobu,” Jennifer 2 added, rolling back her shoulders.

Mickey’s head tilted to the side. “Weren’t they just cast in Savannah Louisiana?”

Jennifer 1 smirked. “Yep.”

“Ladies,” James trilled, sliding into view. Their faces remained unimpressed. “Don’t you look beautiful today. You know I really admire how you get your hair so shiny. I can even see myself in it. And I look good.” Mickey elbowed him in the side when he reached up to fix his hair and hit him with a hard stare. Just get this over with, please! “Right! Yeah, so, anyway, speaking of Valentine’s, I’m going to offer one of you ladies the chance to ride on Air Diamond, non-stop express to Love Island.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the note. Mickey lifted her thumb to her mouth, raking her teeth against the edge, taking great interest in Buddha Bob powering up his hedge clippers. “By the way, thanks for the plant and the note. Maybe we can break out the aloe and pamper each other.” Mickey put her hand up to her face, hiding the way her mouth twisted.

“We didn’t send you a secret admirer note, James,” Jennifer 2 told him in bored tones.

“What?” James’s face immediately fell. “You didn’t?”

“Of course not!” Jennifer 1 said with a scoff.

“You heard her, it’s not them, let’s go!” Mickey heard how shrill her voice had become around her thumb, but she didn’t care. She grasped his arm to move him; he didn’t budge, save for the muscle bulging beneath her hand. She snatched her hand away as if it were on fire, much like her face.

Frowning, James looked over the card again. “Well, if you didn’t, who did?”

Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me! Mickey bit her thumbnail so hard it popped and cracked between her teeth. Jennifer 3’s eyes slid over to her, her eyebrows lifting. Mickey’s eyes widened and she turned her head a couple inches to the left and then to the right. An amused expression passed through Jennifer 3’s face only to be replaced with a mask of indifference in the blink of an eye.

“Do we look like we care?” Jennifer 2 asked. “Now move, you’re blocking the views of the envious girls who wish they were us.” She waved her hand in a shooing gesture, putting her sunglasses back on. Jennifer 1 and Jennifer 3 mimicked her gesture.

“See? They didn’t send it. You’ve tried every girl at the Palm Woods. Now can we go?” Mickey turned to leave, stopping only when James grabbed her by the crook of her elbow.

“Yeah, every girl at the Palm Woods,” James repeated. Lifting his finger, he continued, “We haven’t tried the Palm Woods Park yet.”

The alarm bells returning, clanging louder than before. “I don’t want to go to the park. I want the ice cream that’s waiting for me.”

“I’ll buy you some. Cookie dough’s your favorite, right?”

“Right, but—”

“Do you dare try to stop me on my love quest?” he demanded, pointing a finger in her face. Her eyes crossed trying to keep his finger in focus. Geeze, how was she supposed to answer that and not sound like a jerk? …Then again, that was probably the point. “Let’s go!” She watched James’s retreating back as he marched around the pool, heading for the exit.

Mickey slowly turned to the Jennifer’s. Her eyes flickered across their faces, shoulders sagging. “…Who told you?” she slowly asked.

“Carlos,” they replied in unison, smirking all the while.

Mickey’s head lolled back as she groaned. “Should’ve known.” He couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. And it wasn’t that she wanted to tell him in the first place, he wore her down with his questioning when she called to ask, hypothetically, what kind of flowers the guys would want if they were to get them. It was a gamble asking him, she knew, but they were buds and she’d get a straight answer from him regarding James. She took too big a risk and had to tell him something to keep him from talking. Bribing him with four vouchers to whale watch clearly only worked for so long (Aunt Kelly got showered with gifts from potential clients trying to sway her into making an offer all the time).

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Jennifer 2 said, “it’s cute that you’re trying to shoot so far out of your league.”

Mickey didn’t have time to address those wounding words; realization landed with a heavy thud, dragging her attention with it: if the Jennifers knew…who else knew?

-------

“—And now, and now, he’s dragged me up and down and all around accosting some poor innocent girls trying to find his secret admirer and I don’t think he’s gonna quit!” Mickey paused her ranting to shove another spoonful of tiramisu into her mouth. She chewed the beignet piece, swallowed, and continued, “See, see, it’s this…this stupid holiday. It makes everyone go crazy. Hallmark just haaad to go and make people read into everything and think that this one day was super important and everyone had to go and choke one each other’s love fumes. What ever happened to people wanting to be nice to other people? I don’t need one day to do that. Okay, maybe I could’ve picked a better day to send the dang plant, but I wasn’t supposed to be there when he got it! And who said Valentine’s Day is all about relationships anyway? It’s for friends too! James is my friend. I, as a friend, was trying to cheer a friend up! You’ve seen how Uncle Gustavo has been on him lately!” Jazz and Kendall stared at Mickey, taking long drags of the sparkling cider bubbling in their glasses. Mickey glared at them. “Are either of you going to say something?”

The two glanced at each other and simultaneously removed the straws from their mouths and leaned forward to set their glasses down on the red and black picnic blanket. Kendall leaned back on his palms, crossing one ankle over the other, and gave her a hard look. Jazz, instead, chuckled and shook her head. “I only have five words for you.” She held up a fist and extended a finger with each word. “I. Told. You. So.”

Mickey’s nose wrinkled. “That’s four words.”

Jazz leaned forward and smacked her open palm against Mickey’s forehead. “Dumbass!” Smiling sweetly beneath Mickey’s glare she added, “That’s five,” and popped a salmon-topped crostini into her mouth.

“Why don’t you just tell James you sent him the plant?” Kendall asked.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Mickey said through gritted teeth. Because it’s the obvious solution, dummy, her thoughts screamed back at her; she shoved it aside. “You know James better than I do,” she said, jabbing a spoon in his direction. “You know what he’s like. If he’s this rabid just trying to find his secret admirer, he’ll be worse if he found I sent it to him. Because then he’ll want to know why I sent it to him and then I’ll have to say—”

“That you like him?” Jazz offered. She held up her hands when Mickey brandished the spoon in her direction. “I’m just sayin’.”

Mickey dug the spoon back into the glass of tiramisu, the utensil clanged against the side of the glass. It sounded so simple coming out of her mouth but it just…wasn’t. She wasn’t even sure what name to put on her feelings for James. They were positive, mostly. She could admit that. He was funny and fun and sweet and loyal and supportive. But then his ego swelled and all that got eclipsed by his narcissistic, shallow, and self-centered tendencies. Though that wasn’t what made her pay attention to him in the first place, his advances aside.

No, it was that look in his eye when he hit a particularly difficult note with ease. That satisfied smile on his face when he completed a dance sequence with moves so sure it was like he floated on the music. It was the drive powering him through recording sessions, take after take after take, even though he nailed it back on the third because it wasn’t up to his standards and his level of perfection. It was the pride burning through his chest and the passion shining in his smile when he wrote and composed a song, pouring his heart into the process. It was the ease of which he laid out his vulnerabilities and didn’t apologize for it or for his existence.

But he made it complicated. Baseline, she did like James. She liked all the guys of Big Time Rush, even if they came with a hurricane of chaos. But liking James and liking James were two different things and it was much easier to face one than the other. That’s what the aloe plant was for, to say what she couldn’t and didn’t want to face. She could give away any sort of feelings she had for him with the plant and didn’t have to look at it ever again.

Besides, it wasn’t like James was serious with his come-ons. The advances were just to bide his time; she knew that; it was how he worked. He bounced around from girl to girl like a bee searching for pollen. And she was just one flower in a field, a baby’s breath next to a rose. No, this was much easier.

Well, as easy as things could be when she spent all afternoon hovering around girls sitting in the lobby waiting for a thumbs up or a thumbs down, pretending to get candy from the vending machine to scope out potential suspects, and sitting by the elevator with a hockey stick waiting to trip up any guy who could get in the way of James and his “destiny” with guilt rolling a bigger rock in her stomach as time went on.

See, this is why she hated Valentine’s Day.

“And why an aloe plant?” Kendall asked.

Mickey dragged the spoon around the remnants of the empty dessert flute, licked the chocolate ganache off the scoop, and set the glass aside, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand. “Because you can cut open an aloe plant and use the extract to heal scrapes, treat burns, and for basic skin care. Plus, if you want, you can add it to your smoothies for an extra boost of Vitamin C or for an aid in digestive health,” Mickey replied.

“So, it’s perfect for James.” Kendall nodded. “You must really like him.” Kendall laughed when Mickey swatted at him.

“Thanks for keeping it a secret, sis,” Mickey said, turning to Jazz.

“Hey, I don’t keep secrets from Kendall. Especially not about this,” Jazz said.

“Why is this the exception?”

Jazz smirked. “Because this is fun for me.” She took another long sip of cider, turning her eyes skywards. Mickey made a mental note to look into getting a rubber snake for their next birthday. See how Jazz liked that bit of fun. When Jazz reached for the plate holding the pie piece, Mickey snatched it away from her. “Dude,” Jazz uttered.

“No pie for you!” Mickey made a show of stabbing the pie piece with a fork and shoving the broken section off in her mouth. Dang, she was good. She mentally patted herself on the back for having the foresight to leave an entire other pie in the fridge back at Aunt Kelly’s apartment.

“You can share mine,” Kendall said, offering Jazz his plate.

“Don’t be mad at me because you’re too much of a chicken shit to tell James,” Jazz said, sticking out her tongue.

Mickey scoffed. “Easy for you to say! You and Kendall have been dating basically since you met each other!” The thing was, at the time, Jazz and Kendall didn’t realize they were dating. But what else could it be called when they spent nearly every day for the past year texting, facetiming, and emailing each other when they were apart and then going to the movies, going skateboarding, scheming, playing guitar at the recording studio, and going for walks when they were together? If you wanted one, you’d find the other. By the time they jointly announced they were dating, it was more of the sake of convenience than a need. None of them—Mickey, her sisters, and the rest of the boys of Big Time Rush—batted an eyelash about it. As far as they could see, it was inevitable.

“Look, James is my bud,” Kendall said, “And I want him to be happy. And I think you two overdramatic weirdos could be happy together.”

Mickey scoffed, not bothering to hide the offense on her face. “I’m not overdramatic.”

Kendall’s eyebrows rose. “Oh really?” He reached out and smacked the pie plate out of her hands.

“My pie!” Mickey screeched, watching in dismay as it landed upside-down on the grass. “You monster!” Kendall pressed his lips together, giving her a pointed stare with his green eyes. “There is no such thing as being overdramatic about food,” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

“Mickey, why is it so bad for James to know how you feel?” Jazz asked.

Mickey pulled at a few blades of grass, twisting her mouth to the side. Sheesh, where could she start with that?

“Well, it’s not Katie,” James announced, dropping onto the blanket next to Mickey. Three pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction as he rocked from side to side, grasping two small cups of ice cream. “She even laughed in my face, which was kind of rude.” Speaking out the side of his mouth, in a stage whisper, he added, “I think she’s in denial.” With a little laugh, he shrugged his shoulders and held out a cup for Mickey.

“No luck then?” Kendall asked. Mickey squinted at him. He stared back innocently. She didn’t buy it. He was a planner for a reason. What was he up to? The nudge of James’s elbow to her side broke her stare. She accepted the cup with a fleeting smile and dug into the ice cream for a large chunk of cookie dough near the surface.

“No. She’s really hiding. And I don’t get why. I mean why spend the day alone when you could spend the day with this?” Using his spoon, James gestured to his body, from crossed legs, up his torso, and in circles around his face. His head jerked back in a recoil as a bit of ice cream flew off the spoon and landed brushing ice cream against his nose. Mickey chuckled at the sight, reaching out to brush it off his nose. James in turn flashed an appreciative smile. She caught Jazz’s eye and dropped her hand to her lap.

“Well, it can’t be hard to trace the delivery back to the sender,” Kendall said nonchalantly.

A spike of fear shot down her spine. What? Mickey shoved her spoon too far in her mouth, scraping the back of her throat. A series of coughs made her double over, reddening her face, bringing tears to her eyes. Jazz and Kendall, the traitorous traitors, merely stared at her. If Mickey looked hard enough, she’d be able to see identical devil horns on their heads. James at least had the decency to rub circles between her shoulder blades. Not that his attention could be delayed from his love quest for too long.

“Keep talking,” James said.

“No, James, we should…we should get going,” Mickey said, pushing his arm. Her voice now took on a slight rasp. “We’re interrupting their date.”

“I mean call the place,” Kendall hurried, a sparkle in his eye. “Ask for the person who delivered the flowers and get a name from them.”

“Or at least get the name of the person who paid for it,” Jazz added.

“Isn’t there some sort of privacy in place?” Mickey asked, silently sending them mental waves to shut up! “You know, for nosy busybodies?”

“Not if they have a kid who just so happens to like Big Time Rush and wouldn’t mind getting free tickets to our next concert,” Kendall said with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

“Jazz, your boyfriend’s trying to sell his soul,” Mickey tattled, jabbing her finger in Kendall’s direction.

Jazz made a meh sound. “As long as the outside of him stays the same I don’t think I’d notice a difference.”

“Nice,” Kendall muttered. His brief frown turned into a smile when Jazz leaned over and kissed his cheek.

James dug into his pocket, removing his phone with bright eyes. Mickey’s eyes darted around, searching for any sort of escape from the gnawing hole in her stomach. Do something, do something, do something! Lunging forward, Mickey grabbed James’s phone, drew back her arm, and threw it. Silence settled over the group like a thick, heavy, wool blanket. Calmly, Mickey scooped another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. Only when she swallowed did she look at their bewildered expressions and said, “Spasm. Sorry.” Then she sat up straight. “Oh look! There’s Jo!” Internally she cringed at foisting James off onto one of her friends but, well, desperate times, desperate measures. He scurried away in the blink of an eye and Mickey repeatedly hit her forehead with her fist.

“You know what I think?” Jazz asked.

“That I’m in Hell?” Mickey replied, her dull words directed down towards her lap.

Jazz snorted. “No, but you deserve however this ends.”

Mickey peeked up at them from beneath her lashes. “How’s the air up on your high horse?”

Kendall and Jazz grinned. “Sweet.”

--------

“I’m not your secret admirer,” Lucy said the minute she opened her apartment door. Looking up at James, she crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow, effectively killing the expectant smile on his face in one shot.

“How’d you know that’s what I was gonna ask you?” he asked.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy said, “Because it’s all over the Palm Woods that you’re asking every girl if they’re your secret admirer. Honestly, I don’t blame them for keeping it a secret. You’re getting a little intense.” Lucy was going to get a fruit basket, Mickey decided. The swell of pride growing within her for having such a sensible friend ebbed away as fast as it came when Lucy’s eyes shifted over to her. “And why’re you helping him?” Lucy continued, pointing a finger in James’s direction.

“…I have girl radar or something,” Mickey replied, cringing at the rasp still affixed to her words. It was a lot easier to verbalize that than her spine being as soft as Jell-O.

Lucy blinked and shook her head. “Okay, even if that were a thing, that doesn’t make sense.”

“You know I don’t make sense,” James said. “Besides, love doesn’t have to make sense. I just want a Valentine. Why is that so bad?”

“You can’t coerce people into being what you want just because you want it,” Lucy said.

“…If I knew what that word meant I’d say ‘yes I can’!”

“You realize you’re encouraging this right?” Lucy asked Mickey.

She nearly laughed aloud. Maybe Lucy was right on paper but the lengths she’d gone through the whole day would say otherwise. Aside from throwing his phone any time he got it out, she nearly had to tackle James to keep him away from Logan, Camille, Carlos, and Stephanie when they crossed paths in the lobby (of which she then had to dodge another make-out offer as she got off him), she got a nasty shock to her foot kicking out the plug to the computers, and nearly blew herself into the pool with Bhudda Bob’s industrial leaf blower in her attempts to blow James away from Sandy and Mandy Simms (honestly that was for his own good. He wasn’t going to address them by the right names, and she knows firsthand how annoying that was).

Instead, Mickey mumbled. “Trust me, his one-track mind doesn’t need any of my help,”

“Yeah!” James nodded.

“So, you don’t find it odd you haven’t had any luck finding this girl?” Lucy asked. “Assuming it’s a girl.”

“It’s a girl!” James insisted, his voice tightening.

“Fine.” Lucy leaned against the doorway, eyes shifting between the two. “Still. It has to be someone around here, right?”

“Lucy,” Mickey all but growled through clenched teeth.

Lucy ignored her. “I don’t know why they’d want to be shy about it. I mean, you are James Diamond of Big Time Rush, after all.” Out the corner of her eye Mickey spotted James standing up straighter, propped up by her words. “Then again, girls know not to step on another girl’s territory…”

Mickey wanted her fruit basket back.

“What do you mean?” James asked.

“I mean you’ve been hanging out with Mickey all day, right? Girls might think she’s called dibs on you. Give them more of a reason to stay anonymous.” Mickey strained hard to keep her head facing forward, the expression on her face neutral beneath James’s penetrating gaze. She tucked her shakings hands into the crooks of her arms and evened out her breathing. And Lucy, all the while, held the tight-lipped smile of someone guarding a laugh. Waving her hand, Lucy stood straight, “But I could be wrong. What do I know? I don’t have a Valentine”—James moved to open his mouth—“not that I’m looking for one! You’re already taken.”

“There’s plenty of me to go around,” James insisted.

“I’m not into sharing.” Snickering, Lucy grasped her door and moved to close it. “Well, have fun on your little date.”

Mickey’s relieved sigh of “Thanks” quickly shifted over to her indignant shout of, “Wait, no! This isn’t a date!” Her words bounced harmlessly off Lucy’s closed door.

“Whatever!” Lucy called from the other side.

Pulling her lips inwards, Mickey slowly turned, steeling herself for…something. A suggestive comment, a flirty smile, swagger pouring out of his, well, pores. Not…this. The rounding of his shoulders, balancing an invisible weight, the shadow blanketing the sparkle in his eyes, the sharp rise and fall of his chest rather than the steady sureness and puffed preening. Releasing her lips, they fell into a soft frown. “James?” She reached out, her fingers grazing his arm. His head snapped up, eyes settling on her face, and with a blink of his (unfairly!) long lashes, the light returned to his eyes.

“Hey, no, I’m good. Let’s take a break. I'm getting hungry.”

She didn’t bother to point out he’d already eaten ice cream, because eating sounded like a good idea. She needed food. She needed to stop the gnawing in her stomach in ways only food could satiate. The hole opened, allowing more room for guilt and shame around the pie and tiramisu and ice cream she’d already consumed. Better to eat something else before the black hole ate her. At least that way, if she was full, there was no room for anything else.

-------

It wasn’t that she didn’t want the sandwich James prepared. He even remembered not to put mayonnaise on hers; not even the guys at Subway could manage that. (Okay, so she kind of mumbled when she had to place orders so it was easy to confuse ‘tomato’ for ‘mayo’ and she could have corrected them but that was more trouble than it was worth.) Despite the clawing deep in the pit of her stomach she couldn’t make herself eat, not with the waves of despair rolling off James, threatening to drown her. He kept his smile, but it was tight lipped, half-blown, wrong.

He leaned against the refrigerator, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, shoulders pressing against the glass, holding his weight up, taking steady sips from a juice box. One arm wrapped tight around his torso, as if trying to hug himself.

Mickey picked at the sandwich, tearing little bits of bread and turkey breast and lettuce only to smoosh it into little spheres, littering her plate. James left his untouched.

“Is there something wrong with me?” James had lifted his mouth from the straw; the red from the juice darkened them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm, he set the juice box down. “I mean, there can’t be much wrong with me, right?”

“Uhhhh….” Mickey flicked a few of the sandwich spheres around her plate.

“I just don’t get it,” James continued as if she didn’t say anything, as if she weren’t in the room. “Why is it so easy for everyone else? I mean, Kendall. Right? We move here and right away Kendall gets Jo. And then Logan gets Camille…” He held his hand in the air and waved it side to side. “Kind of. And then Carlos has his thing with Stephanie. And then Kendall and Jo break up. But then we meet you guys and, well, you know Kendall and Jazz.” James drummed his fingers against the cardboard on the juice box. “…Kendall has it all. You know? The family, the friends, the girl.” Mickey zeroed in on that one word. Girl. Not girls. “And he didn’t even try for it. Not really. It falls into his lap.” The gnawing in her stomach grew though she couldn’t bring herself to eat anything, no matter how hard it screamed for food. A lump rose in her throat; she curled her trembling fingers into her palms. “Yeah, maybe I’ve been with girls. But lately I see Logan and Carlos and Kendall and they’re with girls. And I want that, I guess. And then this plant came…” Setting aside the juice box, he shifted and leaned forward, resting his elbows against the breakfast bar Mickey sat at, peering at the aloe plant. The minute he reentered 2J he picked it up and turned it around and around in his hands, as if searching for some sort of hidden compartment on it and discarded it as if it had personally offended him. Now he stared at it so hard she swore it’d eventually catch fire. “I thought maybe this was my chance for…something. I mean, my parents didn’t care much about spending time with me until I got out here. And even then, I don’t see my mom much. She doesn’t ask about all this.” He spun his finger in the air, encircling the room. His cheeks squished when he propped them up on his fists. Mickey’s leg bounced against the footrest of the bar stool. And even as her body tensed, begging her to run, she sat, enthralled, in a sick game of chicken. “Maybe it was a joke. Or I’m the joke, for thinking…” Silence ticked by, each pulse pounding Mickey over the head: say something do it, do it now, talk!

Her lips trembled, whether from the onslaught of his words, the ease and content of laying himself bare without a second thought, or the pressure rising within her chest. Lowering her head, she dug her fingers into her hair, curling them around the shafts, tugging hard. The pain was a brief relief, sharp and pointed; something to focus on than her whirling thoughts. Except for one, niggling at the back of her mind, roaring louder until she pinpointed Jazz’s voice:

Why is it so bad for James to know how you feel?

It wasn’t that. It was the after. What happens afterwards, what he would do, could do, with the feelings she gave for him on a platter. And she hated it, the not knowing, not having control after the words left her mouth, having to just stand there and open up her chest and hope and pray he’d be delicate.

You don’t know anything about me, she’d always say, a perfect deflection to his inquiries on her constant rebuffs. Shorthand for what she really wanted to say: you don’t care. But he did, he proved it all day: he knew her hair schedule, he knew her hair was important enough to her to get her a cap she could wear, he knew her favorite ice cream choice, he knew her sandwich preferences, he put aside his goal to check on her well-being, he prepared her favorite snacks when he knew she’d be alone. Even if it came with a string attached, he thought about it, thought about her. She rejected it but it didn’t stop him from laying it all out there, from going after what he wanted, from trying again and again and again, diving in with both feet without apologizing for it, without apologizing for feeling and being.

That’s truly why she hated the occasion, Valentine’s Day, because it gave everyone else the courage to be raw, be real, and she couldn’t manage it.

But as she sat there, simmering in James’s admission, wondering how someone like him could think he was a joke for allowing himself to be hopeful, she still admired him. How could she not? He was James Diamond, unapologetically.

“James.” She heard the shake in her voice and made herself remain steady, even as the bounce in her leg increased. He looked at her, face so open. Her heart sighed. “…I sent the plant.”

He didn’t react right away, just stared at her, hazel eyes meeting russet. She clasped her hands, bringing them up to her mouth, biting down on both thumb nails. He blinked, sucked in a breath, and slowly leaned back until he stood tall.

“…You’re my secret admirer.”

Mickey leaned back, dropping her hands into her lap, skin lightening beneath her hard grip. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She let out a little laugh, sheepish and incredulous combined. Because she was a jerk? Because she was an idiot. Because she was scared. All of the above? “Because I was the only person you didn’t ask, dummy!”

James blinked. “Oh.” He looked at the plant, at her, back at the plant, and got the note out of his pocket. His thumbs smoothed out the creased and bent cardstock and then held it out to her. She took it and put it aside; she didn’t need to read it. She had the words memorized; she’d agonized over what to add for days until she came up with the finished product. She didn’t care about that, she cared about now, what he would do now. As his lips parted, ready to speak again, she forced herself to stay put. All instincts told her to run, to hide, she still had time to save herself. She stayed still. “I guess…I didn’t think to ask. I mean, I never thought you’d…admire me.” He said the last part slowly, as if testing the weight of the words on his tongue.

Her shoulders sagged with her accompanying sigh. Okay, that wasn’t too bad. She tugged on the ends of her hair, pulling from mid-length down to the ends, over and over, avoiding his eyes. “James…I-I admire a lot about you. I don’t know how people can’t. I mean you…you have this drive that I’ve never seen in anyone before. And you have so much passion behind it. Even with Gustavo being hard on you lately, you still come back the next day ready to work with this…this fire. I’ve seen you go through so much and the whole time you’re…you’re you. You’re so comfortable being yourself, wholly, fully, and you don’t feel the need to apologize for it. I wish I was like that sometimes.”

“Oh.” He sure liked that word.

Head tilted downwards, she still stroked her hair, but peeked up at him. His eyes had widened and something in his face stilled. Did she say something wrong? God, this was why she didn’t do things like this, didn’t put herself out there. Crap, she messed everything up! The paralyzing hold on her eased, allowing a painful stab to hit her right in chest. She swiveled her hips to the side, turning the stool top, ready to jump down.

“Hold on.” James reached out, hand resting on her shoulder. She stopped, held her breath, and watched with crinkled brows when he walked stiffly to the bathroom and closed the door. What the…? Her eyebrows bunched even further at the flurry of movement on the other side of the door. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see him flailing. The door swung open and James walked back out calmly, cheeks reddened.

Her eyes ping-ponged between him and the bathroom. She was almost afraid to ask. “Did…did you just do a happy dance?”

“What? Me? No! Of course not!” James scoffed, waving his hand in the air, failing at keeping the smile off his flushed face. “Can I give you your gift now?” His words collided in a rushed slur.

She blinked, jarred from the conversation whiplash. Oh. Oh. She thought…And to be sure she glanced over her shoulder where the indoor picnic had been left. “Was that not…?”

“No. I got you something else.” His long fingers gripped the countertop; he practically vibrated.

“Ok…ay.” This…was not what was supposed to happen. Was it?

James scurried off to the bedrooms and Mickey prepared herself for the usual gifts she received on such occasion, a card or oven mitts or an apron with Mickey Mouse decorated all over it because, well, it was obvious. Her name and her hobby in the same, how original! But she’d mastered the pleased smile years ago. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the gifts, clearly the thought was behind it and that’s what counted, but sometimes she wished people didn’t go for something so easy.

When James came back carrying…some white structure, which at first glanced looked like a miniature shelf, she didn’t know what to do with her face. She bet she looked half constipated and half bewildered. How attractive!

“Um…”

“It’s an indoor herb garden,” he supplied, filling in the large blank in her head. She gaped, heart thudding a steady rhythm against her ribcage. “You always said you were upset Kelly’s apartment didn’t have a place for you to grow stuff. Now you can. Look!” He turned the box around and pointed to a list in small print. “It comes with spices too. It has basil, parsley, oregano, rosemary, thyme, and mint.”

A low buzzing sounded in her ears. It took her time to place it, that thrumming content. But when she did it amplified, an electric current running through her, so palpable that when their fingers brushed as she accepted the box, sparks popped at her fingertips. “Thank you.” It was soft and tender; all she could manage while trying to contain herself.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

Like wasn’t the right word but she wasn’t ready for that, nowhere near it. Hugging the box to her chest, she chanced a glance at him. “What happens now?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out so suddenly, but she had to know. Needed to know. “I’ve never…I mean, this thing…” Words failed her. Instead, she dragged a finger in the space between them.

Luckily, James caught on. “Neither have I,” he admitted. “But I want to try. I like you.”

A buzz thrummed within her at his directness. “I don’t get why considering I’ve been lying to you all day.” In fact, he was strangely…calm about it. Why wasn’t he angry with her?

“Well, yeah, that part kind of stinks,” he admitted, head bobbing from side to side, “but, the way I choose to look at it, you also went along with me all day when you could have left. Figured you have to like me a lot to go through all that trouble.” He paused and then his eyes widened.

Her pulse spiked. “What?”

“I just realized: this whole time, you were trying to keep people away because you want me all to yourself!” The swagger came back when he reached out tapped the tip of her nose; she almost missed it. “Not that I blame you.” Pointing at himself he added, “I wouldn’t want to give this away either.”

James’s beaming smile returned, eyes sparkling as if diamonds nestled within.

A wild sensation hit her at the sight of it: a sort of breathless elation, like climbing to the top of a mountain, being caressed by gentle winds only to sink into the crackling livewire of being so alive.

Mickey’s mouth opened and closed a few times, attempting to make words. Defeated, she pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, her lips curling up into an unrestrained smile.

--------

“So?”

Mickey lifted her head from the sink; droplets of water rolled down her cheeks and curled beneath her chin. She dapped at her face with the hand towel nearby, set it aside, and turned to see Jazz leaning in the bathroom doorway, grinning from ear to ear. “So what?” she asked.

“You know what.” Her grin grew. “How did things with you and James end up? You didn’t say anything when Kendall and I came back to the apartment and you didn’t say anything on the bus ride back here. I want details. Spill.”

Mickey’s eyes rolled to the ceiling as she mulled it over. Jazz crossed her arms over her Richmond Braves pajama shirt. Mickey’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, stopping only when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her lounge pants. Holding up a finger, she removed it only to experience a flutter in her stomach at the sight of James’s name on her screen next to the blinking text icon. With a swipe of her thumb, she opened the text.

James: See you at the studio tomorrow! Mickey: I’ll be the chick with the bass behind ya

“I’ll tell you after Kelly gets back,” Mickey said. At Jazz’s annoyed sigh she added, “Look, I don’t want to tell the story three times.” Reaching over, she flipped off the light to the bathroom and brushed past her, running to jump on her bed. Jazz landed next to her a second later, cuddling a large stuffed teddy bear to her chest. On the other side of the room Sammi and Mel crowded onto Sammi’s bed. Sammi’s fingers deftly twisted through the braids in Mel’s hair, adding new length with the fresh purple extensions. Mel carefully lifted a forkful of strawberry rhubarb pie to her mouth, balancing the plate on her knee. “Besides, I want to know who her super-secret date was.”

“It’s Gustavo. We all know it was Gustavo,” Jazz insisted.

“Yeah right,” Sammi said with a shake of her head; her new clover earrings shook with each turn of her head. “That’ll never happen.”

“It could!”

Mel grabbed a pillow off Sammi’s bed and threw it at Jazz, nailing her in the face. Beneath their laughter, Mickey snuck a look at her phone again. James had texted twice, one with a smiley face and another with a video attachment. She tapped her thumb against the screen. The video pulled up, filling the screen, and in seconds she watched a mirror shot of him dancing and celebrating in the bathroom.

She grinned.

The smug jerk.

#james diamond #mickey mason #mickames #big time rush #big time rush fanfic #big time rush fic #kendall knight #jazz mason #i have no idea how this show went on for four seasons and never did a valentine's day episode #i'm here to fix that to a degree #also james gets some depth because the show didn't want him to be deeper than a puddle and i need to fix that too #big time admirer #my writings #angst tw #social anxiety tw #disordered eating tw #envy tw #self loathing tw

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companionjones · 4 years

Text

Alex Needs You

Fandom: Hamilton

Pairings: Platonic!Maria Reynolds x Reader, Platonic!Hamilsquad x Reader, Alexander Hamilton x Reader, Past!Alexander Hamilton x John Laurens, Maria Reynolds x Lafayette.

Summary: Your college roommate, Maria Reynolds, wakes you up in the middle of the night to tell you that a boy you’re very close to is having a mental breakdown due to a schoolwork overload.

Warnings: College, panic attack due to schoolwork, cursing

Author’s Notes: -This is a college AU. -Don’t ask me why Maria and Lafayette are together. I don’t know. -I changed Lafayette name around for this because I learned that his first name is not Marquis, it is his title. Lafayette’s full name in this is Gilbert Marie-Joseph Lafayette. -I technically wrote Reader as a female in this, but I think the only proof of that is that Y/n and Maria share a female dorm room, and I think Lafayette refers to Reader as ‘M’dame.’ -The real founding fathers were horrible people (except for John Laurens and John Adams) who profited off slavery. This is not a fanfiction about them.

Please take some time to sign some BLM petitions! Remember not to give any money to change.org because the money would go to the website, not the cause.

*******

King’s College was the most prestigious university in the state. You were lucky enough to be awarded the scholarship money you needed to afford an education at the college on top of being accepted.

Speaking of your luckiness, you made several friends on your first day that you had managed to keep. Your fist friend at the university was your dormmate, Maria Reynolds. She introduced you to her boyfriend, Gilbert Marie-Joseph Lafayette, and Lafayette got you to meet his friends: John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Alexander Hamilton. Laurens and Mulligan shared a dorm room, and Alex roomed with Lafayette. You’d been to both dorms plenty of times, but you practically lived in the latter.

The reason was Alexander.

He was good friends with everyone, but he barely hung out with anyone. The workaholic virtually never left his and Lafayette’s dorm room except to go to classes. Alex was completely dedicated to his education. On top of that, he was going for a duel-major in Law and Economics. You took pity on the bags under his eyes as soon as you saw them.

You brought him food when he forgot to eat (which was almost everyday), you forced him to go to bed (which was definitely every night), and you even helped him through his break-up with his high school sweetheart: John Laurens. Needless to say, you and Alexander were the closest out of your new friends group.

That was why Maria woke you up one night.

“What is it?” you muttered groggily.

She was clearly in distress when she told you, “Y/n, we gotta go to Laf’s and Alexander’s place right now.”

“What?” you sat up a little in bed.

Maria was putting on her shoes. “Laf just called me. John and Herc are already there. Alex is having some sort of a breakdown. He needs you.”

Suddenly, you were out of bed. You got up so fast that your eyes did that thing where you went blind for a second. You asked thousands of questions about Alexander’s well-being, but Maria didn’t know much. All she could tell you was that Alex locked himself in his and Lafayette’s room. You and Maria set off to the boys’ dorm building at 2 in the morning.

“C’est tout, I’m kicking the door in.” John and Hercules were backing out of the way of the Lafayette by the time you arrived on the scene.

“Whoa! No, no. Stop that right now,” you ordered. “I’m not having you guys wreck school property, and something big like that will only stress out Alex more. Just...tell me what’s going on.”

Lafayette explained, “I came back from being out with the boys, and I realized the door was locked. I called out to Alexander, but he said he’d be done in a moment and his work was almost done. He sounded like he was crying very hard. I tried to talk to him more, but he hasn’t said anything since. That was an hour ago.”

“Okay,” you took a deep breath, and approached the door. “Alex? Hey, it’s Y/n. I, uh, I just need to know if you-if you hurt yourself.”

Alex stuttered, “Yeah-Ye-Yes. Yes. I’m-I’m fine. I just need a little more time, okay? I-I just need to finish this essay for Washington.”

Hercules was the first to voice his relief. “Oh, thank god. Y/n, I don’t know how you managed to do that. We haven’t been able to get Alex to talk since we got here.”

“Maybe there’s too many people,” Maria deduced, “We’re probably overwhelming him. He always responds best to Y/n anyway. How about we just leave them alone for a bit?”

The rest of the group agreed. When they started to leave, John stayed back for a moment.

He began, “I just want to thank you, Y/n. I know Alex and I broke up before school started, but I still care about him a lot, you know? You being there for him means a lot to me.”

“I know, John.” You affirmed, “I’ll take care of this.”

John nodded, and went to follow the others.

You walked back up to the door. “Alexander? The others are gone. Can I come in?”

At first, there was silence on the other side of the door. Then, you heard his chair roll back from his desk. Footsteps approached the door. It opened to a tear-stained Alexander.

Alex looked a mess. His dorm room wasn’t much different. There were crumpled papers everywhere It looked like he freaked out. That resulted in his blankets and pillows being whipped off his bed. His phone and laptop had been thrown to the floor and their screens had been shattered. Alex was currently working off of Lafayette’s laptop.

He noticed that you were looking around the room as you entered. “I’m sorry. Half of my fucking essay got deleted, and...and I...lost it, I guess? I locked the door because I didn’t want Laf to see what I did...I was going to let him in once I got a chance to clean up a little, but I-I have to finish this essay.” It was like he just reminded himself, and Alex sat down to get back to work.

“Alex.” You put your hands over his and intertwined his and your fingers. “Take a break,” you urged him.

His eyes hadn’t left the screen of the laptop.

“I’ll email Professor Washington, and ask for an extension for you. I’m sure you’ll get it.”

Alex was still unresponsive. He’d moved his gaze to your connected hands. They were in his lap, and you were kneeling in front of him.

“Alexander, please,” you begged for his attention.

Finally, Alex met your eyes. He nodded.

“Good.” You couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight of his eyes again. “Now, I’ll help you clean up in here. We can get you a new laptop, and the phone’s fixable. Then, maybe you can talk to the guys and Maria. Show them you’re alright, maybe?”

He looked back down at your hands again. “I don’t want them to see me like this. It’s bad enough having you all come out in the middle of the night just to check on me.”

“We came here because we care about you, Alexander. It scares us when you work yourself to the bone like this. Well, I know it scares me--”

Alex’s eyes snapped up to yours. “I scare you?”

“Well, you worry me, yeah,” you confirmed. “Why do you think I’m here everyday, checking in on you. It’s because I care--”

No warning taking place beforehand, Alexander kissed you. The sudden impact made you realize the two of you had been building up to it for a long time. You stood up to better kiss him. Alexander followed you. You could’ve sworn you hadn’t been making out for that long, but when you broke the kiss, both you and Hamilton were breathless. He had his hands on your waist while yours were softly cupping his neck.

“You’re in a really emotional place tonight, Alex,” you voiced the first reason that came to mind that Alexander possibly hadn’t meant what he had just done.

Alexander immediately disagreed, “No. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Not knowing if Maria had actually woken you up that night in the first place or if you were instead dreaming then, you shakily nodded, “Okay. This Friday, at 8, let’s go out to dinner. But let’s not discuss this anymore tonight. You need sleep.”

Fifteen minutes later, the dorm room was clean as it was going to get at 3am, and the shattered electronics were tucked under Alexander’s bed. Professor Washington was for some reason awake at that ungodly hour, and he had already responded to your email, agreeing to give Alexander a three-week extension.

“Thank you, Y/n. Really.” Alex leaned on his doorframe while you were on your way out. He was holding your hand. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Softly smiling, you leaned in to give Alex another kiss. “You can call me, anytime, anywhere, and I’ll come right to you,” you whispered.

“Oooo,” a harmony of teasing voices sounded from down the hallway. It was the rest of the gang.

Laurens called, “I knew it! I knew you two were going to get together!”

Hercules seemed serious when he informed, “I want to be the flower guy at y’all’s wedding. You hear me?”

“Oh my god!” squealed Maria, “Now you, me, Alex, and Laf can go on double dates!”

You helped everyone else away from Alexander and Lafayette’s door. “Okay, yes, me and Alex are...together now. But this is all stuff we can talk about tomorrow. Alex needs to sleep. We all need sleep. You hear that, Laf? That means no pestering Alex about him and me. Understand?”

He gave a mock-salute. “Oui, M’dame.”

“That goes for you, too.” You turned to Maria. “I’m going to bed as soon as we get back.”

Maria raised her eyebrows at you. “Not a chance. I’m getting every detail out of you!” she proclaimed as she dragged you back to your dorm.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! If you would like to read more, I have more fics on Hamilton over on my page. You should go check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

#hamilton #hamilton x reader #alexander hamilton #alexander hamilton x reader #maria reynolds #maria reynolds x lafayette #lafayette #jasmine cephas jones #daveed diggs #broadway #lin-manuel miranda #lin manuel miranda #alex needs you #companion jones #boy did i miss hamilton college aus

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ladyaudentium · 4 years

Text

Confectionary Affection

Title: Confectionary Affection Fandom: Final Fantasy Crisis Core Rating: T Pairing: AngealxOC Characters: Angeal Hewley, Zack Fair, Genesis Rhapsodos, Original Characters Links: A03, FF.net

This took me longer than I would have liked, but I'm back with the next chapter! This one is jam packed with Angeal and Zack content! Be sure to grab a cold drink and a snack to enjoy!

Thank you to all who reviewed, favorited, and followed after the first chapter so far! If I missed responding to anyone's review, I'm sorry! I'll be going back over the reviews for the previous chapter, and if I missed you, I'll send you a response!

Enjoy!

It was nearly impossible to forget that Angeal and Zack had stopped by her bakery.

Kalika and Anri worked themselves to the bone and were only just barely able to keep up to the new level of demand. Sometimes it was so busy during the morning that there was simply not enough stock left to open in the evening; not even if Kalika remade everything again.

At first the business had been making a considerable income, and even now, it was till turning a higher profit than the past, but the costs of running the establishment had also increased. Sometimes there was simply not enough ingredients or prepared pastries left to open again in the evening. Usually this ended up with the business losing money.

Not only that but the increased workload had Kalika and Anri burning out more quickly than they could regain their strength. Kalika's usual late nights and early mornings preparing dough and bakery items were quickly turning into working around the clock. It wasn't unusual for her to doze off kneading a bread dough only to wake with it on the floor or ruined from over working it.

Anri was the same, for the first time since she was a new employee, she was making mistakes with drink and food orders. As a result, the customers were becoming upset and more than once a scene with raised voices had caused Kalika to intervene and forcibly remove the troublemakers.

It was getting to the point where an extra set of hands was a necessary addition; preferably a set with some muscle behind them. Kalika sighed heavily as she once again wiped the chalk board clean. Her handwriting was never great to begin with, but her hands were still sore and shaky from the kneading she had just finished.

The sun was beginning to set, and the bakery had been closed all day. Kalika had spent all night and day preparing every bit of dough, batter, and meringue for the no doubt absolutely insane day tomorrow. If her usual delivery of supplies was on time, she would be able to open again the day after, but if not… well she would come up with something. She always did.

Slapping her cheek, she forced herself to stay awake for just a little while longer, she just needed to finish this task and then she was finished—

*KNOCK KNOCK* "Kalika?" a voice called from outside.

The young woman jumped at the sudden noise which caused a series of events to follow:

First, her precariously placed step ladder slipped off the edge of the counter, causing her to scream in fear and drop all her supplies creating a racket.

Second, the door burst open just as she desperately tried to remain balanced, her hands reaching out for anything that would keep her from the inevitable.

Third, she fell.

The young woman braced for the cold, hard impact of the floor, but instead was met with a warm embrace. Black hair and blue eyes entered her vision and it was with a sudden sinking pit in her stomach that she knew who it was.

Angeal Hewley.

"You should be more careful." He intoned lowly, his chest vibrating with his voice, "We need to stop meeting like this."

Kalika stared up into his bright blue eyes as her head rested on his chest. "I don't know, I think it's kind of nice?" the words escaped her mouth before she could think twice and immediately could feel her face begin to heat up in a deep, mortified blush.

Angeal blinked once in disbelief as his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"Better be careful, Angeal or pretty soon she's going to be falling for you!" Zack called excitedly, breaking the silence.

The black-haired man, sighed deeply and screwed his eyes shut, clearly stressed, "Zack. What have I said to you about appropriate behavior and comments?" he prompted as the burly SOLDIER made a move to stand, his steady grip assisting Kalika to stand along with him.

There was a heavy sigh from the opposite side of the corner while the younger boy replied monotonously, "You said that I need to think before speaking and that words have impact. I can't take back anything once it's been said, sometimes the best choice is to remain silent." the energetic boy leaned back over a bar stool and with both hands over his face, "I can't help it though, you two make it so easy!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands to the ceiling.

"You need to learn self-restraint if you intend to be an honorable member of SOLDIER in the future." Angeal scolded and judging from the young boy's reaction, this seemed to be a common occurrence between the two of them. Somehow, that did not come as a surprise to the young woman.

"I know, I'm doing my best, Angeal! Sometimes it just bursts out before I can stop it!" Zack turned to Kalika, "By the way, we're here to return this! The scones were delicious, thanks!" he held out the same container that Anri had given them upon their departure from their last visit.

The blue haired girl blinked once in surprise as she accepted the box; a reusable one that was not their typical to-go boxes. That sly girl, she had planned for this too. "Thanks, I'm glad you liked them." she looked up at Angeal, "I'm sorry for the trouble of making you come back here to return it. It would have been fine if you just disposed of the container instead." she also took the opportunity to notice that it had been washed as well. How… odd. Somehow, she just could not picture prominent members of SOLDIER doing something as ordinary as washing dishes.

The image of Angeal in a pink, frilly apron suddenly was at the forethought of her brain and she blushed deeply once again.

"It would be wasteful to merely dispose of an easily reusable box such as this." Angeal stated plainly. His eyebrows lowered with concern as he pulled a glove from his hand and gently placed his palm on her forehead, "You're quite red, are you feeling alright? Have you eaten anything today?"

"I - I think so? I've been busy today and haven't had a chance to sit down for long." Kalika blurted as she froze in place. Should she move away from his hand? Or would that be rude? Why was he being so friendly? Was he always this caring to strangers? Especially a stranger that just hit on him a minute ago. The blush returned full force to her face with that traitorous thought.

Before she could panic any further, he pulled his hand away and once again donned his glove. The young woman breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Busy? But you're closed!" Zack spoke up, and cocked his head to the side, "Wait, why are you closed? Shouldn't this place be hopping right now?"

Both sets of bright blue eyes settled on her with varying inquisitiveness. Zack's was honest confusion but Angeal's was less readable. His mouth was set in a straight line across his strong jaw while his eyes held a spark of suspicion that set a cold sweat down Kalika's spine.

Oh boy, how could she explain this without outright blaming them for the necessary closure and the empty ingredient cabinet?

"I… well… you see, ever since your last visit, business has been crazy. Lately I can't keep to the hours we normally hosted. Sometimes I'm up all night preparing!" Her words were spoken with a joyous tone, but from the lack of change in both of their expressions, she was not convincing them.

Angeal opened his mouth to respond, the frown of concern deep on his brow, but was interrupted by a fourth, unfamiliar voice, "Oh my Gaia, you're Angeal Hewley First Class SOLDIER! You're back! I can't believe it, I gotta tell everyone!"

Kalika felt the blood leave her face as her attention immediately snapped to the tall, blonde woman currently standing in the open doorway attempting to snap a picture of the two men.

"No, pictures without permission and we're closed, please leave!" She ordered, pushing past Angeal to confront the woman directly.

"What? But it's the middle of your posted hours and your door is open! You can't throw me out, do you know who I am?"

"Nope, and I'm sorry you've forgotten. Now, please get out, we are closed, and you are trespassing."

The woman's brown eyes flashed with indignation, "Listen, I don't know how you get off talking to customers like that, but—"

"No buts! I asked you to leave. I won't ask again." Crimson eyes sparked with anger as she stared the other woman down.

Red lips opened to argue further, but she was cut off by a deep, commanding voice "You have been asked to leave, you should comply with that request."

A quick, furtive glance backwards revealed Angeal standing straight, his burly arms crossed over his chest and a dark glare adorning his features. A shudder wormed its way down Kalika's spine. Scary, was the only thing she could think.

There was a beat of silence between the three of them. The woman suddenly looked appropriately ashamed of her behavior and without another word scuttled away.

The second the woman was outside, Kalika grabbed the door and threw it shut behind her. Much to her surprise, it bounced back open and that's when she noticed the lock was completely broken. Around the spot where the deadbolt should have been was a hole in the door frame and splinters scattered along the floor.

She shut it again, it bounced backwards.

She applied a little more force, it bounced backwards again.

Frustration and resentment burning within her, she tried again; it bounced backwards.

With all her strength, she slammed the door shut and before it could bounce back, shoved a chair underneath the similarly broken and limp door handle.

Defeated, she braced her hands against the door and let her head hang between them.

"It would probably be a good idea for you both to use the back door to leave. You'll attract less attention that way… plus, it seems this one is broken now." Kalika murmured quietly, not daring to look up in fear that they would see the unshed tears in her eyes.

"Kali…? Is everything… okay?" Zack's genuinely concerned voice broke the silence.

A lump caught in her throat and without looking at either of them she walked to the nearest table and sat down on one of the chairs, burying her face in her hands. She could not cry, not here, not with Angeal Hewley First Class SOLDIER and Zack Fair here to witness it. One shuddering breath later gave her the confidence to speak.

"Yeah, I'll be fine… somehow, I always am."

A shadow fell over her, "Is there anything we can do to help?" Zack asked.

"No, but thanks." Kalika waved him off but much to her surprise, he caught her hand between two gloved ones of his own. Surprised, she looked up into an uncharacteristically serious expression on the young boy's face.

"I swear on my honor as a SOLDIER I will do whatever it takes to help you, Kali. You're one of us now, right Angeal?"

"Don't swear on your honor lightly, Zack."

"I mean it! I do!"

Angeal nodded, seemingly accepting his young protégé's resolve. "How long has your door been broken like this?" the First Class inquired.

Kalika sniffed as delicately as she could as she attempted to take her hand back from Zack, but it was held tight. "It was fine earlier today; it was only just now that something seemed to be wrong. There was a hole where the deadbolt was and splinters from the door frame were scattered along the floor…" the young woman snapped her jaw shut when she realized the implications of her words.

Angeal's face darkened once again and his eyebrows angled inwards at a dangerous angle as he stared his young protégé down. There was a heavy beat of silence as Zack seemed to realize what was going on, "Oh… well… you know… SOLDIER strength, am I right?"

"No! It's fine really!" Kalika jumped up and did her best to placate the visibly upset SOLDIER, "It was old and in need of replacement anyways, I can probably write the replacement off as a business expense. I'm sure Zack didn't mean it."

Angeal sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "His intentions aren't the issue. SOLDIERs have enhanced senses and abilities. If Zack does not learn how to control these properly, he could end up hurting himself or worse, others." He looked up, "I apologize for the door, Zack you're going to suspend a fifty-pound weight in a squat today to make up for your lack of control this evening."

Zack groaned and Kalika winced sympathetically, "I don't think that's necessary, is it? Maybe since you're really strong you could help me with something, and we call it even?" she suggested. "I still need to finish rewriting that menu sign. We're opening with a new item tomorrow."

Angeal looked over his shoulder to see the unfinished chalkboard, "Is that what you were doing when you fell?"

An embarrassed blush crept over her face once again, "Yes, it's too high for me to reach on my own. So, I usually have to get creative… with a step ladder… on the counter."

"That sounds very dangerous." The raven-haired man lowered his eyebrows in concern and disapproval.

"Maybe you can help Angeal! Just lift her up and she'd be able to reach no problem!" an excited Zack exclaimed and, in his enthusiasm, squeezed her hand that was still held captive.

The young woman sputtered, "I- that's not what I meant, but maybe if one of you could just hold the ladder steady? I usually have Anri to help me, but I gave her the day off today."

Angeal turned and with one hand lifted the step ladder she had been using, revealing one of the legs to be broken off, "For the sake of your safety, I would advise against using this again."

"Oh… I see…" the young woman murmured as she worried her bottom lip, how was she going to get up there now?

Zack was practically vibrating with excitement from beside her. A quick glance to him revealed that he was glancing quickly between the two of them biting his lip in anticipation. He was planning something, if only the blue-haired woman could figure out what it was…

"To make amends for the broken door, I would be willing to lift you as Zack suggested." Angeal offered as he moved the broken ladder out of the way.

"I mean, are you sure? I don't want to be a burden. Are you sure I won't be too heavy?"

The burly man grinned and chuckled deeply. The genuine mirth revealed pearly white teeth and the genuine good-ness that radiated from him was unlike anyone she had ever met before. "I'm sure."

Kalika blushed for what seemed like the tenth time in under an hour, "I – Well… if you're sure, I guess. I need to get the chalk." Walking forwards, Zack finally let go of her hand and Angeal stepped out of the way to let her pass behind the bar. Grabbing the chalk from the ground and the eraser cloth, she turned back to the First-Class SOLDIER, "Okay, I'm ready, how would you like to do this?"

Angeal stepped forward and for the first time she noticed how tall he was. She had never felt so small compared to someone in her life, he dwarfed her in every sense. She was eye level with the middle of his chest, and he was easily twice as wide as her. Another blush adorned her cheeks as he knelt to one knee, "Sit on my shoulder and I will take hold of your legs."

Nodding, she turned around and as instructed, gingerly sat on his shoulder, doing her best to put as little weight on him as possible. Two arms wrapped around her knees, locking them in place and the next thing she knew, he was lifting her into the air.

Sucking in a breath she flailed, unbalanced, for one moment before a hand on her thigh steadied her. Angeal Hewley, First Class SOLDIER of Shinra was touching her leg. She tried not to think about how her butt was on his shoulder and instead focused on finishing the sign as quickly as possible. Her hands and shoulders cramped but she did her best to legibly scrawl the newest addition to her menu.

"Dumbapple tart?" Zack exclaimed, "Angeal, didn't you grow up in Banora?! That's so cool!"

"Is that true?" Kalika inquired, looking down to meet the bright blue eyes of Angeal.

"It is, both Genesis and I grew up there. His parents had the best Banora White tree, every summer we would take as many apples as we could and sit in the branches eating them." A small, nostalgic smile pulled up the corners of his mouth.

"That changes everything then, let me down, I'm all finished now."

With one swift movement, the hands disappeared from her person and for a brief moment, she hung suspended in the air before being gently lowered to the ground. The black-haired SOLDIER stared down at her with a quizzical expression on his face. Setting the chalk down she made to pass him, "Have a seat. I'll be right back," and disappeared into the kitchen.

The fridge opened with a hiss, a quick scan through the contents revealed her prize. Pulling two small tarts from their tray, Kalika put them on a plate and made her way back to the front. The fridge closed with a satisfying click behind her.

"Here, to thank you for helping me with the sign, please be the first to try a tart!" placing the plate on the bar counter, she waited excitedly for them to each take one. "They're Banora White apple tarts with some decorative white chocolate to counter the sourness and some edible gold sparkles for presentation."

Zack immediately grabbed one and in one bite put the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes lit up as he playfully slapped his mentor's shoulder, "D'ese are r'lly gud An'eal! You shou'd taste ish!" (translation: These are really good, Angeal! You should taste this!)

Angeal sighed in resignation as he took a tart, "Thank you, this wasn't necessary as it is us who are in your debt, not the opposite way around."

Kalika smiled brightly, "It's fine, really! Plus, I hope that I can live up to your memories of the times stealing and eating the apples."

With a small smile, he took a bite and instantly his blue eyes lit up with surprise, his eyebrows once again disappearing into his hairline. Swallowing, he turned back to the blue haired woman, "You have a true gift for baking."

Flushing for the umpteenth time that day, Kalika continued to smile, "I'm glad you like them. I'll package up one for Commander Rhapsodos as well and you can give one to him too!"

"How much do we owe you for the tarts?" Angeal asked as she pushed through the door to the kitchen.

"Nothing! They're thanks for helping me!" she called back as she began to package up the third tart and then returned to the front with it. Angeal stared her down, his mouth a straight line and his azure gaze steeled with his resolve.

"Please, it would be dishonorable for us to accept these gifts a second time. Especially when your door breaking was our fault in the first place."

Stumped, she could only stare. Never had anyone been so insistent on paying for a gift. "Don't be silly, these are gifts, do you insist for payment when you give a gift to someone?" she held out the tart wrapped in a white box with Confectionary Affection stamped on the sides. "Here's Commander Rhapsodos's tart, try not to squish it if you can, and now it's getting late. I imagine you need to get back to Shinra, since the front door's broken and likely a crowd of fans outside waiting for you to exit, follow me to the back door."

With that, she turned on her heel and pushed open the swinging door and motioned for them to follow her. Zack hopped up immediately, but Angeal took a moment to gather himself and follow. Passing through the kitchen and a small hallway with a set of stairs leading to the second floor, they came to the back door. Pushing it open revealed the dirt yard and receiving area for her shipments of ingredients.

"Thanks again for the treats, Kali. They were delicious as always!" Zack called as he jumped down the short flight of stairs, an arm extended in a cheery wave.

"Thank you for your hospitality. You honor us with your generosity. Genesis will enjoy this pastry, I am certain." Angeal stated solemnly, his eyes shining with the depth of his gratitude.

"Any time, come by again soon. Preferably without causing any trouble this time. Using the back door might not be such a bad idea to avoid any drama like with that woman earlier." She pointed to a black rectangle with a button in the middle, "Next time you're by, just ring this doorbell and I'll let you in."

Zack grinned devilishly and took a breath to make a comment, but before he could utter a sound, Angeal put a hand over the young boy's mouth to silence him. "Thank you Kalika, we will not forget your kindness today."

The blue -haired baker could only manage a small wave as they turned to walk away. Zack continued to wave enthusiastically until they were out of sight behind the fence. Closing the door, her knees felt weak. The sound of her name on Angeal's lips created a feeling in her like she'd never experienced before. Sliding to the ground she replayed the memory in her mind until she was sure that it would be with her forever.

She had offered for them to come back again, but it was such wishful thinking she did not dare hope too much. Once was a coincidence, twice was a pattern, but three times was a dream and nothing more.

But oh, how she loved to dream.

Oh they'll be back, but in the meantime, there's other shenanigans that need to happen first >:3c

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you'd like! I always enjoy hearing your thoughts!

#angeal hewley #zack fair #original character #me and my dummy thicc angeal propaganda #fic #confectionary affection #writing stuff #my writing

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lucy-sky · 5 years

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Opposites (Ezra x Reader)

Summary: Being a freelance digger you landed on The Green Moon in search for treasure, and found more than you expected. You meet Ezra - a man you used to work with in the past. You had a history, but this relationship led to nothing. Is it a good idea to team up with him again, or not? Soon you’ll find out.

Words: 6 130

Warnings: Sexual content (quite fluffy, but still)

Note: Okay... I totally didn’t expect this movie to hit me THAT hard, but I guess it happened - I wrote a fic. And it’s rather long, omg. So... What you need to know about me is that I very seldom write about not Sam Rockwell characters, so this story is smth a bit out of my comfort zone. Also this is only the 2nd time I’m trying to write some kind of an action scene and it’s a real struggle for me to put such things into words (English is not my native language). Anyway, since I’m new to Pedro Pascal fandom and since I haven’t seen much content with this particular character (why though???), I’m very curious (and slightly anxious) about people’s opinions on this story. So, your feedback is greatly appreciated! But please be gentle :’D

@biobiopsy, you asked me to tag you, so here you go :)

That day was totally not the best in your carrier. After spending hours wandering over the wilds of The Green Moon, all you had in your case was a couple of gems. It was getting late and your filter was almost spent, but you still haven’t found a decent aurelac deposit.

After a short break you decided to head back to your ship. The filter wasn’t going to last long anyways. Maybe tomorrow you’d be luckier… But as you were just about to leave, something caught your eye. The ground… Was it what you thought it was? You got closer, took off your backpack and reached for the kit.

No way. No fucking way. It was a freaking goldmine!

Finally the fortune seemed to smile upon you! But now you had a problem: he deposit was large; getting the gems takes time, you knew from experience that rush is your worst enemy when it comes to this. Damn it! Why didn’t you just take a spare filter with you?

A sudden rustle from behind interrupted your thoughts. Your reaction was fast - you turned around abruptly, jerking out the thrower.

- Whoa, easy… Y/n??

You blinked in confusion. The man, standing in front of you, was someone you totally didn’t expect to meet right here and right now.

- Ezra?

Yes, it obviously was him. A man you used to work with about a year ago as a part of diggers team. He didn’t seem to change at all: same bold look in his dark brown eyes, same bright smile… You still remembered kissing those lips once - something you wished to forget, and almost succeeded in this… But life was never predictable.

- Damn, y/n, is it really you? Long time no see… It’s been a year, huh?

- Guess so, - you nodded, the weapon still pointed at him.

- Hey, come on, I came in peace, - Ezra chuckled, but you didn’t move.

- It’s my place, - you said harshly.

- Is it? Forgive me, but I don’t see any signs saying it’s exclusively yours.

- I got here first. The Green is big enough, go find your own.

- So we’ve just met and you’re already asking me to leave? That’s not very nice. Didn’t you miss me? - He smirked cockily.

- Not really.

- Shame. Cause I did. Where’s your team, y/n?

- I’m working for myself now.

- Oh. Why’s that?

- People can betray, - you snapped. - Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.

- Really? So that’s the reason you’re so mad? My so called “betrayal”?

- You stole the gems and disappeared. What else should I call it?

- Hey! Let me remind you, I didn’t take the entire harvest, just took what’s mine. I think that’s fair enough. And… Whatever you call it, you should know - it has absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s all about the asshole we used to work for these days. As far as I remember, you thought he’s an asshole too, right?

- Right. You knew that. So you could at least let me know about your plans.

- I… - He stumbled, - Only didn’t want to get you in trouble. Plus you kinda pushed me away so I didn’t want to be too persistent.

- Wow, you’re such a gentleman, - you replied sarcastically. Ezra let out an annoyed sigh.

- Anyway, I’m not here to steal anything from you. I would never do such a thing. I just wanted to offer a helping hand, - he continued.

- So far, I somehow manage without you.

- And I’ve never called it in question. But hey, this deposit… it’s really impressive. There’s more than enough aurelac for both of us, and together we can harvest it way faster. I mean… you don’t want other floaters to come across it, do you?

There was something suspicious about the way he talked… You narrowed your eyes examining his face through the glass helmet.

- You need something from me, right? Apart from the gems.

- Huh?.. - It was his turn now to look confused.

- What about your team, Ezra? - You cocked an eyebrow. - Where is it?

- I uh… See, I’m not always work in a team, sometimes I run solo as well…

- Okay. What about your ship than?

- Uh…

- Let me guess. They flew away and left you here, did they?

From his expression you could already guess the answer.

- Something like that. We had a kind of a… Misunderstanding.

- Well… Guess now you see how the karma works, - you couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

- Haha. Very funny, - he grimaced. - Look, I’m really sorry about what happened… Between us, okay? Believe it or not, I don’t wanna cause you any harm. I’m actually really glad to see you… Even though you keep pointing this thing at me. I’m not an enemy. Just think of it - we can be really helpful for each other. I’ve no doubts you are prehensile enough to understand.

“Prehensile”... Only Ezra could use such kind of a word in his regular speech... Maybe that’s why he was always good at convincing. But this time it wasn’t even about benefits or something. Was he helpful or not, one thing you knew for sure: you couldn’t leave him like that.

There was also another, less noble reason to accept his suggestion: you couldn’t stay here any longer, and leaving right now meant giving him your deposit.

- Fine, - you finally put the thrower down. - My filter is very low. Could you share?

- Sure, - Ezra smiled, his posture instantly getting more relaxed. - Although mine’s not new as well… Not much for the two people… But at least we can start working. There’s still time until it gets dark.

- Deal, - you agreed.

- Hey, y/n.

- Yes?

- I’m glad you’re doing well. Really.

“Sounds like he means it”, you thought.

- Yeah… Glad you’re doing well too… Or at least you’re alive and optimistic.

- This is the way I am, sweetheart, - he winked.

- Please don’t do that.

- What?

- Don’t call me “sweetheart”. Or I’ll change my mind about giving you a ride.

- Alright, no problem, - Ezra made a serious face. - You’re the boss.

- Let’s get to it, than.

***

Darkness already blinded the sky above The Green Moon completely when you finally reached your ship.

- So this beauty is all yours, huh? Not too bad! - Ezra nodded approvingly, looking around.

- Well, I’m actually still paying for it… But yep, it’s mine. This ship is my home, so treat it respectfully, okay?

- Of course. I bet after the harvest we’re about to get you’ll be able to pay the rest easily.

- That’s why I chose working for myself. When you work for someone, it’s exhausting as fuck, and you don’t get nearly as much profit as you expect. Plus the people are sometimes assholes. But that’s not even the point. The point is - I have no idea how much time it would take me to earn enough if I kept working like I used to.

- You’re right, that’s a hell of a job. Don’t do that anymore either… Well, maybe some occasional contract gig when I’m not occupied with something else… Only I still prefer working with partners, you know… Someone who shares my views.

- Yeah, you’re apparently too talkative to stay alone for a long time.

- What can I do? - Ezra scoffed. - I’m a heart and soul of a party.

- And here’s where it took you… - You remarked.

He just shrugged.

- Everything happens for a reason. You got something to eat?..

After an improvised dinner you spent a couple of hours revising supplies and preparing for tomorrow. When everything was ready, you took a wise decision to get some rest. Even though you covered the deposit with mud and moss as much as you possibly could before leaving, you still had to return to the dig early, or your place could be discovered by someone else.

- Hey, can I ask you something? - You said when you both were lying on the cots opposite each other.

- Shoot.

- What were you actually going to do? I mean… You’re alone here, with no ship, with the last filter left…What was your plan?

- Plan?.. Well I thought of finding some settlers and ask them. Perhaps I could bargain for something…

- Like what?

- No idea. I’d figure something out, I always do. That’s how I survive, - Ezra shrugged.

- This is crazy.

- Maybe. But you just can’t be prepared for absolutely anything.

- I’m at least trying to.

- Yeah, right. You hate asking for help, do you? Also I think you’ve got trust issues, sweetheart.

- I just choose to rely on myself, not someone else in the first place. And I don’t consider it an issue, end of story. And by the way, what did I tell you about “sweetheart”?

- Fine, fine, whatever you say, - he threw his hands up jokingly. You rolled your eyes.

- You know what? We could actually make a great team, - Ezra suddenly went after a pause.

- Seriously? - You huffed. - What makes you think so?

- Opposites attract.

- Bullshit. Go to sleep already.

With this you turned away from him. As you closed your eyes, you could hear him chuckling. What a cocky bastard. Yet you had to admit, at least to yourself - you really kind of missed him.

***

You woke up even earlier than expected. Partly due to nervous anticipation and partly because another person’s presence on your ship next to you felt a bit awkward.

Ezra was still asleep, and you caught yourself staring at his calm and peaceful features with a subtle tender sensation deep inside your chest… What’s wrong with you, y/n? A guy you had a vaguely romantic relationship with about a year ago appears out of the blue and you’re already melting. What a shame. And yet… You couldn’t help thinking about what may have happened if you didn’t push him away, if you weren’t afraid… What exactly you were afraid of? Getting too close?.. Perhaps he was right about trust issues though… No, this relationship would most certainly lead to nothing. You’re too different in many ways…

Opposites attract.

You shook your head. There was no time for self-scrutiny at the moment. You had to concentrate on work. Once it’s done, you’d have time to figure out your feelings. And also find out if you can really trust him or not.

Decidedly, you stood up and reached out to shake his shoulder.

- Wake up, sleeping beauty. The gems are not gonna dig themselves out.

The man let out a soft grunt.

- Seriously, Ezra. I’m not gonna tell you twice.

- Alright, alright, I’m awake, - he squinted at you. - You’re not very sweet in the mornings, you know that?

- I’ll take it as a compliment.

***

It was an extremely productive day. You had to admit: working with a partner was way more effective than doing it alone. With Ezra’s help you also managed to bring and set a tent where you could have breaks and eat without returning to the ship. It saved you lots of time.

One of today’s trophies you were particularly proud of. You already sensed something special as you pulled out a cocoon way heavier than usual. The color was slightly different as well.

- Ezra, look, - you called out. He frowned, carefully examining your finding.

- Why do you think it’s like that? - You asked.

- No idea. But we have to be careful. Let’s find out, - he reached for a knife. - Hold it like that…

You both held your breath as he made a cut.

- Ha! Perfect, - he gave you a triumphant grin.

Once the meat was removed, you saw an aurelac gem you’ve never seen before. It was huge, and almost entirely golden.

- Have you ever seen something like that? - You asked, staring at the gem in awe.

- Never. Just heard something about it. I thought it’s a myth…

- Hey.

You took your eyes off the trophy and faced him.

- We’re not splitting the gems, right? We take the harvest, return to the center, sell it and then split the reward evenly. Agreed?

- Sounds fair to me, - Ezra nodded. - I’m in.

- Awesome. Let’s get back to work than?

- Yes, Ma’am! - He replied with a chuckle. - By the way, what are you gonna do with all this money, apart from paying for the ship?

- Didn’t really think about it…

- I’d go somewhere for a nice long vacation, - he said dreamily. - Kamrea maybe… I’ve heard it’s a lovely place... Care to join me for further inspection?..

- I don’t know.

- Ah, come on! Why not?

- I’m not completely sure if I can trust you yet, - you said honestly.

- Okay… - He paused, then smiled. - Anyway, since we’re stuck together, you still have plenty of time make up your mind.

***

Walking back to the ship that night you both felt tired but pretty content. It gets dark quite fast here on The Green Moon, so you had to use flashlights. Ezra was telling you one of his many funny stories as you walked, when you suddenly heard a rustle from the bushes to the left of you.

- Hey, did you hear it? - You asked, tensing immediately, your hand slowly moving to the thrower.

He nodded, ready to grab his weapon as well.

The rustle continued.

- Who’s there? - Ezra asked out loud, pointing the gun at the bushes. - Show yourself!

At first nothing happened. You looked at each other, shrugged and decided to keep going, but once you started moving again, three silhouettes stepped out of the darkness, blocking your way. And they were pointing throwers at you as well.

- What the hell… - Ezra muttered. - Hey guys! Maybe we’ll talk like civilized people first, how ‘bout that?..

The tallest person said something, but you didn’t understand a thing - apparently these people didn’t speak your language. And they didn’t sound very friendly.

- Harvest, - you finally heard. - We need harvest.

- Sorry to upset you, buddy, but I’m afraid it’s not gonna happen. Our harvest is ours, - Ezra replied boldly.

- Ours.

The following things happened really fast: the tallest guy pointed the gun at Ezra, but he was faster and managed to injure him. Dropping the tent on the ground you rushed to the right, shooting on your way. The enemies were shooting back. One of them fell. But it was just a start: there were more of them, to the right and the left, you couldn’t tell exactly how many. All you could do at the moment was run. And shoot. It was too dark already and you had no idea if you actually managed to hurt any of them or not… Good thing they didn’t have any night vision devices either. The ship wasn’t far. You could already see it. But damn! These people just didn’t let you go. They seemed to be everywhere. Whispers and rustles of the forest and darkness didn’t help you at all. But still you managed to move forward somehow.

At some point you lost Ezra and the panic immediately started rising up inside you. In this darkness you could easily hurt each other instead of the enemies. With a shaky voice, you called out his name, knowing full well that shouting is not a good idea, but you instantly felt relieved when his hand found yours.

- I’m here. C’mon!

He pulled you with him behind the nearest tree.

- Fuck! Who the hell are they?? - You whispered frantically.

- Pretty sure they ain’t no floaters. Just bastards who don’t wanna dig but prefer ravaging the others… Fucking pirates! They found the ship and set the trap.

- But we can make it, right? It’s not that far.

- We have to. Come on, let’s go.

Still holding hands tightly you proceeded moving towards the ship.

- Ezra, look out!

You saw a pirate stepping out of the bush right behind him, and you shot. When you pulled the trigger again, you realized the thrower was empty.

- Shit!

Ezra shot a couple more times, before his thrower went off, but thankfully his shots were tidy enough to fetch down the opponent. You ran a few of meters more and hid behind the tree again, catching your breath.

- Got more cassettes? - You asked him.

He searched in his pocket.

- Just one.

Damn. The situation was getting even worse.

- Okay, got an idea, - Ezra said decidedly. - Here’s what we’re gonna do. You take the case with gems and run to the ship as fast as you can. I cover you with the thrower. Get inside and start the engine. If I won't be there in… Two minutes - you take off. Clear?

The plan was risky, but what else you could do? In these circumstances you just had no other choice than to trust him.

- Y/n? Can you do that?

- Yeah… Yes, I think I can, - you nodded, breathing heavily. - Let’s do it.

- Okay.

Ezra reached his pocket and recharged his thrower with a new cassette.

- Ready? - He asked and you nodded again. - Oh, wait.

He took something off his front pocket and tucked it into yours. You thought it was probably his empty cassettes to recharge on board the ship.

- There. Now go!

- Two minutes, right?

- Two minutes, - he nodded reassuringly and squeezed your hand in his for a split second. Enough to make your heart shrink. - Go!

Without further hesitation, you took a deep breath and rushed towards the ship. Your heart was hammering wildly inside your chest; all you could hear was your heavy breathing and the shots behind you. Someone wailed in pain. You were hoping with all your heart it wasn’t Ezra.

Only a few steps were separating you from the ship when suddenly a dark figure appeared right in front of you, as if out of nowhere. You had no time to think about what you were doing. As you saw the thrower pointed at you, you had to use the only possible weapon you had - the case with gems. So you did. Before the stranger managed to pull the trigger, your case crashed against the front of his helmet. You heard the sound of cracking glass and hit again; suddenly the case popped open and about a half of its content scattered to the ground. Apparently you broke the lock somehow, but there was no time to collect the stones. Taking the advantage of your enemy being disoriented, you rushed to the door and entered the security code with shaky fingers. Whoever these pirates were, they definitely weren’t smart enough to crack this code and break inside the ship.

Taking off your helmet and gloves, you ran to the cockpit, quickly started the engines, and then recharged your thrower in case if Ezra needed help.

“Two minutes.”

The time was running out. All of a sudden you realized how you’re actually afraid of losing him.

- Come on, Ezra!.. - You muttered through clenched teeth, staring at your watch. Less than half a minute left.

“I’m not gonna take off without him.”

You stood up, grabbed the thrower, and headed back to the door. A sudden loud noise following by a low grunt made you flinch.

- Ezra? - You shouted. - Ezra, is that you?

There was no answer and you felt like sinking.

- Ezra?..

- Yes, that’s me! Take off! NOW!

You let out a deep sigh of relief and ran back to the cockpit.

“Alright than… 3… 2… 1…”

- Ezra, hold onto something!

The engines roared and the ship took off. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe evenly and compose yourself.

“It’s over. We’re safe now.”

***

In a few minutes the ship left the planet’s orbit, so you could finally switch on the automatic flight control and go check on Ezra. He still wasn’t around and you worried he might be hurt. The dust of The Green Moon made every single scratch a possible lethal danger.

You found him next to the door, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

- Ezra… Is everything alright?.. - You asked anxiously, hunkering down next to him. - Are you injured?..

He opened his eyes and looked up at you.

- I’m fine… Y/n… You won’t believe it, but… I think I twisted my ankle, - he scoffed.

For the second time tonight you didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or to cry because of relief. Unable to contain yourself, you leaned into him in a swift motion and hugged him tightly. Your reaction was so sudden it caused him jerk a little, but the next moment you felt him hugging you back.

- Hey… He whispered softly, letting his fingers run through your hair. – What did I tell you? Take off in two minutes. And how long did you wait?..

- I’ve always been stubborn, - you smirked against his shoulder.

- That’s what I always liked about you.

***

Later in your quarters, after you both finally got rid of the suits, you were helping Ezra to fix his ankle with a bandage.

- See, I was right, - He pointed out. - We really do make a good team. We have to think about working together in the future, huh?

- You know, I was really pissed at you, - You confessed. - When you left. I didn’t really care about the gems and stuff... But... It’s just that you simply disappeared without saying a word... As if I meant nothing for you.

You weren’t completely sure why you were telling this to him. Just a sudden desire to finally make it clear about how you felt. Ezra looked at you carefully, knitting his brow.

- I mean... I agree that it’s my fault as well, I really did pushed you away myself, so what else did I expect, but... still... - At this you stumbled, lost for words.

- Y/n, don’t. That was really shitty of me to leave like that, ‘cause it’s absolutely not true about you meaning nothing... I just... - He sighed deeply and the soft look in his brown eyes made your heart skip a beat. - I totally should have been more persistent.

Having said that, he reached out, his fingertips grazing against your cheek. A soft, barely perceptible touch, yet still so full of affection.

- I’m sorry, - he whispered, and leaned in.

The next thing you felt was his lips, warm and gentle against yours. The kiss was incredibly tender and quite chaste, but nevertheless it made you weak. Ezra pulled away a little, as if waiting for your reaction, but when you gripped onto his shoulders, he didn’t hesitate any longer. His lips crushed back on yours feverishly, his breath hot, and his tongue pushing inside your mouth decidedly, sending millions of shivers down your spine. He tasted and felt exactly the same as a year ago, but this time you both were way more desperate and needy at the sudden realization - you could have died tonight. In a way this kiss was a celebration of life, but also only now you realized very clearly how much you needed this, how long you’ve been completely on your own; and how you actually missed him, his touch and his warmth.

You gripped the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, melting against his frame with a trembling gasp as he let go of your lips only to nibble on your jawline. Your head felt light and dizzy of his closeness, sloppy kisses on your neck, tickling sensation of his facial hair against sensitive skin.

Deliriously, you let your hands wander to the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath and caressing his belly. Ezra let go of you for a moment to pull the t-shirt off over his head and toss it aside. His body was firm and tanned and you marveled at the sight. Your shirt went next, and then he pulled you back in his embrace. The skin-to-skin contact almost made you shudder, almost too much for your touch starved body. Almost unbearable, but you still craved for it. Your breath quickened as his tongue traced your collarbone while his fingers struggled to undo your bra. You reached behind your back to help him and soon your breasts were exposed to his hungry eyes, darkened with lust. You bit your lip as his thumbs brushed against your hardened nipples, it was like the sparks of electricity flashing through your body. Greedily, he kissed your lips again, pulling you down on the cot with him, on top of him.

As you straddled him, you could feel how hard he already was underneath you. Unable to let go of his lips, you started slowly grinding against him to release the pressure building in your core, earning a quiet moan from him. It encouraged you to go further and trace his neck with your tongue. You could feel him shivering, tightening his grip on your hips.

He let you explore his body for a while, tracing his chest with your fingertips, peppering his collarbones with soft kisses, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to take it for too long. It’s been a while since someone touched him with real affection. At some point he just couldn’t contain himself any longer. Letting out a low groan, he seized your waist and flipped you onto your back. Your surprised gasp was muffled by his lips capturing yours again, before moving further down your body. The tip of his tongue just barely touched a hard peak of your nipple, but it caused you whimper out loud. Tenderly, he kissed his way between your breasts and down your belly, along the hem of your sweatpants, before tugging them down slowly.

When he pressed a soft kiss on your mound through the thin cotton of your underwear, you were about to scream. There was too much of him, to many sensations at once, and your insides were tingling and aching for release, but you couldn’t get rid of a slightly awkward feeling. You’ve never been that exposed to a man before. Emotionally and physically.

Ezra seemed to feel your tension. Frowning, he looked up at you.

- Uh, y/n… did you ever…

You felt blush creeping up your cheeks.

- Sorry, I… didn’t have much time for romance… - You mumbled.

- It’s okay, - he hushed, his deep brown eyes looking at you with such warmth and affection you couldn’t help but smile. - Just relax. You won’t regret it. Trust me.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. Trust him. Yes, you did trust him.

Once your panties were gone, he positioned himself between your thighs, and his hot breath against your center made you tremble with anticipation. Then his tongue carefully slid past your folds and you almost purred at the blissful sensation. After a few long and unhurried licks he settled at your throbbing clit, sucking on it gently, and it didn’t take long before you finally exploded, writhing and moaning shamelessly, fingers entangled into his soft messy hair. He kept going through your climax, licking you clean until the overstimulation caused you flinch. You were still a panting mess when he made his way back to your parted lips.

Slowly kissing him back, you could taste yourself on his tongue, and even though your insides still fluttered a bit in an aftermath of your climax, you still knew you needed more of him.

- You alright? - He asked quietly, stroking your cheek with his knuckles.

- Uh-huh, - you made, kissing his upper lip while reaching between your bodies to cup his bulge. He sighed, slightly bucking his hips at your touch.

- Ezra, - you whispered, your face so close to his your noses touched. – I… think you should take off your pants now…

- That makes sense, I guess, - he snickered mischievously, placing one more quick kiss on your lips before getting on his feet and tugging off his pants and underwear.

Hovering over you, Ezra pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and humming softly as your fingers trailed down his torso, through the hairs on his lower belly, to stroke along his length. The throbbing, teasing sensation was driving him crazy, yet your sweet caress, so gentle and intimate, almost made him melt. He both craved for release and wanted it to last forever. He opened his eyes, met your gaze, and kissed you again, deeply and passionately, causing you tremble beneath him.

- I need you, - you breathed out against his mouth, and he obeyed. The sensation of him filling you up was overwhelming. He moved slowly at first, allowing you to adjust, but soon your moans and gasps of pleasure encouraged him to pick up the pace. Clinging to him, you enjoyed every second of this intimacy. Everything felt so good: the weight of his body on top of yours, his hot breath on your skin, quiet moans and grunts escaping him… Digging your nails into his shoulders you arched your hips to meet his thrusts, urging him to go deeper. His hand slid under the bend of your knee, lifting your leg a bit to get a better angle. You whimpered desperately, jolts of pleasure flashing deep within your core as he hit that sweet spot of yours, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. A couple more thrusts and you clenched around him, a wave of pure ecstasy washing all over your body from head to toes. Ezra felt dangerously close too. He pulled out with a groan and let go. Through the haze of your post-orgasmic bliss you could feel his warm load spilling over your belly.

He collapsed on top of you, panting, and you were simply lying like that for a while, his face buried into the crook of your neck, your fingers caressing his hair. You felt warm and sated, and completely safe in his arms. Ezra lifted his head lazily to look at you. His eyes were soft and sparkling, and you felt so much tenderness for him at the moment, that you couldn’t possibly put it into words. Instead, you kissed him. You kissed the corners of his mouth, the tip of his nose. You kissed that little wrinkle he had between his eyebrows and let your fingers run through his tousled hair. He had this little blond streak and you remembered asking him about it once, but he wasn’t sure himself when and how he actually got it. Anyway, you always found it adorable. Ezra took your hand in his and brought it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.

- That was… Pretty intense, huh?.. - He smiled.

- Oh yes, it was.

- You know what we need right now? A shower.

- True, - you agreed. - You can go first then. The shower cabin is too small for the two of us anyways…

- Bullshit. Pretty sure we can fit. If we get close enough, - Ezra smirked. - You’re going with me, sweetheart. End of subject.

- Yes, sir, - you laughed.

Finally you could admit - you actually liked him calling you “sweetheart”. A lot.

***

You woke up lying on Ezra’s chest instead of a pillow. His calm and even breath and the warmth of his body against you felt nice and comforting, and not awkward at all this time.

In the world you lived, there was one thing you knew for sure - you had to be tough. Showing weakness was never safe. But now, with him for the first time in ages you weren’t afraid of being opened up and vulnerable. And it didn’t even matter how different you were. Yes, you’re the quiet one and he’s talkative, he’s chaotic and you’re organized, he’s spontaneous and you always need a plan… But none of these was important. The most important thing was - deep inside you both felt loneliness. Now you weren’t lonely anymore.

You felt like you could spend a lifetime just snuggling like that, it was perfection, except one thing - you realized you were hungry as a wolf. Unable to bear with the rumbling of your stomach any longer, you carefully slipped out of the bed, put on some clothes and headed to the cockpit.

Your backpack was still lying there on the floor. You opened it and grabbed a couple of protein bars and a thermos bottle. Sitting on the floor with your legs crossed, you took a sip of warm drink. Your body was aching but it was a pleasant sensation. You glanced at the timer on the dashboard to find out you still had a few hours until landing. No rush.

The case was there too, next to the backpack. You reached out and opened it. Damn. More than a half of your harvest was lost, including that rare big golden gem. You sighed. Well, at least you were alive and well… And in fact, you found something way more valuable than gemstones.

“Everything happens for a reason. “

You heard his footsteps behind you and smiled.

- Morning… - Ezra’s voice was a little hoarse after sleep. He bent down and kissed the top of your head before sitting next to you.

- Morning. Are you hungry? - You handed him a protein bar.

- I sure am, - he chucked, leaning in and gently nibbling on your exposed shoulder.

- I didn’t mean that hunger, - you scoffed.

- Well, that too, - he took a large bite of his snack.

- Hey, what’s wrong? - He frowned, as he followed your gaze and spotted the opened case.

- Well, nothing particularly terrible. It’s just… I guess your dream vacation has to wait for a while… - You shrugged, and told him what happened on your way to the ship.

- Oh yeah, I saw that guy with a smashed helmet… Almost tripped over him actually… That’s pretty badass! - He nodded in appreciation. - Um… By the way… You didn’t check the front pocket of your suit, did you?

- Nope, - you narrowed your eyes. - Why? I thought you just gave me your empty cassettes…

- There were cassettes, yes… But… There was also something else…

Intrigued, you got on your feet. Your suit was hanging next to the door. You dove your hand into the front pocket and fished out something wrapped in a piece of cloth. Carefully you unwrapped the bundle and gasped in surprise: it was the big golden gem.

- B-but… - You stuttered, turning to Ezra and giving him a questioned look. - How?... Did you steal this gem?..

- What? No! You saw all the gems when you closed the case before heading back. How could I possibly do that? Magic powers?

- Than I’m confused.

- Don’t be. It’s not the same stone, it’s another one. Remember I told you I’ve heard of these gems? Well I also heard there are usually two of them, on the opposite sides of the dig.

- Opposites… - You murmured softly and he gave you a broad smile.

- That’s right. Just like you and me, huh?

- But why didn’t you tell me?

- Just wanted to surprise you. It’s simple as that. And it seems to me that mischief managed, - he chuckled.

- Bastard, - you laughed.

- Love you too.

- Is that… A confession? - You blurted out.

- Most likely it is, - Ezra smirked, stepping closer to you and cupping your cheek. - All I know is you are way, way more precious than any gem, sweetheart. Ugh... This actually sounds a bit cheesier than I expected…

- It’s okay, - you hushed, leaning in for a kiss. - I think I can deal with it.

***

For everyone who read until the end - thank you very much for your time and patience!

#pedro pascal #prospect 2018 #ezra x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #prospect #prospect movie #ezra #ezra (prospect)#lucy tries to write

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

To Fight the Powers that Be

Summary: Duncan Shepherd decides that, before he makes (Y/N) prove that she won’t go to the police about the crimes she’s witnessed, he needs to teach her a bit about defending herself.

Word Count: 3438

A/N: Welcome back to another chapter of Memento Mori, my crime boss!Duncan Shepherd AU story! I sincerely hope you enjoy. Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated, if you feel so inclined, and my inbox is always open for people to chat. Finally, a big thanks to @lvngdvns for thrusting this idea to the forefront of this fandom’s mind, and to my beloved @divinelangdon for being a constant support throughout this writing process.

Warnings: Trespassing, mentions of mafia dealings, guns. All of the knowledge about guns in this chapter is from the brain of yours truly, who has trained around guns since she was 10.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2: To Fight the Powers that Be

In the three days since (Y/N) had been abruptly dumped in the living room of her apartment after being kidnapped, she had gotten a total of ten hours of sleep. It wasn’t that she was scared of the Shepherd family; no, she was downright terrified. Her eyes burned from a lack of sleep, her stomach churned from all of the caffeine she had forced down her throat, and her mind raced with paranoid thoughts at every unfamiliar sight and sound she encountered. Any person she hadn’t seen before, any sound she hadn’t heard before, anything that looked out of place, immediately had her spine stiffening and her heart thumping.

Her friends and coworkers had all been extremely concerned when she showed up in public with bruises of varying shades and a noticeable cut above her left eyebrow. She had been able to convince them that she had been jumped on her way home the other night, but that only served to have everyone try and contact the police on her behalf. Frantically, (Y/N) had to think quickly and say that the police had been contacted and that they were being careful due to the possibility of this being related to gang activity; a half-lie. They had still been worried, of course, but were willing to acquiesce now that they believed the authorities were involved. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them--it’s what they did know that would hurt them.

(Y/N) couldn’t decide if Shepherd and his goons not showing up yet was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe they had finally come to their senses and decided that she’s not actually a threat to their massive crime syndicate. They could also simply be laying in wait, biding their time for the perfect moment to kill her and make it look like an accident. It seems far more likely, however, that they’re just enjoying drawing out the wait and making her squirm.

Opening the door to her apartment, (Y/N)’s immediately aware that something is wrong. The door leading to her bedroom is closed, and she’s certain that it was open before she left this morning. A sensible person would backtrack out of the apartment and call the police, but a sensible person also doesn’t get wrapped up in mafia dealings. If (Y/N) calls the cops and it does turn out that whoever’s in her apartment has been sent by Duncan Shepherd to kill her, there’s no telling what would happen to her loved ones and herself, provided she survive fighting off a trained assassin.

Quietly opening the closet door to her left, (Y/N) grabs the baseball bat her father insisted she keep handy in case of intruders. At the time, she had rolled her eyes and made fun of it, but now she’s thankful she had listened. She’s grateful that the door doesn’t bang against the frame, or that the handle doesn’t make a sound when she releases it.

(Y/N) holds her breath as she creeps closer to her bedroom, the bat clutched tightly in her hands and held up like she’s ready to swing at a pitch. She can’t help but feel a bit like the cliche “final girl” in a horror movie, bravely, yet stupidly advancing towards the danger that lies straight ahead. Stepping over a part of the floor that she knows is capable of creaking loudly, (Y/N) feels a surge of adrenaline rush through her now that she’s right outside of the door. It’s open just a crack, and hearing rustling from inside confirms her fears that someone had broken into her home.

Deep breath, (Y/N) thinks, closing her eyes and attempting to gather up enough courage to actually go in and face the intruder head-on. Her grip on the bat tightens, and she starts to count to three.

1...she moves her knee against the door.

2...she opens her eyes and steadies herself.

3...she kicks the door open with a gusto.

Without giving herself time to think, (Y/N) charges into her bedroom with her weapon at the ready. The room’s dark, so she can’t see who is here with her, but she does see that it’s someone tall and broad-shouldered. She immediately swings for the person’s head, but they’re faster than she is.

Within seconds (Y/N)’s disarmed and pinned up against the wall, an arm over her shoulders and a hand over her mouth. She’s breathing heavily, shaking from the fear that death is now imminent, when she finally realizes that the blue eyes she’s staring into are Duncan Shepherd’s blue eyes.

“You’re not going to scream if I remove my hand, now, are you (Y/N)?” his silky voice cuts through the air. He’s satisfied when she shakes her head as far as she can with the limited mobility that being caught in Shepherd’s grasp allows, and pulls his hand away from her face. “Good girl.”

(Y/N) scoffs and attempts to push him off of her, but is disheartened to find that he barely budges. “It’s rude to break into somebody’s house, you know. You could have at least called ahead.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

“How did you even get in here?” The moment she asks the question, she knows the answer. Choosing to avoid his smug retort, she keeps talking. “For a mafia boss, you’re not very stealthy.”

“Trust me, if I didn’t want you to know I was here, you wouldn’t.” She wants to call his bluff, but the look that he’s giving her lets her know that he’s completely serious. “Nice little place you’ve got here, by the way. It’s...comfortable.”

“What do you want, Duncan? I’m guessing you didn’t come here to make small talk.”

“You’re correct.” He releases his hold on her, and she breathes deeply at the sudden lack of a weight over her chest.

“Need me to run drugs? Go…” she racks her brain, trying to think of what a man like him would need from someone like her, “go and rough somebody up?”

Duncan chuckles, picking up a photo on (Y/N)’s dresser of her and her parents at her high school graduation and looking at it idly. “I actually was going to give you your first assignment, but then I realized: you’ve had absolutely no sort of training whatsoever, self-defense or otherwise. I may be cruel, but I’m not cruel enough to throw somebody into the lion’s den completely unprepared.”

“I know loads of self-defense!” (Y/N) yelps when Duncan crosses the room quickly and grabs her wrist, pulling her arm straight, and examining her palm.

“No, you don’t. Look at you,” Duncan mutters, lightly tracing over the planes of her hand, “these are not the hands of someone who’s fought before.”

“I’ve been in fights before!” A lie, but she might as well run with it now that she’s gone this far.

“Don’t lie to me, (Y/N). You’re lucky that I decided to stop by instead of Langdon; he doesn’t tolerate liars.” A chill runs up her spine at the thought of that horrendous man.

“If you only came here to make fun of me, I’d rather you just kill me instead.”

“Now, that’s not the only reason.” Duncan lets go of (Y/N)’s hand and walks out of her bedroom, leaving her standing utterly confused.

“Wh-where are you going?”

“I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself, of course.” He looks behind his shoulder at her, a small smile on his face. “Are you coming or not?”

She hadn’t been expecting Duncan to take her to an elaborate gym tucked in the middle of the city, but she hadn’t been expecting most events that had happened to her lately. “You own this, then?” (Y/N) asks, following Duncan through the deserted lobby.

“Technically, no. However, the owners of this business have a contract with my family, where we invest in the business and make sure that there’s no competition in this area in exchange for a cut of their profits and use of the property however we see fit.”

(Y/N) wrinkles her nose. “All illegal, I’m guessing?” Duncan remains silent, but the smirk playing on his lips tells her that she’s right on the nose. “So what sort of self-defense are you going to teach me today?”

“Nothing too strenuous, don’t worry.” She comes to a stop at a door marked ‘private,’ Duncan entering a password on the keypad and pressing his hand to the screen that opens up underneath the keypad. The LED light blinks green and a mechanical hissing signify the unlocking of the door, which Duncan quickly opens. “Today, we’ll most likely just work on weapons training.”

“There’s an entire shooting range back here!” (Y/N) notes in awe, taking in the sight of a large gun range behind the inconspicuous door that they came through. Upon realizing that Duncan’s already walked ahead of her and is unlocking a large cabinet, she hurries to catch up to him.

“You’ve never held a gun before,” Duncan notes, opening the cabinet to reveal a large arsenal of guns. All different models, sizes, types; (Y/N)’s pretty sure that if there’s a gun that’s been manufactured before, the Shepherd family owns it.

“I--”

“Don’t try to deny it. I could tell the moment I looked at your hands earlier.” When she quirks a questioning brow, Duncan elaborates. “You don’t have any sort of calluses on your trigger finger, or where your hands would rest against a gun.”

“I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed at what you can tell just from looking at a person’s hands.”

He chuckles, looking through his catalogue’s worth of guns before grabbing one off of the wall. It’s a handgun, that much she’s certain, but she doesn’t know anything else about the weapon beside that. “This is a Glock.” Duncan holds out the gun to (Y/N), who nods.

“I have no clue what that means.”

“It’s the type of gun.”

“So I’m guessing it’s a good gun?”

“Yes, it’s an extremely good gun.” He notices how apprehensively she’s staring at it and sighs. “Lesson number one: don’t be afraid of the gun. It’s not going to do anything that you don’t want it to. Especially when it’s not loaded.”

(Y/N) bites back a mean-spirited comment. “I’m not afraid of the gun, I’m just not quite sure what I’m supposed to do with an unloaded gun.”

“We’re going to load it.” Pressing a small button on the side, a piece of the gun slides out of the bottom while the top slides back. “This is the magazine, where the bullets are stored. Typically, any gun that you receive will already be loaded, but it’s good to learn how to load a gun.”

He hands her the empty magazine and sets a box of bullets on the table, watching with a skilled eye as she examines the shiny lead pieces. Picking one up, she holds it between her fingers and rolls it around in her palm before putting it in the magazine. “Like that?”

“Yes, perfect.” She repeats her actions until 13 rounds have been loaded. “Now load it back into the gun. Don’t be soft about it, you need to do it quickly so you can hear it click into place.”

This part’s a little more difficult, but she still manages to get the magazine back into the gun. “What do I do now? The top part is still out.”

“Hand me the gun.” (Y/N) does as she’s told, and watches as Duncan handles the weapon like he’s had a gun in his hand from the moment he was born. “Racking the slide back is tricky, as it’s really easy to get your hand pinched when the slide goes back into place.”

She holds her breath as the gun does exactly as he said it would, sliding back into place harshly. If she had been the one to do that, it’s almost a guarantee that she would now have an injured hand.

“Don’t ever point a gun at anything unless you’re prepared and willing to shoot. Hopefully, it will not come to you ever having to actually shoot, but just pointing it at a person takes an extraordinary amount of willpower.”

Duncan presses a small piece next to the trigger, which (Y/N) figures with her limited amount of firearm knowledge to be the safety. Gripping the gun with one hand, he lifts his arm and points the weapon at a target with the silhouette of a person on it across the room. He doesn’t even have to look through the sight before he fires, staring down the range and delicately pulling the trigger a millisecond after (Y/N) claps her hands over her ears. The gun fires twice, one bullet striking the chest, and the other striking the head.

“Now it’s your turn.” Duncan turns the safety back on before he gives the gun back to (Y/N), and she attempts to mimic the stance that he had assumed when shooting.

The gun feels even more foreign in her hand now, the metal still slightly hot from recently being fired. It’s heavy, and it doesn’t feel right as she holds it like Duncan had. Looking over at him with a frown, no words are necessary when her face expresses her displeasure.

“May I?” Duncan asks, gesturing to her hands. (Y/N) nods, and Duncan moves behind her. “Your grip is too tense,” he mutters, gently adjusting her grip on the gun.

“Wasn’t aware you could hold a gun too tightly.”

“It affects the trajectory of your bullet, miss know-it-all.” He takes a step back to look over her stance, nodding to himself. “Now place your other hand on the bottom of the gun. You’ll want some more force to keep the gun from recoiling too hard on your first time shooting.”

“I can’t hold it with one hand like you did?”

Duncan shakes his head. “Just--shoot, and you’ll see why you need two hands.” Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) clicks off the safety just as Duncan had and stares down the room at the target against the other wall.

She’s not sure what she thought shooting a gun would be like, but whatever her imagination had decided was nothing when it came to actually shooting the gun. The moment she pulls the trigger, the gun jumps in her grasp, and she has to hold on even tighter to keep it from flying out of her hands. The sound of the gun going off reminds her of a small cannon, and her ears ring from the proximity. There’s not a third hole to join the previous two on the picture of the target, which means she completely missed.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, shakily turning the safety back on before setting the gun down on the table.

“Told you that you’d need both hands on the gun.” Duncan tries not to sound smug, but that’s impossible when the regular tone of his voice is smug.

“I didn’t think it’d do that!”

Duncan bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Come on, try it again. I want to at least see you hit the target before we’re done.”

Although (Y/N) eyes him warily, she still picks up the gun and resumes the same stance. This time, she’s a little more prepared when she fires, but she still manages to completely miss the target as she puts most of her focus on keeping the gun from jumping.

“It’s useless to try and teach me.” She scrunches her nose, trying to get rid of the ringing in her ears. “I’m not going to hit that stupid target, and if things go the way I’m hoping then I won’t even have to pull a gun on someone.”

“But if it does come to that, wouldn’t you want to have some sort of assurance that you will at least hit somebody if you need to shoot them?”

“Yes,” she admits begrudgingly.

“Is it alright if I help you, then?”

“Yeah, sure.” (Y/N) watch Duncan closely as he moves behind her again. “Just--no funny business, mister.”

He huffs out a laugh, but nods. “Eyes on your target,” he mutters into her ear.

Duncan’s chest rests against (Y/N)’s back as his arms loop around her, coming to rest on top of her hands. (Y/N)’s breath hitches, imperceptibly to most, but to someone with the ability to read people like a seasoned FBI agent, that small tic of emotion is clear as day to Duncan. Laying his chin on her shoulder, he lifts the gun, and her arms, up to point at the target.

“The key,” he says quietly, his chest rumbling with the vibrations of his voice, “is when you shoot. People think that the way they breathe doesn’t affect the shot, but it does. You want to pull the trigger when you exhale.”

(Y/N)’s shoulders are tense as she tries not to think about the dangerous crime boss that could easily kill her with the position they’re both currently in. “Okay, shoot on the exhale. Got it.”

“Look through your sight on the exhale before you shoot, that way you can get a feel for where you’re shooting.”

“Pretty sure I won’t have enough time to do all this when there’s some goon coming at me with the sole objective to kill me.”

“It becomes much easier after you’ve practiced a few times.”

“Like riding a bike,” she mutters.

“Pick where you’re going to shoot.” He redirects her attention to the task at hand. (Y/N) aims for the chest, where Duncan had first shot, and desperately tries to keep her hands steady. “Ready?”

“I think so.” She’s not ready, but there’s no time like the present, so she tries to convince herself as well as Duncan of the opposite.

Duncan places his trigger finger over hers. “Breathe in,” he commands, breathing in with her so she has no choice but to follow. “Out, and shoot.”

As (Y/N)’s shoulders come back down with an exhale, Duncan waits until he feels the muscle of her trigger finger start to tense as she pulls the trigger, only moving when she does. The gun moves far less than it has previously, another set of hands helping to keep it in the position that it’s supposed to be in. (Y/N) still twitches a little bit when she shoots, and the bullet doesn’t land where she planned for it to be. Instead, it’s a few inches up, hitting the target in the side of the neck.

“Damn,” she mutters, relaxing back into Duncan’s grasp without noticing she’s doing so, “really thought I had that.”

“It was much better than last time,” he reassures her. “After all, you actually hit the target.”

(Y/N) cranes her head back to glare at him, the smile on her face betraying her. “Rude,” she admonishes.

The smile on her face freezes when she realizes that she’s still wrapped in Duncan’s arms, the man awkwardly clearing his throat and unwrapping his arms from around her. She looks ahead at the target, anything to avoid looking him in the eyes.

“I think that’ll be good for today, now that you’ve at least held and shot a gun.”

“Yeah, that’s--that’s a good idea.” She walks towards the wall, grabbing the bag she had hastily snagged on her way out of her apartment. “Are my ears always going to ring like that?”

Duncan shakes his head. “No. Eventually, you’ll get used to the sound.”

“Great. Cool.” She bobs her head, trying to think of something else to say. “Um, see ya around, I guess?”

“Have a good night, (Y/N).” She nearly rushes out of the door as soon as Duncan makes it clear he’s done with her for now, waiting until the cool evening air hits her face outside to process what had happened.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispers, running a hand through her hair as she walks quickly down the sidewalk.

(Y/N)’s not going to let herself get flustered from minor physical contact. She’s stared death in the eye now; there’s no reason to get nervous about the leader of a mob teaching her how to shoot. Still, she finds herself haunted by Duncan Shepherd for the rest of the night, his scent lingering on the air, his touch still ghosting along her skin, and his eyes haunting her in her dreams.

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#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader #hoc #hoc imagine #house of cards #ahs #american horror story #american horror story imagine #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine

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villanevest · 5 years

Note

you know what the ke fandom needs more of? more AU fic. like gimme some chaotic college au or coffee shop au or neighbors au

U are so right. Honestly hit me with ur suggestions.

I didn’t want to leave you waiting until any suggestions came in or my brain started working so here’s my totally lame, unsolicited and rushed dot-point take on a Villaneve in the film industry:

- Villanelle is a notoriously bratty but EXTREMELY talented actress

- like she’s a total costume thief and honestly kind of difficult to handle on set if Konstantin (her manager) isn’t around

- but she’s also a one-take wonder when she wants to be, she can just turn on the character, bam, nail it, then go back to the Kraft table and hoard doughnuts

- she starts out doing short films and indies and then swans right into big pictures in that way that almost NOBODY does, but she does

- it’s never occurred to Villanelle that everything wouldn’t fall into place for her, and it’s almost like through sheer force of confidence that it actually does.. people just don’t question her because she’s so obviously got It

- she’s all over the place, doing the most eclectic projects, bouncing from superhero flicks to deep dramas

- she’s a magazine darling bc she has the wildest fashion sense, but in interviews she’s chatty and conspiratorial and funny in this way that means you don’t really notice she hasn’t actually told you anything real about her until much later

- anyway Villanelle wraps the last block for her latest movie and then she’s herded off to London to do a music video with Sebastian, who she’s really not that fond of (she doesnt even listen to his songs)

- but Konstantin’s management group also reps him so she’s bribed into it

- Eve is a director (and aspiring screenwriter), and she’s good, she’s really fucking good, but she’s mostly stuck doing music videos that she’s not all that interested in because her boss Frank won’t cut her a break

- he always promises that “after this next one” he’ll send her through to one of his television buddies, but he never does

- “oh Eve, you’re too good here, just let it go”

- in her spare time, Eve’s writing a TV series, and it’s Ready, and having something she’s happy with and passionate about just makes the sets she’s on seem even more stagnant

- Kenny, an AD she’s had on a couple of projects (who is Very Supportive of her show idea), is the son of Carolyn Martens, who is like THE head of creative development at a huge production company

- and he manages to accidentally-on-purpose get them to run into each other so Eve has a few minutes to pitch

- and Carolyn tells Eve she likes her idea, but it’s kind of off-beat, really fresh in that shiny-new way that makes dusty dinosaur investors uncertain about profit margins

- like maybe it’s Too New, too much of a gamble

- but she says if Eve can find a way to make it more of a sure thing then she is IN

- so then Eve is directing the music video of this (honestly kinda basic) dude singer and this famous actress chick is gonna be in it

- Hugo their sound guy is Hype to meet her

- but Elena is like “yeah I’ve heard she’s a Problem” so Eve is all okay, Here We Go

- and then she sees Villanelle and there’s this whole stretched moment of just seeing her

- and then she remembers hey she saw this woman once in an arthouse film and she was incredible

- and obv That’s why her heart is doing That

- Eve just admires talent when she sees it, okay??

- and Villanelle as always goes from zero to a hundred

- like she can barely be bothered to be there but then she sees Eve and it’s Wow I Can’t Believe Music Videos Are My Actual Passion

- and yes Villanelle’s beyond into it but she’s also an ass, and like, what’s she going to do, NOT try to drive Eve up the wall? As if

- she Has to know what Eve looks like flustered

- has to know if Villanelle can fluster her into dragging her into some props closet and tearing her clothes off

- so from Eve’s side

- Elena’s sources from wardrobe departments across the country were not kidding

- Villanelle is a total nightmare

- but also not

- like every time Eve tells her to do or try something she always pushes back, has to ask fifty But Why questions

- it’s impossible to stay frustrated with her though bc once she’s on board she absolutely brings it, will keep going until she’s got it perfect

- and then once Eve can see she’s got that to work with she starts trying to really push too, to see what she can get out of her

- but… It’s a music video, not an Academy contender, so they get caught up in this “well how about this” back and forth until Kenny’s like… Uh Eve remember we only have like five days to shoot this whole thing

- Elena thinks it’s funny because there’s going to be a HUGE disparity between Sebastian’s fumbling help-I’m-just-here-to-sing acting and Villanelle’s totally committed nuanced performance

- then suddenly they’re done, and it’s been this total blur and Eve is kind of on a high from it because it’s the closest she’s come in so long to being able to make something she’s actually engaged with, that means something

- and she’s not willing to trudge back to Basic Town so she bites the bullet and just goes for it, like Fuck Frank

- and yeah Sebastian is … A little ordinary… But he’s commercially successful and has a pull with the 18-35s, so Eve approaches him after they’ve wrapped

- she pitches him being the featured artist on the soundtrack of her TV show

- he gets exposure, she gets his brand

- it’s not ideal – his isn’t the image that’d be her first choice to tie with her series, it’s not really the same vibe – but she’s not going to wait for Carolyn to forget about her

- and Sebastian says he’d like to help her, but he’d have to check with his managers, and what about his tour schedule, and does she need original music, and um –

- and then Villanelle’s all “oh I couldn’t help but overhear… You know, Eve, I’m looking to get into TV”

- Eve goes, “you are?”

- well she is nOW

- nevermind she’s turned down a dozen offers over the last few years to focus on her film career

- but her film career is going great

- and none of it is as FUN as winding Eve up this last week has been, and this was only a shitty music video

- a TV shoot would be a few months, would give them both so much more time and space to see what’s the best (and worst) they can really bring out in each other

- and Eve’s a bit lost

- because Villanelle is the It Girl du jour

- and Eve’s show hasn’t even been officially optioned but here’s all the free publicity she could want

- and she never bothered to consider it before but actually, Villanelle would be completely perfect for the lead

- perfect

- and now Eve’s thought about it it’s all coming together and she doesn’t want to let go of it again

- (and working with Villanelle some more wouldn’t suck, honestly, not completely)

- (might actually be – well)

- “are you for real?”

- “so for real,” and Villanelle’s drawling, eyebrow raised, almost smirking, but Eve can tell she’s serious

- oh this is so far above and beyond what Carolyn needed

- and that’s the start of it all

#killing eve #villanevest #ke #villaneve #villanelle #eve polastri #mine #villanelle x eve #eve x villanelle #villanevest writes #villaneve fic #villaneve au #saltandsunscreen

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

HEY NOT ONLY IS IT LKT BUT IT IS ALSO ZINE DAY BABEY!!!! Please go check out the @seasonsofthecitadel zine! Orders opened today and all profits go to The Trevor Project!

As far as my typical weekly offerings go, I’m on a roll with this fic now, so...

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 7)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [ao3] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: Damien is dutiful as ever, and Rilla- Rilla has the situation under control. She does.

Chapter Notes: Not much to warn for this time, I don't think? They're all still bad at self care, and Arum is still... being passively suicidal, but if you've read the rest so far, I feel like that's expected. Love you! Happy LKT!

Damien wakes after Arum has already eaten, when Rilla is retrieving his dishes, and he careens back into consciousness with a shuddering gasp. His hand clutches his bow like a lifeline, and he springs to his feet in half a heartbeat, kicking the blanket aside without even seeming to notice it, his eyes wild until they land on Rilla.

Rilla, who only raises her eyebrow at him.

"At least you got some sleep, even if it was on the floor," she says mildly as Damien pants, standing and flicking his eyes around the room, looking away quickly when he meets the monster's eyes. "You okay?"

Damien swallows, then tries to press his hand over his heart, but he realizes that his bow is in the way and blinks in momentary confusion. "R-Rilla, I-" he cuts himself off as he remembers the monster watching them, violet eyes drifting between them curiously. "We can- we should discuss- we should move to the kitchen, I think, if we- if we wish to discuss-"

Rilla tries not to make it obvious that she wants to laugh, at that. Damien… it's not unfair for Damien to feel at least a little bit concerned, for him to want to talk to her privately. It really isn't. Even if it feels silly to Rilla, especially with the blatantly amused look Arum shoots the both of them. She bites her lip and nods, instead, then shoots Arum a look in return, both knowing and warning.

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit, okay Arum?" she says, and Arum wrinkles his snout very slightly as he nods. "Just… shout if you need anything."

Damien stares at her through this exchange, that wounded, mournful expression back in force, but she only smiles lightly and takes his hand (the one not still stubbornly wrapped around his bow, of course), and starts leading him back towards the front room. Arum's eyes flick to their clasped hands, his expression going momentarily puzzled before he flattens it out to neutral again, and Rilla doesn't have time to wonder about that because when they exit the exam room, Damien's mouth is already twisting down into a scowl.

"He- that beast- it tricked me into- into-"

"Into sleeping?" Rilla releases Damien's hand so she can go dump the dishes from breakfast onto the counter, and then she turns and leans against it, watching Damien unhappily begin to pace. "You were exhausted, Damien. If you didn't want to fall asleep in a room with him, you should have just stayed in bed with me," she says, and she knows she hasn't quite kept the hurt out of her voice when Damien's eyes dart to her in surprise.

"Rilla," he murmurs, and his pacing falters so he can come close to her instead, lifting his hands to gently touch her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her skin, just gently. "I… I am sorry. It isn't that I did not want to rest with you, my love. I always do. If I had my way, I would never sleep anywhere but beside you. But- but I couldn't- with that creature still beneath your roof, I could not-"

"I know," Rilla sighs, leaning into his touch. "I know once you get a thought in your head, it's hard for you to… I know."

"He is…" Damien's expression twists, his eyebrows furrowing deeply and his lips turning in a frown so deep it approaches a pout.

"A lot," Rilla finishes with a half a smile. "He's a lot."

Damien purses his lips, and then after a moment he nods lightly. "I suppose that is one rather concise way to put it, yes. He…"

Rilla raises an eyebrow. "He… what?"

Damien doesn't seem to know how to continue for a long moment, and then he shakes his head and takes both of her hands in his instead. "Rilla, oh Rilla, I must speak my heart."

"Had you stopped at some point?" she says, but her teasing tone falls a little flat, and his expression goes hurt as well as pleading. "Sorry. What- what do you need to say, Damien?"

"You know that I love you," he says, almost tearfully, "and I trust you. I trust your brilliance and I trust your judgment, but I am terrified, my love. I trust you with the whole of my heart, but- but I could not possibly trust him."

Rilla clenches her teeth, exhaling sharply. "Well, good. You don't have to trust him. All you gotta do is trust me, and everything will be fine. I have the situation totally under control."

"But…" Damien trails off weakly. "But what do you plan to do with him, Rilla? Surely- surely with your skill he will be mended in no time at all, but what happens then, my flower? You cannot keep him here like some sort of- of broken-winged pigeon, like some sort of pet-"

"Damien, he's not an animal-"

"Exactly, Rilla. What will you do , when he is healed? Do you intend to mend him and then let him traipse out your front door, to send him on his merry way? Do you intend to escort him home, to keep other knights at bay? What will you do?"

"I-" Rilla laughs uncomfortably, pulling her hands away. "Look, he's in no state to be considering all that just yet, Damien. He still can't even get out of the cot, really. There's no reason to get ahead of ourselves-"

"Rilla."

"That's so far down the line, Damien, you can't expect-"

"You cannot continue to treat him without a plan, love. An injured monster-" he sighs. "This creature… he does not currently pose a threat. That, I will concede. But when he is well again, you cannot know what he will do. Even if he feels he owes you to the point where he shall not harm you, how can you know he will not harm others, Rilla? How can you be certain that your kindness will not visit misery and death upon others?"

"He hasn't tried to hurt you either, Damien."

"I am armed, Rilla. It would be foolishness itself to attempt to-"

"Wouldn't be that hard to kill a man while he's asleep," Rilla says.

"I-" Damien pauses, swallows, looks decidedly uncomfortable. "I… I will concede that point as well. Though, it may be for your sake alone that he did not harm me. Clearly the debt he owes you is enormous, perhaps even a monster would understand the weight of such a mercy. But you cannot know he will not harm others when he is- if you allow him to leave this place."

Rilla narrows her eyes, just slightly. "Alright. So far, you've basically said that I can't keep him here and I can't let him leave, either. Kinda get the feeling that you're trying to paint me into a corner here, Damien."

"Rilla… my dearest, my love, you know what I must do." He gives a shaky sigh when she scowls and looks away from him. "Rilla, he cannot be allowed to live. It is far too dangerous-"

"Oh, so you're back to calling Arum an it again, now that you wanna talk about killing him?"

"N-" Damien cuts off, winces, then wrings his hands for a moment before he continues in a muted voice, "n-no, I- I was referring to- to the situation, not to the b-beast himself." He pauses again, visibly uncomfortable. "His… Ar- that is his… his name, then?"

"Yeah," Rilla says, still frowning. "It is. Though sometimes he gets pouty if you don't put Lord in front of it."

"Lord?" Damien echoes in surprise. "You- he- a Lord?"

"I mean, I don't know exactly what it entails, but apparently he rules that big swamp up north."

Damien blanches. "The Swamp of Titan's- that swamp? A deadly, dangerous, dire place! Oh, all the more reason for caution, for fear! Oh Saint Damien above, oh grace us with your Tranquility and wisdom, protect us from the cruelty of a beast who could tame such a place-"

"Alright, that doesn't seem fair. The jungle around the Citadel is dangerous too, Damien, but that doesn't mean you'd call the Queen cruel."

Damien swallows, his wild expression calming slightly as he fixes his eyes on her again. "I- I suppose that is- but, but! Rilla, that swamp has been even more dangerous than in the past, as of late. There are rumors, there are some truly frightening tales coming from the north recently-"

Damien pauses, then, and Rilla's face has gone blank as well. They stare at each other for a moment, both thinking quite similar things, and then Rilla's eyes flick to Arum's door, which is-

Still cracked open, just barely. Rilla swallows, uncomfortable, and when she speaks again her voice is more muted.

"That seems well beside the point, Damien, and I think you know that."

"Very well," Damien says, equally uncomfortable. "But you have not offered any solutions either, my love. You may say that the time when the beast will be well again is distant, but such time will slip past long before you are ready for it if you do not have a plan."

"My plan, Damien, is definitely not gonna be you killing him, even if I don't have another answer for you right now." She crosses her arms over her chest, trying not to let her voice become a shout. "I've been a little busy, if you haven't noticed, just keeping him alive in the first place. I haven't exactly had any time to plan out something that won't be an issue for- for a while, yet."

"A while," Damien echoes. "Do you not have an idea of how long, then? Is his situation still so precarious that you cannot speculate yet upon that?"

"He- I mean, his progress is still slow. It might speed slightly after I treat- well, there's a chance he'll start improving faster soon, but I don't exactly have a lot of experience with patients like him. It's not like I have a great idea of how long lizard-dragon-bugs take to get back on their feet, you know?"

"Indeed," Damien says. "Is that not all the more reason to be prepared, in anticipation that he may heal faster than you expect?"

"I haven't talked to him about it," Rilla admits. "I just- I'm not sure he trusts me completely yet, and there's a decent chance that a question like that will make him suspicious."

Damien blinks. "He does not trust you?" He scoffs, then shakes his head. "Of all the absurd-"

"I'm engaged to a man who's practically begging me to let him slay the beast," Rilla drawls. "If I were a monster, I wouldn't be the most trusting of someone like me either."

"But you saved the creature," Damien says dismissively. "Surely that-"

"Yeah, and I'm still trying to save him, Damien."

Damien inhales as if preparing to counter that, but then his eyes flick to the window, to the morning light outside, and he sighs. "I- I cannot stay much longer. I am- I intended to mention, last night, but my mind-"

"What, Damien?"

"I will be leaving, for- for a few days, at the very least. The new Investigator General will be bringing a rather small team to- to resolve a situation a little ways north." He pauses. "Not- not quite so far north as our previous discussion," he adds. "But- I am needed. As much as the idea of leaving you alone with such a creature terrifies me-"

"I don't know how many times I gotta say that he's not gonna hurt me before you get it, Damien."

"I don't know how you can be so sure, my love," Damien says softly, achingly. "I trust enough that I- that I will leave, I will leave you with the creature under your roof and your care, and I will not… I will not harm him, this day. But when I return… when I return, we will need to… to resolve this discussion. A decision must be made, and I think we both know that there is only one possible outcome. There is only one way to return our lives to normalcy, to ensure safety for the people it is both of our duties, in our own way, to protect."

"Uh." Rilla scowls. "We definitely don't both know that," she says, tone going sour with mocking. "Saints, I should make you a recording of me saying all the shit you seem determined not to understand. Maybe on the twelfth repeat you'll get the picture. He's my patient, Damien, which means it's my job to keep him safe. And if you want to hurt him so badly, that means I'll have to keep him safe from you, too."

"Rilla, please don't- don't-" he pauses, furrows his brow, and then sighs deeply. "No."

"No?"

"I cannot stay but a few minutes more. I believe this conversation is larger than our current time will allow. I do not enjoy the thought of leaving words unsaid-"

Rilla snorts a laugh. She really can't help it. She winces when he gives her an injured look.

"Er- yes. Regardless. We will resume this… discussion upon my return. Please, love, just- please do not grow complacent with this creature. Please take care. I love you too dearly to think that you could be in any sort of danger, but especially not danger that could be easily avoided with just the barest breath of caution. Please, love."

Rilla stuffs down her frustration, and instead comes close to him again. She touches his shoulder, and then just damns the whole situation and slips her arms around him in a hug instead. "I love you too, Damien," she sighs. "And you damn well better be careful out there too, whatever it is you're gonna be doing. Promise me you won't let yourself be distracted by this when you should be worrying about what's out there," she says, and then she pulls back enough to meet his eyes. She wonders for a moment if she looks quite as worried as he does. "I don't want to be the reason you get hurt, Damien."

"I promise," he says gently. "I assure you that I will be entirely focused, entirely engrossed in my mission until it is complete."

Rilla doesn't really believe that. Damien isn't exactly the best at keeping his mind from running away with him, but- it's nice to hear him say it, anyway. She sighs.

"C'mon, then. I'll help you get your armor back on, and then I'll walk you to the bridge, at least. I could do with a bit of fresh air."

Arum curls his claws in the sheets when he hears the door click shut, when he hears two distinct sets of footsteps maunder off into the day. Ten minutes or so, Amaryllis had casually (or less than casually, if the light strain in her voice had been any indication) called out to him through the door before she ran off with the knight. Ten minutes. That is how long she will be gone.

Not enough time to do everything he needs, but-

He waits only until he can no longer hear them, and then he pushes the blankets off. With a care bordering on the absurd (he cannot risk falling, he refuses to be set back again), he swings his legs out, letting his claws click on the hardwood below. Behind him, he curls his tail down and retrieves the first of his stolen prizes from beneath the bed. A crutch: primitive, so far as such tools go, but just tall enough to be useful to him, and he positions it beneath his lower right arm and grits his teeth and he stands-

He stands and does not fall, this time.

(Kicking the crutch back beneath the bed when he had fallen two days ago had been an exercise in flailing panic. He has rarely been more mortified.)

Arum stands, balancing carefully with the help of the crutch and his tail, and he breathes unsteadily for a long moment before he does anything else.

He has his goals in mind. He knows precisely where this little creature keeps everything he will need, even if he is not entirely steady enough to enact his plan just yet.

He has a deadline, now. When the knight returns from his newest expedition, Arum does not think Amaryllis will be able to keep him from slaying Arum, and- and now that Arum's suspicions about the Keep are all but confirmed-

(Rumors. What rumors? When Arum overheard those words he wanted to tear the blankets apart, wanted to roar and rage and demand that the knight explain- what does he mean, that the swamp, Arum's swamp, is becoming more dangerous? That it is growing more frightening? What does he mean? What is the Keep doing? What is happening to Arum's home, in his absence?)

He has a deadline. Arum will not wait, not a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

Either he will die in his planned attempt, or he will return home. One way or the other, his Keep will have a familiar again.

He grits his teeth, focuses on his balance, and step by careful step he begins to cross the room.

Arum is still safely in his cot, giving Rilla a baleful glare as she returns, and she stubbornly pretends that she hadn't been worried about that. It wasn't like she expected him to disappear, or to hurt himself by accident, but- Rilla hasn't really left the hut since she found the lizard. It just feels weird, to leave him alone.

"Here," Rilla says brightly, pressing a vial into Arum's hand as he blinks up at her, startled. "Take that, please."

"Wh-why?" he barks suspiciously, holding it away from himself. "What is it?"

"The antidote. It should neutralize what's left of the poison from that basilisk," she says, and she grins sharply when Arum flinches in surprise. "Yeah. I told you I was gonna figure it out. Honestly, it's a good thing I did, because even without that talon still in there, the poison would have taken a while for your body to naturally work through. So yeah, I'm just gonna reiterate the whole, it's important to just tell me things, thing. Y'know. If you actually want to get better."

Arum wrinkles his snout, narrows his eyes at the vial, then uncorks it and takes it in one go. His expression goes even more dour at the taste (understandable, Rilla thinks), and then he presses the empty glass back into Rilla's hands. "I would say I apologize, but I would be lying," he hisses. "Perhaps I would be more likely to trust if I were not receiving such wildly different messages from my two ambassadors to humanity."

Rilla snorts. "Yeah, that's not entirely unfair," she says. "Damien's not gonna be back for a few days or so, though, so you don't have to worry about him hovering for a while."

Arum raises an eyebrow. "Hm."

Rilla tucks the empty vial into a pocket and starts the routine of checking the monster over. It's becoming almost too familiar, by now, she thinks. She talks through it again to keep him comfortable, and he frowns deeply when she tsks at him over his frill, which she is beginning to worry might permanently bear some nicks and tears if he can't stop flaring it so frequently.

"It hardly matters," he mutters, looking away from her. "It's not as if it will kill me. It is only a frill."

"Yeah, but- well, I'm sure it still hurts, and whether or not you care about the aesthetic appearance, reopening the wounds over and over certainly isn't good for you. Just- try your best not to move it if you can, okay?"

Arum rolls his eyes. "Yes, doctor."

He tugs the blankets back up on his own (he's getting stronger, she notes with some satisfaction) and then he sighs, frowning and looking towards the window, despite the curtains in the way of his view.

There's something elegant about him, a sad sort of tension to his stillness, and Rilla has to bite back the urge to just ask-

What happens when you're healed?

She wishes Damien hadn't stuck the question in her head. It's just- a pain in the ass, really. She picks a different question instead.

("I think the creature is… I think he is restless," Damien says uncomfortably, when they are in sight of the bridge.

"Of course he's restless, Damien, he's barely better than bedridden."

Her voice bounces on the b's, and she smiles as she sees Damien tilt his head and file her words away for some later composition.

"Yes, needless to say," he says after a moment. "But what I mean is that he seems… understimulated? Or- bored, I suppose," he says with an awkward smile. "Perhaps it would be worthwhile to- to provide him with something to occupy his mind. To keep him out of trouble," the knight mumbles, his soft and calloused hand lightly squeezing her own.

Rilla wonders, brow furrowed, why she hadn't thought of that already.)

"Hey," she says, and he turns his face back toward her with a suspicious look. "Do monsters have their own written language?"

"No," he says, less suspicious now but certainly more concerned. "We have several. Many of them complex and individual and private and certainly not the business of some nosy human."

"Can you read our language?" she prods, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," he grumbles. "It is only one language, it is easy enough to understand."

"Huh," she says. "Good to know."

He looks suspicious again at that, but he also looks tired, and she's familiar enough with that expression on his face to know that he'll probably be asleep again in ten minutes or so. That's fine. She's not sure exactly what kind of books a monster like him might enjoy reading, but Rilla can use his time napping to sift through her little library and find something that might just catch his interest.

Hell, if she's already going for treason, she might see if he'll have some insight into some of the books her dads left behind, while she's at it.

[->]

#<3<3<3 #elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #sir damien #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #Yell Heah Baybee #scattered on my shore

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vateacancameos · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Words: 2263 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Autumn, Post-Canon, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, So much fluff your teeth will ache, Gen or Pre-Slash, we'll be getting into slash territory in the rest of this series, adorable Aziraphale, cranky crowley, but not really, he's too busy having heart eyes to put in the effort, Footnotes, gross overuse of footnotes, my footnotes have footnotes, buckle in people Series: Part 1 of Ineffable Seasons

Summary: Aziraphale coos all over autumn and Crowley tries to pretend he doesn't find it adorable.

Story:

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, a smile on his face, his whole being practically glowing. It’s disgusting. Crowley glances away so he can’t be pulled further into the entrancing vision in front of him. But he looks back as soon as his best friend begins speaking.

“Oh, isn’t it glorious? The crisp temperatures, the smell of falling leaves. Jumpers and cider. And pumpkins.” At this final word, Aziraphale breaks his beatific pose—hands clasped in front of his chest, the sun hitting behind him at just the right angle to give him a halo—Hela,[1] did this angel have no shame—to crouch down and pick up a pumpkin in front of him. He holds it under his arm and throws another smile at Crowley, which has Crowley sighing and rolling his eyes to once again protest this whole silly endeavor. How he’d let himself get roped into this inane activity, he’ll never know.[2]

[1] Crowley, tired of trying to figure out which entity to use when he experiences feelings, has recently started using made-up gods instead, starting with the gods of the underworlds. He hasn’t found one that works yet, but he’s willing to try them all if necessary.

[2] It certainly has nothing to do with the strategically sweet and pleading face that had greeted him when he’d entered the bookshop to pick up his favorite angel[3] for lunch.

[3] The only angel he even deigns to like, in point of fact.

“Seriously, angel?” Crowley asks, sliding his sunglasses down just far enough to allow Aziraphale to see the disbelief in his eyes. “Autumn is terrible. Now winter, that’s the best season. Everyone harried and worried about money. Slushy rain and wet socks. Furnaces that stall or overheat. People stuck in their houses wearing terrible jumpers, forced to interact with family members they hate. Shoveling snow, if you live in a place that has that. Yeah, winter is a good one …” He lets himself grow nostalgic, remembering his favorite winters past.

“Oh pish. I’ve seen you light up like a child when seeing Christmas light displays. The closest you get to Scrooge is as him on Christmas morning, buying up roasted meat for the poor children of this world,” Aziraphale argues with a fond eye roll.[4]

[4] Let the reader note that, in fact, the closest Crowley gets to Scrooge is when David Tennant voices Scrooge McDuck on the DuckTales revival, including a great Christmas episode that employs meta jokes that reference Doctor Who, another popular show David Tennant played a part in. This author suggests you check out both shows if you have not yet done so. She’ll wait for you to get back. Okay, back now? Good. That was fun, wasn’t it?

“That’s not– Ngh– I do n–. Stop it right now, or I’ll shove you into the back of the Bentley and take you right back to your bookshop, no cider and certainly no pumpkins.”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open, and Hades help him, Crowley can’t tell how real or manufactured the look is. The angel often does an amazing impression of being completely innocent, but there are times that his naivety is real.

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too–”

“Bless it,[5] angel, if you say nice–”

[5] Sometimes Crowley forgets and falls back on old curses and blesses. He’s been using them for millennia, after all.

[read the rest under the cut or over at ao3.]

Aziraphale shoots him an exasperated look. “Of course not. I was going to say you’re too invested in teasing me for my every autumnal exclamation today to back out now.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Dear Persephone, he’s right. From the moment Aziraphale had asked for a ride to the autumn festival/pumpkin patch monstrosity,[6] Crowley had been coming up with ways to tease him for his love of the season and all its trappings.[8]

[6] Complete with corn maze, cider, too many games involving gourds, and a—he can’t believe he’s even thinking of it—a hayride. Really, humans are far better than he is at inventing pure misery.[7]

[7] Let the author again note how amazing she thinks autumn is. That being said, hayrides are itchy, dusty, and bumpy, and you’re stuck sitting far too close to excitedly screeching children. She doesn’t blame Crowley for hating them.

[8] Just wait until Aziraphale turns the tables at Christmas.

Crowley acquiesces with a flop of his hand that he knows Aziraphale will read as both “Fine, fine, you caught me, I want to tease you,” and “Fine, let’s go look at these gourds you’re so interested in. Did you by any chance spend too much time in the New World back when it was still new?”[9]

[9] It was only new to the dumb, egotistical Europeans, though. It was plenty old to the native peoples of that continent by the time the Europeans showed up.

Aziraphale beams, gently placing the pumpkin back on the ground and dusting off his hands and jumper.

“Did you buy that jumper just for today?” Crowley asks as they begin strolling through the pumpkin patch/festival/field of torture. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in one before.”

Aziraphale somehow smiles even more brightly. Crowley is glad he’s wearing his sunglasses.[10] The angel pats the fuzzy, cabled, oatmeal affair covering his upper body. “Do you like it? I saw it in a window display and it just called to me. And it was right after the weather began to turn, and I just had to try it on. And then it was so soft and warm, I couldn’t not buy it. It’s like being wrapped in a hug.[11] I thought today would be the perfect time to debut it. It might get regular rotation with my jacket this autumn and winter.”

[10] To shade his eyes from the terrible angelic brilliance, of course. It has nothing to do with hiding his reaction to said smile.

[11] Crowley would love to be wrapped in a– nope. Nope. That thought will not see the light of day.

“Mm hm,” Crowley responds, quite brilliantly. “Oh look, the cider booth.”

“Oh! Cider? That sounds lov–”

“I’ll just get one for you, shall I?”

He hopes Aziraphale will find another squash to coo over, but he feels his presence next to him as soon as he’s queued up, but he’s cheerfully quiet. They wait in comfortable silence for the people in front of them to get their ciders, Aziraphale’s wide eyes taking in every aspect of the event, and Crowley softens. He enjoys teasing his best friend—doesn’t think their friendship would have survived without it, and truthfully Aziraphale can give as good as he gets, so he doesn’t feel guilty for it[12]—but he also does genuinely enjoy seeing Aziraphale enjoying himself. That smile can have Crowley walking on air for days, even when it isn’t directed at him. It’s the reason he asks the angel out to lunch so often, despite himself being the type to drink his meal rather than eat it. There’s nothing better than watching Aziraphale eat. Or find a new book to fall in love with. Or … yes, even enjoy this absolutely awful season they currently find themselves living in.

[12] Not that demons ever feel guilty. Crowley makes a single exception for back in the beginning and the thing with the humans and the apple. But they don’t talk about that.

They finally make it to the front of the queue, where Crowley asks for one cider, extra cinnamon, for Aziraphale, and one mulled wine[13] for himself.

[13] Which the vendor is surprised to find she has, despite winter still being a good few months away.

They start strolling again, and Crowley lets the angel choose the direction, following along, like he always does, as he always will do.

“I don’t understand it.”

“No surprise there, angel. You may be smart, but sometimes daily life confuses you.”

“Oh hush, you,” Aziraphale admonishes with no heat, patting Crowley’s arm, which has unknowingly been tucked into by Aziraphale’s non-cider-holding hand. That’s been happening a lot lately, but Crowley’s not about to call attention to it, lest it stop. “What I meant was, you said mere months ago that—and I quote—‘I like spooky.’ At the old satanic hospital in Tadfield, if you remember.”

“If I remember? As if I could forget any part of that God-forsaken[14] week.”

[14] Yeah, he means that appellation there. Do you hear that, God?[15]

[15] Yes, She hears that. The author (and Crowley) would do well to remember that the game She plays is complicated and ineffable, thank you very much.

“Well, anyway. That’s beside the point. The point is, you like spooky.” Here, Aziraphale punctuates his words with more arm pats. “And autumn is when Samhain[16] occurs. You can’t have spooky without autumn.

[16] Pronounced saah-wn. Not Sam-hain, like they said on Supernatural that one time, which shows how little research TV writers sometimes do. This author is not stupidly obsessed with this fact. At. All.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Most spooky these days is over-manufactured swill sold to the masses for profit. It’s torture porn or silly ghosts. None of it frightens me.”[17]

[17] Except the current U.S. president. Now that shit’s scary.[18]

[18] Head office tried to give him a commendation for that whole debacle, but he noped right out of that one.

“Torture porn?” Aziraphale asks, a disgusted and confused wrinkle in his brow.

“Yeah, porn is a term current humans use to mean anything over-indulged in, but it has nothing to do with sexual acts. Well, most of it. Like, torture porn, food porn, space porn.” Aziraphale looks more disturbed the longer Crowley speaks, so he waves it away. “Never mind. I’m just saying, none of that manufactured spooky does anything for me.”

They come to a booth with caramel popcorn, and without even looking at his angel, Crowley signals for a bag, handing it over to Aziraphale as he counts out the correct number of coins. Aziraphale sighs happily and begins munching on it immediately.

“You’re just a stick-in-the-mud,” he says, going back to their conversation.

“Excuse me? I’m the stick-in-the-mud, Mr. I’ve-worn-the-same-jacket-for-one-hundred-and-eighty-years?”

“You’d do well to remember your car is ninety years old.”

“Practically new compared to your old smelly coat.”

Aziraphale’s jaw-drop this time is definitely not feigned. “You take that back. You said it looked good on me.”

“Yeah, in 1840.”

Aziraphale looks truly hurt. “It’s my favorite,” he says quietly, and Crowley relents. He can’t not, when he’s up against that face.

“It’s a nice coat, angel. But it’s good seeing you in something else for once.”

“Thank you, my dear. But the point is, you have no room to call me a stick-in-the-mud. Autumn is wonderful, and you can’t take that away from me.”

Crowley tries and fails to hide his smile. “How’s the popcorn?”

“Perfect!” Aziraphale says, the glow coming back to him. “This is all perfect. The weather could not be more beautiful or autumnal. I can smell spices and caramel and corn husks. The pumpkins look a particularly brilliant shade of orange this year. There are happy people all around. It’s lovely.”

Crowley looks around, seeing a particularly fiendish child twirling his unaware sister’s hair around a candied apple—who he silently cheers on—a small toddler screaming their head off when their parental figure offers them a pumpkin, a couple fighting near the corn maze. The stench of city and human beings is far too strong to be drowned by the sweets and spices, though it does fight for dominance with the moldering leaves blanketing the ground. And though the weather is nice now, he can see a storm building in the distance. They’d do well to hurry through the rest of the festival before they get caught in a chilly downpour.

But He won’t suggest this. He’ll follow his angel as he coos at the children posing for pictures with goofy scarecrows, as he bounces over to the candied apple vendor for a (non-twisted-in-hair) treat, as he begs with his soulful eyes for a hayride. He’ll follow his angel to the end of the world. He’s already done so, and he’d do it all over again if he had to. He’ll let them get caught in the freezing, miserable rain because Aziraphale is too taken with the pumpkin carving contest to notice the darkening clouds, though he will miracle them dry as soon as he’s able. He’ll follow his angel back into his shop, lugging the bag of things Aziraphale didn’t have enough arms to carry himself, and too big of eyes and stomach to not buy.

Aziraphale will light a fire, make two cups of whiskey-spiked chai, and wiggle his way into his favorite chair in the back room. Crowley will follow, landing on the sofa that has molded to his angles and long legs. They’ll talk about Poe and Mary Shelley. Crowley will talk Aziraphale into watching Young Frankenstein. Then Aziraphale will beg to be allowed to read aloud “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar,”[19] and Crowley will concede it’s just a little spooky. Though only just a little.

And though he won’t say it out loud, Crowley will think that maybe, just maybe, autumn isn’t so bad, when you’ve got your favorite person by your side.

[19] Read it here.

#good omens #fanfic #autumn #autumn mood #ao3 #meagan writes

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eliegloryofficial · 7 years

Text

Chasing Stars

summary: Once a world-renowned musician, Lucy Heartfilia put her violin away for the last time when she was seventeen. Five years later, she finds herself drawn back into the world of music after meeting a pianist with a fiery style of playing.

fandom and pairing(s): Fairy Tail, Natsu Dragneel / Lucy Heartfilia, others to be listed as they appear

Chapter One: An Unexpected Call

ff.net | ao3 | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

“The second Lucy Heartfilia’s bow touches the strings, the world seems to stand still in patient anticipation for what comes next.”

They meant it as a compliment. It and variations of the phrase were penned in almost every interview, every review no matter how retroactive. It became a model for aspiring musicians to follow, each performance just another attempt to recreate what the judges had already decided only Lucy Heartfilia could accomplish. For her part, she never actually made comment on the frequent review. Smiled and nodded along just as she was supposed to and thanked them for taking the time to speak with her. Exactly as she was supposed to.

The fact of the matter was, however, that it simply wasn’t sure. The world didn’t stop when she started playing. For Lucy, the world could only ever begin when everything else fell silent around her except for the practice perfect draws of her bow. It was the only time she felt safe, the only time she had ever felt alive. Heart pounding in beat of the conductor’s wand and fingers dancing across the neck of her violin as if nothing else mattered – and nothing ever did. Not as much as the music. No, the world only came to an end when her bow was gently lifted off the strings and pointed back to the ground.

But there wasn’t a good way to convey that in a magazine interview.

For years, Lucy thought that all there could ever be in life was the violin. She played until her fingers cracked apart and then bled through the glue meant to hold them together. She perfected every song from every symphony she ever performed until she could play it blind and deaf. There was nothing else; there could be nothing else. It all made so much sense, until the day it didn’t.

Suddenly, at the peak of her career and with no end in sight, she cancelled her upcoming performances. Disappeared from the public eye. Reports went up around the city, asking where she went. People suspected foul play, more than a few suspected she had been murdered. She hadn’t cared what they said, wouldn’t have addressed it at all if not for the insistence in which it was covered. Finally, her father stood before the press and announced that Lucy would be taking a short hiatus from performing so she could focus on her studies.

She was seventeen the last time she picked up a violin.

Friday

(08:17) Hello Lucy. As you must be aware, I will be forced to move the estate soon, and I would like you to come and collect your violin and music collection. Please come by as quickly as possible. Regards, your father.

The phone had just turned dark again when Lucy finally understood the text she had just received. “I’m sorry, what?” she hissed, smashing her thumb against the button to once more unlock it. Levy and Cana both looked up when she spoke, but Lucy was too focused on her phone to notice her friends. Just as before, the words flashed across the screen, caged by the first gray box in their text thread. Part of her expected a follow-up text to appear saying that it was just a joke, but her father rarely joked in person, let alone through a text that was sighed ‘regards’.

As both of her companions asked what was going on, Lucy practically jumped out of the wooden seat, thumbs swiping the screen to call him. Jude answered after only a couple rings, his voice sounding more exhausted than she could recall. “Good morning, Lucy.”

“What do you mean you’re being forced to move the estate?”

The words slipped out of her a little louder than intended, and Lucy quickly moved outside the small coffee shop for privacy. There was the slightest rustle on the other end, a deep sigh. “I’m afraid the Heartfilia Konzern has not been doing well these last several years,” he explained. “Nothing terribly serious, but enough to warrant a change. Something perhaps a bit smaller, more modest.”

Admittedly, she didn’t much follow her family’s business all too much, but it wasn’t much of a surprise. With air travel so readily available these days, it was a wonder any of the old railroad families had stayed profitable. At least he wasn’t totally bankrupt. “What about Mama’s grave?” Lucy asked, swallowing thickly. That was the most important part, to her. Who cared about the acres of land and state of the art restructured mansion? “That won’t be staying behind, right?”

“Of course not. I’ve already arranged to have it moved. I don’t have the address in front of me at the moment, but I’ll be sure to send it you once I do.”

Lucy exhaled shakily, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “Good. Thank you,” she said, leaning against the building. Her friends were still watching her, staring at her back through the window as they formulated questions to bombard her with the second she returned. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to Crocus, I have work every day for the next week or so. Couldn’t you just mail it to me?” Lucy fidgeted slightly, tugging at the bottom of her jacket. The idea of sending her violin through the mail felt repulsive, even after all this time – too many things could go wrong, even in the highest quality case. She might not have any desire to continue playing, but she certainly didn’t want the treasured instrument to return to her in pieces.

Jude huffed. “And risk having such a valuable instrument shattered by a careless postal worker?” he scoffed. “Nonsense. Surely you could speak to your supervisor and request today off.”

Of course she could. It wasn’t a matter of could, it was a matter of wanting to be nowhere near the old family estate. “I have class.”

“You missed class all the time when you were in high school, and I have no recollection of such absence affecting your grades.”

She felt her face flush a little, scowling at the parking lot as if it were to blame. “I didn’t enjoy missing those classes, father,” Lucy snapped, feeling her patience running thin. So typical of her father to expect her to drop everything for his demands! For his part, he seemed to understand the annoyance in her tone and did not push it. Instead, all she could hear was another rustle, a sort of shift in the earpiece as he repositioned the cell phone from one ear to the other. Finally, after a terse few seconds, Lucy sighed. “I will speak to my supervisor and professors. How long will you be at the estate?”

Another rustle. “We’ve planned to leave tomorrow afternoon.”

Tomorrow afternoon.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?!” Lucy cried, pushing off the building. “First you text me out of the blue telling me you’re moving as if I’d have somehow known that all the way over here, and now this? That doesn’t give me a whole lot of time to get back, father.” The last word was practically spit, a deep-seeded resentment surfacing as it so easily did when they spoke.

“I know, and I am sorry.” Jude’s voice dropped a little, and Lucy closed her eyes to calm herself. “Please let me know as quickly as possible if I need to mail it to you.”

And with that, the line disconnected. She pulled the phone away from her cheek in disbelief, watching as the call faded away to her home screen. It had been almost five years since they were last in the same room, and Jude still somehow found a way to dismiss her! This was no better than briskly telling her she had permission to leave the room. Lucy glowered at her phone for a few seconds longer before shoving the device into her jacket pocket and storming back inside to where her friends were waiting. The questions began as soon as she took a seat, groaning loudly and allowing her forehead to smack down against the table. “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Lucy whined.

“What is happening to you?” Levy insisted, crossing her arms against her chest. “Did something happen? Who was that you called?”

She groaned again. “My father wants to come back home so I can pick up my violin. Apparently, he’s moving and decided to wait until the literal last opportunity to let me know.” Still pouting, she lifted her head so that her chin was resting against the hard surface. Cana and Levy gave each other curious looks. They knew of her family – it was impossible not to when signs of Heartfilia railroad were still prominent across Magnolia – and her uncomfortable relationship with her father, but something else seemed to pique their interest.

Lucy realized too late what it must be, but they didn’t give her the chance to backtrack. “You played the violin?” Cana asked, dark eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know that.”

“I...yeah, I played a lot as a kid and a teenager,” she replied, glancing at the pattern on the table. There was a coffee stain not far from her that she focused on, shifting a little uncomfortably. “I stopped when I was about sixteen so I could focus more on school.”

“How could playing the violin take away from your studies that much?”

God help me. Lucy rose once more, shoving the textbook she had been attempting to read through into her bag and mumbling some excuse about needing to talk to her professor. “Wait! Lucy!” Levy called, reaching for her bag. Her fingers brushed across the material, but she was faster, already out of arms reach.

“I really need to talk to my supervisor and let my teachers know I might not be in class,” she said, forcing a nervous laugh. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

With her name echoing behind her, Lucy was gone. She moved quickly, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure Cana hadn’t decided to go running after her. Her friend was surprisingly agile when she wanted something, but there was no sign of either of them. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she slowed down, reaching into her pocket to find her phone already alight with frantic messages asking what all that had been about. She didn’t bother opening them, flicking the small switch on the side to silence any further texts while she halfheartedly asked her boss for the day off.

The walk to the library was quiet, and the few other students she passed looked like walking zombies. Students who had taken a morning class and had decidedly skipped every other one due to waking up late and then giving up rushing in favor of coffee. It had become familiar over the last few years, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Certainly not a day trip back to Crocus.

Inside the library was even quieter, and she nervously glanced around the front desk to see if her boss would be sitting at his desk. “Hey Hibiki,” Lucy called, pushing the small door open. He looked up at her voice, eyes blinking as if he was still lost in the world of whatever book he had been reading. “Sorry to bother you so early.”

“Not at all!” he said cheerfully, swiveling in the chair to face her. “Though I am a bit surprised to see you here so early. Your shift doesn’t start for another few hours, is everything alright?”

No. “Sort of,” she said with a shrug. “There’s been an unexpected emergency back home, and my father needs me to get over there and pick up the last few things I left behind. Today.” Lucy watched him carefully, hoping her tone would be enough to suggest how very much she’d rather not. Hibiki only watched her carefully, a frown decorating his handsome face so she could continue. “I need the day off. But I’ll make it up to you! I can work a double tomorrow, or come in next Thursday.”

“Nonsense!” Hibiki said, jumping up to his feet. “Of course you can have the day off! Is everything alright back home? It’s nothing too serious, I hope.” His concern was so genuine, it nearly caught the girl off guard, but she carefully rose her hands and softly explained that it was nothing major, just an unexpected relocation. “Well, either way, don’t worry about the shift. I’ll make sure to get it covered soon. Will you need someone to cover your class today, too?”

“I was actually going to just send an email and cancel it.”

He shook his head, frowning at her like the idea was totally outlandish. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Send me the lesson plan for today and I’ll personally see to it.”

After some time going back and forth, Lucy finally relented. Hibiki was a good boss, but he was an even better friend, so after a quick hug as thanks, she was off once more. The ride to Crocus would be about six hours or so with the various stops and personnel changes along the route, so she’d need at least a good book or her laptop to keep her amused. Lucy was a little lost in her own thoughts, half dreading the surprise trip home and half excited to see the older staff she had been close to. Ms. Spetto still sent her flowery emails every year wishing her a good birthday and such, and she knew it’d warm her heart to see for herself that she was doing just fine.

Her apartment was on the other side of campus, and the quickest route would be to cut through the Center for Performing Arts rather than walk the winding pathways around the quad. Lucy knew Magnolia University well, having lived on campus and in the general area ever since she left home in the middle of the night all those years ago.

Jude had been furious. How dare she spit on all the work he’d done for her, he demanded. But Lucy was steadfast in her decision, reminding him that she could finish high school on a laptop and took money only out of her own personal account. Legally, he could call the police and have her returned home since she was a minor (a fact mysteriously changed on her lease), but after three days of screaming at one another, he finally told her that she was on her own. They hadn’t spoken about it or much of anything in the years following, and she’d been a happy resident of Magnolia ever since. Returning home felt like a strange step backwards, a dive into the past she had so willingly abandoned.

But what else could she do?

The CPA was normally quiet this early, as most classes didn’t start until after at least eleven, but as Lucy pushed the heavy doors open, the unmistakable sounds of a piano rang through the halls. She paused in the entrance for a second, trying to name the tune, but while it certainly sounded familiar, there was something about it that escaped her. Pursing her lips, she checked the time on her phone and tried not to pay attention to the line of texts waiting to be read. Surely she had enough time to listen for a little bit, perhaps find the musician and ask them the name. Curiosity eventually won over and she quietly made her way through the maze of a building, following the sound of the piano. Her search eventually led her to the stage entrance of main auditorium, where she found the doors cracked open with a black and a red backpack propped between the doors. Lucy stared at it for a while, still trying to name the melody that was playing. Once or twice she thought she’d got it, but then it would suddenly shift, the notes taking an entirely new direction.

Whatever it was, it was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. And whoever was playing was unlike anyone she’d ever heard before. Trying not to disturb the musician, Lucy carefully squeezed between the doors, finally catching sight of the magnificent grand piano center stage. On the bench sat what appeared to be a young man, his back to her as he swayed and shifted with the music, hands moving across the keys without reserve. Lucy couldn’t help but watch, half of her attention caught on the pretty shade of his pink hair while the other lost itself in the music.

There was no sheet music, she realized after a few minutes. Nothing except the boy with pink hair and the fiery dance his fingers performed across the ivory. It was beautiful, whatever it was. Lucy closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply enjoy the music, foot instinctively tapping to the beat. For a second, she was no longer twenty-three and dreading the rest of her day.

Suddenly, she was thirteen and losing herself in her instrument. Her skin flushed under the lights of the stage, the slightest tremble of her leg as she tried to ignore the hundreds of eyes watching her. Life had been defined by the stage at that point, the clean black wood more a home than any aircraft recliner. It was a constant in a life where few others existed, and Lucy had to remind herself that she had been the one to walk away.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to leave, but her foot was closer to one of the curtain levers than she realized and she swiped across it in the process. The curtain shifted, just enough to make a noise, and the music cut off. “Fuck,” someone hissed, and Lucy watched as the pianist jumped to his feet, hands up and at the ready defensively. “I didn’t think you’d be here…this…early?”

He stared at her, and Lucy stared right back. They were close enough that she could see the olive green flash of his eyes and the matching pink of his cheeks as he flushed a little. Everything around them seemed to still, an empty silence where an audience should have been giving a standing ovation after such a brilliant performance. But there was no audience. “You aren’t Erza,” the boy finally said, relaxing his stance a little. “You aren’t here to, like, report me, are you?”

“Why would I report you?” Far as she was aware, so long as you were a student at the university, the instruments were free to use with professor approval. Perhaps not the grand piano in the main auditorium, but she could understand why a musician would prefer this to one of the public uprights littered across the building and campus.

He blinked, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “If you aren’t, I don’t think I should tell you. Just in case you change your mind,” he finally said, tilting his head to the side. “What’re you doing here anyways? Auditorium is locked.”

Lucy looked around. “Yeah, I know it is,” she said, placing her hands delicately on her hips. “Do you?” He stared at her for a second before laughing.

“Guess you got me there, huh?”

She smiled a little before glancing back at her phone. “I was just passing through and heard the music so I got curious. What were you playing, anyways?”

The boy shrugged. “Whatever I felt like, mostly.” He glanced back at the instrument and lightly dragged his fingers across the edge, expression softening a little. Lucy watched him for a second before turning away, feeling as if she had unintentionally interrupted some private moment. His love of the music was almost physical, exuding off of him in waves. “You play?” The question was soft, uncertain almost but not at all unwarranted. Why else would she have been in the CPA this early if not for practice? Lucy felt her fingers twitch a little, but she shook her head.

“No.”

“Not just piano, I meant. Anything.”

“Still no.”

Lucy cleared her throat, turning once more to leave. “Sorry to have disturbed you. I promise not to tell whoever Erza is that you picked the lock and hijacked the piano,” she called, waving once. The pianist huffed a little in response, but he didn’t stop her from leaving. Lucy stepped over his backpack carefully so as not to disturb the placement or accidentally slam the doors on him and quickly moved back through the building. The tune he had played was still echoing in her thoughts, and by the time she was unlocking the door to her apartment, she had started to hum along.

#wörter #fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #fanfiction #elieg1ory writing #musician au #chasing stars

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spacs · 7 years

Text

every moment that we spend without time

Archive of Our Own Link

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandoms: Final Fantasy XV Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia Language: English

Summary: Damn the prophecy. Damn the world and damn the gods.

Notes: IgNoct Secret Santa for @ jaciopara request: Hurt/Comfort or Ignis with an ugly christmas sweater Happy Holidays!

Ignis opened the doors to the throne room. At the bottom of the stairs stood the overwhelming Christmas tree, decorated elegantly and lit up in the otherwise dark, quiet of the morning. The king stood at the base of the tree, hands on his hips and staring up at the star that topped the tree.

Stepping gently, Ignis approached. The other man was unmoved as he came to stand shoulder to shoulder, no other acknowledgement besides a slight turn of head. “Early morning reflection, majesty?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“A first for everything it seems.”

Noctis cracked a grin and looked over at him. “It’s what happens when you spend ten years asleep.”

Ignis dipped his head. “Are we putting gifts under the tree this year?” he asked, gesturing to the presents scattered at the base.

The king shrugged. “What’s the point of having one if we don’t? Always bugged me when Dad didn’t put anything under it. Didn’t feel like Christmas.”

“Is that one addressed to me?”

Noct grinned, knowingly. “Yeah. That one is from Prompto. Want to know what he got you?”

“That’s not necessary—“

“An ugly Christmas sweater. Lights up and everything.” Noctis put his hand on Ignis’s shoulder, directing his attention to another box. “That one is from Gladio. He went in with Prompto and got you festive glasses.”

Ignis laughed. “You realize these gifts are wrapped and secret for a reason.”

“Pulling rank. I’m the king.”

“A fine reason to brandish your power,” Ignis chuckled. “And I suppose you sat out and didn’t attempt to get me something so silly.”

A sly grin. “Maybe.”

“Just tell me it’s not some sort of hosiery.”

“Reindeer antlers and a red nose.”

“Lovely.”

“You’ll look good.”

“I’ll look like a fool,” Ignis corrected. “But if it will make you lot happy, then I’ll be a good sport.”

The king laughed, removing his hand from Ignis as he crossed his arms over his chest. He surveyed the tree with a wary eye, his smile fading slowly into an inquisitive frown. Ignis watched him thumbing at the ring on his finger as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “What troubles you?” Ignis asked, turning to face him.

For a few moments, Noctis didn’t answer. He stayed where he was, frowning at the tree and fidgeting with the ring. “It’s Insomnia’s first Christmas since I came back,” he answered. “I’d hoped… honestly, I’d hoped the city would be in better shape than it is now.”

“Noct, you’ve done tremendous things for the city. Large portions have been rebuilt, businesses are reopening, people have homes.” Ignis gestured towards the door.

Lips pulled to the side, displeased. “It’s not finished,” he pushed. “I’m standing in front of this ridiculous tree with warmth and food and presents,” an accusing finger pointing towards the boxes, “but there’s still people out there that have next to nothing. Some people haven’t even gotten to get back to the city.”

Ignis put a hand on Noct’s shoulder, turning the king to face him. He looked him straight in the eye, squeezing his shoulder. “You are a good king, Noct.”

“It still isn’t enough, Iggy,” Noct urged. “It’s Christmas, but there’s no parade, no lights hanging down Main street, no annoying commercials on TV or the radio. The daemons are disappearing, but there’s still so much that needs to be done—”

Ignis chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, Noct.”

The king frowned at him, shrugging off his grip. “Don’t laugh. There’s paperwork on paperwork on paperwork of things that have to get finished and I have to deal with the politics of all of it – like profiting off all the loss of other’s over the past ten years is more important than helping those people get back on their feet.” He waved his hands at the tree again. “And I’m still here with this tree, having to arrange a ball with the ‘elite’ – all the sacrifices everyone has made over the years for me to get here and that’s what I’ve—”

Another interruption of Ignis laughing. Noct’s mouth clamped shut as he glared. “I’m glad you think it’s so funny.”

Ignis shook his head. “It isn’t that,” he assured. “You just haven’t changed.”

Arms crossed over Noct’s chest defensively. “What’s that mean?”

The advisor smiled and tilted his head, squinting at the king. “You are always so focused on the endgame. You can’t see the finish line, so therefore it’s too far, it’s not enough. You worry that things aren’t moving fast enough, so you don’t reward yourself for small victories.” He reached up to grip Noct’s elbows, his arms still across his chest. “Noct, you are a fine king. You worry about the wellbeing of your citizens and don’t let yourself get caught up in the pomp and circumstance. Humble nearly to a fault and always selfless.”

Noct looked away, embarrassed. “I just want things to go back to the way they were before… everything.”

Ignis pursed his lips sympathetically, curling them into a small smile. “I’m not sure going back to the way things were is possible, majesty.” He set one hand on Noct’s shoulder, dipping his head to catch the king’s eye. “What you can do is take things one day at a time. You can’t rebuild a city in a day. Order has been reestablished, now we’re just working out the kinks.”

The younger man’s brow drew in and his lips downturned as he searched Ignis’s gaze. “There’s still too much to do,” he insisted.

“There is,” Ignis agreed. “But you need to allow yourself rest.”

“Without you guys I wouldn’t have gotten here.” He turned away from the tree, towards the throne. “Now I’m here and I have to figure it out on my own but I don’t think I can.”

A beat. “No. You are not on your own.” Ignis stepped to the king’s side. “You are never on your own, Noct.”

Glancing at him, Noct scratched his cheek. “And what about your break?” His lips twitched. “I had my rest. Ten years of it. Maybe I should see if Shiva could put you on ice for a while.”

Ignis snorted. “What would you do without me?”

“Starve, probably.”

“Indeed.” Ignis paused, folding his hands behind his back, straightening as he looked at the throne. “I only rest if you do, majesty. It’s my duty.”

Noct rolled his eyes. “Ignis, you deserve one more than anyone after…” His eyes roamed the advisor’s face, lingering over his scars.

Suddenly self-conscious, Ignis turned away. He wasn’t ashamed, but he knew Noct blamed himself. His shirts were always long-sleeved so to not show the marks that striped his arm in white, jagged lines. Gloves covered his hands to hide the dark, circular burn where the ring had been. “I am quite alright,” Ignis assured him.

“We never talked about it.”

“Unnecessary,” Ignis responded instantly, moving to the door. “Now come, we have preparations to make for the ba—”

Noctis followed him, catching his arm in the doorway, halting his retreat. “C’mon, Ignis,” he pleaded. “Why haven’t you ever told me what happened?”

A heavy sigh. “You saw what happened,” he replied, his voice soft. Gently, he removed his arm from Noct’s hold. “And I know you feel responsible. But Noct,” Ignis spoke quickly as the other man’s mouth opened to interrupt, “everything I did was of my own volition. And I would do it all again.”

“How did you know it would work?”

A humorless chuckle. “I didn’t.”

“Then why?”

Ignis looked at him seriously, lifting his chin. “Because you are the Chosen King. And they wanted to rob you of your right to be that king.”

Taking a deep breath, Noct leaned back against the doorframe and answered, “Sometimes being a king is about sacrifice. Dad knew that. And that’s what I was supposed to do—”

“Well I am not a king,” Ignis stopped him. He smiled softly and glanced back toward the throne. “And I refused to sacrifice mine, no matter the cost.”

Noctis watched him thoughtfully. When Ignis looked back to him, their eyes connected. “You almost died,” Noct said quietly. “I almost had to watch you die.”

“I got to see you. That made it worthwhile.”

“Ignis.”

“I would do it again,” Ignis said, resolute. “Not knowing the outcome, not knowing if I would survive or if the world would, I would do it all over again.”

“Why? Someone else could rule, Ignis. I barely know what I’m doing. The prophecy said—”

“Damn the prophecy,” Ignis burst. “Damn the world and damn the gods.” Noctis blinked at him. “Noct, I would stand with you through everything. But I refused to watch you sacrifice your life for ours. When you picked me up and healed me I was terrified that they would still demand it.” Inhaling a shaky breath, Ignis paused. “I spent ten years worrying that I would still have to see you fall to a prophecy made by cruel gods as payment for a crime that was not yours. I am… unspeakably relieved that did not happen.”

Eyes darted between Ignis’s, Noct’s lips set into a thin line. “You didn’t… you had no way of knowing what Ardyn was going to do with you. And you still went with him.”

With a shrug, Ignis crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Noct’s posture against the opposite frame. “He offered me a choice. Stay and die with you, or go with him. Gladio and Prompto were on their way. I reasoned that they could get you to safety much quicker if he was gone, but I was no match for him.”

Noct’s eyebrows raised immediately. “No match for him? Ignis, you handed his ass to him.”

Barking out a laugh, Ignis shook his head. “I would hardly say that. Had you not arrived, I would have perished.” He flexed the fingers on his hand that wore the ring. “I was given the power. I did not possess it myself, as you do.”

“What made you take the ring?”

His lips twitched as he glanced at the king. “I was raised to be a tactician if you recall,” he joked, Noctis huffing and rolling his eyes. “I realized, correctly, that mere weapons could do nothing to fend against him. And the only thing powerful enough had just fallen from your hand and right in front of me.” He looked down to the floor, following the lines of repaired cracks in the floor. “I watched him level an entire building.” Looking back up, he let his gaze linger over Noct’s face, relief just as palpable now as it was when he called for the Kings of Lucis then sat up, alive. “I was going to die, regardless. He took me to gloat, to cause you to panic, and to let my death be the catalyst to send you to your ascension.”

Noct dropped his head back to the frame, breaking eye contact to stare up at the ceiling.

Ignis smirked, chuckling once. “I decided against that. All of it.” He pushed himself up, moving to stand in front of Noctis. The advisor dropped a hand on Noctis’s shoulder, pulling him up to stand upright. “And look at you now.”

The king’s lips scrunched up into a face so not kingly but so very Noct that Ignis felt his chest swell with happiness. “Surprised you don’t regret putting me in charge yet.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis snorted. “You were always going to be a great king, Noct. Your father would be tremendously proud of all that you’ve accomplished in these short months.” He squeezed the other man’s shoulder, connecting their eyes. “I am proud of everything you’ve done – you have surpassed all my highest expectations for the king I knew you could be.”

Regarding him with an inquisitive look, Noct tilted his head to the side. He squinted at Ignis and took a deep breath. “Why did you do all of that for me?” he asked, his voice low.

Ignis’s lips parted, removing his grasp from the king, and he wanted so badly to say it. But there was already talk of marriage, queens, and heirs. So, he settled for a joke, “I worked very hard to make you a presentable king. Did you really think I wasn’t going to make sure all that hard work paid off?”

But Noct saw through him and he frowned. “Come on, Specs. I know you like to work, but not even you would basically light yourself on fire just for a job.”

“I’ve had my fair share of burns cooking for you.”

“Y’know, I thought I missed your sense of humor for ten years, but I think I’ve changed my mind?”

“Have you? I’ll keep that in mind next time—”

Then Noct’s hands were gripping his upper arms, pulling him forward, and his mouth was on Ignis’s. Words died in the advisor’s throat, replaced with a surprised noise – one that Ignis would always deny being a squawk. It wasn’t a particularly clean kiss, but when the initial shock seemed to drain from Ignis’s body, the king’s hands slid up his arms, his neck, to hold his face and readjust.

All at once Ignis felt invigorated and melted. His arms folded around Noct, mouth opening for his tongue. Noctis tasted faintly of mint from when he’d cleaned his teeth, and the solid body against Ignis’s own had him drawing closer. One hand went to the small of the king’s back, the other holding him by the waist. His spectacles were askew on his nose, but he pressed closer still, breath short and gripping the king desperately.

When they both drew away, Noctis was smirking and breathing heavily, hot against Ignis’s skin. The advisor was confused, though it was difficult to call himself displeased. Fingers wrapped around his glasses that were fogged from their breath, removing them then slid back into place, proper. “Noct?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The quirk of lips that pulled into a full smile could end wars, Ignis was sure of it. But when the king looked up, Ignis’s eyes were drawn away, landing instead on the mistletoe that was hanging over the door.

Embarrassment wrapped around Ignis’s throat and he stepped away, trying not to seem rushed. He wiped his hands over his shirt, trying to soothe the wrinkles and adjusting his spectacles nervously. “I am… typically more observant than that,” he admitted, his back straightening and his hands once more folding behind his back.

“Typically,” Noct agreed, falling back to lean against the frame. The same smile still graced his features and it stuttered Ignis’s heart and made his words falter. “Y’know, Bahamut and I had a chat while I was in the crystal.”

“Did you?” Ignis felt his mouth go dry.

“Sometimes it feels like no time has passed, and other days,” Noct shook his head. “Some days it feels like a lot longer.” He looked back to Ignis. “But it was ten years and,” a smirk, “being Chosen, I had a few privileges.” Arms stretched over his head and Ignis could hear his shoulder pop. “We talked about the prophecy and what was supposed to happen, but how you changed things. By offering your life for mine and taking Ardyn head on without any hesitation, you… saved me.”

“Good.”

“You said, ‘I won’t let you take him away’.”

Oh.

Ignis blinked. Once, twice, rapidly. “Noct, I—”

“Why haven’t you ever told me that you love me?”

Astrals help him. With the way Noctis was looking at him, he knew there was little point in denial. “How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” Noct admitted. “Somewhere between Insomnia and Altissia you looked at me and it just sort of clicked.”

“I always thought I was more discreet.”

“You are,” he assured. “Most of the time.”

“I hope this doesn’t—” Ignis hesitated, his mouth open. Instead of rushing, he took a deep breath. “I don’t want things to change between us, Noct. Our friendship means too much to me.”

One eyebrow raised, Noct replied, “I want things to change.”

“What?”

“Mistletoe is there for an excuse on the slight – very slight – chance that I was wrong.”

“Majesty—”

“Because I love you too.”

Ignis choked on his next objection. Darting between looking and not looking at the king, he tried to find some sort of articulate response, but all he managed was long, shocked breaths.

“So please don’t give me some kind of Ignis speech about how it isn’t appropriate and you’re only supposed to be my advisor and blah blah propriety blah blah,” he mimicked Ignis’s accent and Ignis felt like he’d been shot back to ten years ago.

“You… I… we can’t, highne—majesty—”

Noct cocked his head and deadpanned, “You broke the rules for me already.” He stepped forward, taking Ignis’s hand, removing the glove and holding it between them to trace his fingers over the scar the ring left. “You actually changed my destiny, Ignis.”

“Noctis,” he whispered as the king lifted his hand to press a kiss to his finger.

“Ignis,” he challenged, looking back, his eyes alight with determination and lips turned up into a defiant grin.

Damn it all.

Ignis dipped his head and met Noct’s lips with his own.

#jaciopara #ignoct #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv #final fantasy #p: my writing #ff: ffxv #i don't know why it wouldn't let me tag you properly...#BUT i finally got it posted #these past few weeks were hell and i'm so sorry it's late #ignoct secret santa 2017

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