#once upon a broken heart headers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oonajaeadira · 3 years

Text

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal #soft #soft ezra

386 notes · View notes

sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

Text

Artistic Instinct Chapter 10

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, grief, loss and some second base action.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who reads, re-reads, points out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

May the flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary - Xan Oku

Chapter 10

Your eyes fly open - heart pounding, mouth dry- as the nighttime movie that played behind your eyelids finishes abruptly. Hugging your arms around yourself, you try to steady the impact of that injection of adrenaline into your veins, drawing deep breaths into your lungs as you gaze into the oil slick of darkness surrounding you. The sounds of day are yet to kick into being as your phone screen illuminates 03:02 - the trains not yet pulling out of their sidings, sirens still silenced for the most part. The night air is just punctuated by the rhythmic pitter patter of rain upon the roof and the sweetest little snores still rising steadily from your…

Your boss.

For fucks sake.

Once could be called a mistake, even if it was a twelve year long one. But back doing this shit again? Sheer fucking stupidity. Your head drops into your hands as a stab of pain cuts through your gut. What the fuck do you do now? Marcus so honestly put his heart on a platter for you last night- could you be the cold hearted, callous bitch that throws it back in his face? All of your body fizzes with fear - your muscles twitching with the cortisol so rather than irritate him with your fidgeting, you slide out of his bed.

Bare soles on the night-cooled wooden floors help to ground your flighty soul as you walk around the unfamiliar apartment. Whilst the exterior dampness can only come as far as pretty patterns on the window pane, the chill causes tiny pinprick goosebumps to stand proud against your skin. You finally settle cross-legged on the floor by the French doors leading out to the balcony, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass - mentally cheering on your favourites as they glide towards the inky pools gathering beneath them.

With your mind so lost in your new-found sport, you aren’t entirely aware of the arrival of a warm, breathing blanket that curls itself around your body languidly before you are tightly encircled by long limbs and gentle nuzzling into the side of your neck, “What’s up, honey?”

A small, precious kiss is pressed into your temple before the sleep-thick murmur continues in your ear, “Thought you’d left. So happy to find you here.”

Leaning back into his broad chest, you allow the expanse of his form that is wrapped around you to consume your body whole, “Bad dream. Couldn’t get back to sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

“‘M sorry,” Marcus slides you slightly to his left so he can search your face for the answers that you are so incredibly reluctant to give, “Your heart is racing - do you want to talk or just have things that will make you feel better?”

Initially, you don’t feel able to catch his gaze, having thought about breaking his heart only minutes prior to his soothing arrival but when you do, everything hits you like a ton of bricks. The deep pillow creases of his cheek, sweetly mussed up hair and the earthy hues of his questioning eyes make your fist fly to cover your eyes as your tears echo the deluge of rain.

He doesn’t speak. Just holds you close. Cradling you in his arms as your body shakes into his. Marcus allows you to sit with your pain awhile - not pressuring you to speak or offering any empty platitudes to solve it- allowing the hurricane of grief to rip through you, all the while tethering you to the ground.

As the tears exhaust themselves, Marcus leaves and your eyes dance in panic at the loss of his soothing touch. The relief of hearing his kettle start to boil and then the gentle roar of taps filling a tub, stretch a ghostly pair of arms back around you, soothing the ache beneath your ribs. A hand reaches down to you offering a way out - gently hoisting you back onto your feet.

“C’mere sweetheart,” Marcus pulls you back into his chest, pressing a line of kisses along your hairline, “I’ve made you a cup of camomile tea and run you a bath.”

He makes to leave you but your haunted eyes and tight grip upon his wrist beg him to stay, “Honey, I don’t want to overstep the mark here. I’m sorry that I asked you to stay. Overwhelming you like this, isn’t fair of me.”

Trying to eloquently respond to him comes out with just a snotty sad gasp so you vehemently shake your head tugging his hand towards the bathroom. Once inside the metro tiled space - pausing between heaving breaths - you manage to squeak out in your juddery voice, “Please stay with me.”

“Please don’t feel guilty - this is just shit I need to work through,” you mumble as you fiddle with the hem of Marcus’ t-shirt, feeling his skin twitch as you accidentally make contact, “I’m sorry that it’s having a knock on effect for you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he leans in to sweetly kiss your forehead, “I’ll turn around while you get in but I promise not to leave.”

“I don’t care if you see me naked - it’s just a body,” you mutter slightly confused by this sentiment when he’d been stroking your breasts earlier. As you start peeling off the t-shirt you’d borrowed from him, Marcus swings to face the bathroom door quickly.

“No,” the sharpness of Marcus’ response steals the air from your lungs momentarily - you stand in front of him like a rabbit caught in headlights, “I’m sorry, sweetheart - didn’t mean to be so forceful. No - it’s not just a body. It is your body and I wanna enjoy it properly when you’re not so upset. It would be taking advantage.”

Slowly lowering yourself into the delicious expanse of Marcus’ bath, you allow the warmth to soak into your aching bones. The water cocoons and hugs every inch of you as you permit it to unknit every knot of tension within your body.

“You can turn around now.”

A kind smile plays upon the deep creases set by Marcus’ eyes, “Tilt your head back.”

Reaching behind you, he turns on the shower attachment - the water bursting forth in a perfect summer rain across the skin of the bath water. Like a parent with a child, he checks the temperature until it reaches a soothing heat and runs it over your hair, soaking every last strand, washing away the mix of salt from anxious sweat and tears. Dropping the shower head in the bath, he then grabs a generous squirt of shampoo in his hands, lathering it into your scalp, massaging until you feel like a gelatinous blob under his skilful touch.

After rinsing every last bubble and sud from your hair, Marcus then squeezes out some conditioner - the bottle releasing the most indecent sound that has you both giggling like small children. Having coated his digits well, he starts to run his fingers through your hair - combing every strand with his hands, ensuring there isn’t a single knot to be found. A gentle finger beneath your chin tells you to tip your head back again as the shower rinses the excess away.

Settling back on the plush bath mat, Marcus passes you your tea silently and you just sit. Sit there in companionable silence - without an ounce of awkwardness- just both sipping tea as your body gradually accepts its need to sleep again.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready,” Marcus gazes softly after your disappearing form as you spin into your bedroom to get dressed for work. It takes every bit of gentlemanly restraint that he possesses not to follow you, run his hands over your silken skin and get a hit of your delicious taste. Instead he re-settles his mind by looking around your flat having finally been allowed a peek inside your inner sanctum.

He doesn’t quite know what he expects to see but it certainly isn’t this. It feels an odd mix in there- piles of cushions and blankets but no photos. No pictures decorating the place yet multiple empty frames propped against walls, waiting for their stories to be told. Your home isn’t really a home at all - it is just a roof over your head with nests for you to curl into exhaustedly.

“Have you been here long?” he asks quizzically, spying the battered moving boxes that have obviously been rummaged through for a missing necessary nick-nack or two but never having been fully unpacked. Marcus runs his hand over the coarse, corrugated cardboard and light spattering of dust coating them, wondering what secrets you wish to keep hidden in there and if you will ever open fully to him, to allow him to lighten your load.

“Almost two years,” he hears you muffledly answer through the jumper you pull over your head as you momentarily reappear in the doorway of your bedroom - a vision of radiantly soft curves- just knickers and a mess of limbs arguing with the item of clothing, before your breasts get hidden under the striped knitwear.

As much as Marcus tries to stop himself, his body takes the required steps forward so that his fingers can be satiated with the warmth of your skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet - the heat of his breath just dusts the shell of your ear as he inhales the scent of his shampoo in your hair.

“Look at you,” he murmurs - shaking his head in disbelief as he grabs your wrists and pulls you into him, “Beautiful.”

Using the back of his hand to release the hair caught in the collar of your jumper, Marcus takes a moment to drink in all your features. The flecks of gold in your eyes, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the streaks of wisdom in your hair - how were you, the beauty that you are, interested in him?

And then you’re kissing him. Your mouth open, soft lips inviting him into your inner sanctum. He feels your fingertips stroking into the nape of his neck, your nails scratching into the hair that twists and curls there. Shivers of pleasure run down Marcus’ spine, making him pull you closer as your touch sparks life across his body. Your gentle push causes Marcus to startle - to stumble backwards, falling back onto the sofa, sending cushions scuttling across the floor.

Feeling his jaw tic as you clamber into a kneeling position above him, Marcus tries to steady his breath by focussing on the small details of you. The darker spots of pigmentation where the sun has permanently kissed your skin. The divots of your collarbones just peeking above your sweater. The small reminder of a childhood misadventure just above your right eyebrow.

Nope. This is not working. God, I want her.

“Lower those goddamn hips,” he growls, “Sit down.”

“I can’t,” he hears you whimper, eyes shut tight, “I’ll make a mess of your trousers.”

Marcus groans as he considers the sweetness that is encased by those bright pink, lace edged panties - still not quite believing that it is him who has had this effect on you. When you grab his hands that have been stroking little circles by your knees and pull them to your ass, the heat in him rises as he squeezes and needles the delicious flesh beneath.

“This is gonna be hard having you work so close,” as soon as he hears the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. The little twitch between your eyebrows. The tremble of your bottom lip. The slight shift back of your weight upon his lap. Marcus catches them all.

“I’m sorry. Nush, I shouldn’t have…”

As your weight rocks back away from him, leaving his body quickly cooling with your absence, the air is punctuated with your muttering of one word over and over. Each utterance a bullet coated in guilt hitting him sharply.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Scrunching his eyes tight shut, he rocks forward, head in hands. Should he come after you? Should he leave? Fuck, Pike.

Hearing the creak of your bedroom door, Marcus lifts his head in your direction - his eyes throwing a million apologies to you, “Nush, I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing that I’d ever want to do.”

He watches as you walk across the floor - smaller shuffling steps rather than your usual confident stomp, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy and your breathing a little jagged - and feels like he’s just crushed a butterfly in his hands when all he was trying to do was appreciate its beauty. Water starts to pool in the corners of his eyes as he blinks hard to warn them off - after all, he didn’t need to give you any other reason to walk away from him. A small grateful smile creeps across his face when you settle between his knees, resting your arms across his lap - your tear-streaked face looking up at him.

“I’m frightened,” he hears you whisper, “Repeating past mistakes is sheer fucking stupidity.”

Marcus freezes, the blood in his veins turning to ice as he awaits your verdict.

“I can’t do that again. You cannot become another Jasper to me. The relationship that never was with all the hiding.”

“I don’t want us to hide,” he hears his voice betraying him as fear courses through his synapses, his hands aching to touch you. Hold you.

Please don’t let me lose her.

Please don’t let this be it.

“Can I touch you?” Marcus quietly, carefully checks before daring to reach out. He watches as a cloud of confusion washes across your face at his request.

“Of course you can. What? Hang on, did you think,” you pause, brow furrowed, “Did you think I want to stop whatever this turns out to be?”

With his shoulders slightly hunched, one hand reaching behind to rub the base of his neck, Marcus nods, “Yeah, a bit. I…”

“I don’t wanna fuck this up, Nush,” he reaches forward to stroke your wrist.

“Me neither, but we will,” your words take a moment to register with him, “We have both experienced so much - good and bad - that we will put our proverbial foot in it with each other.

“But, I hope that in time, with our collective pasts and the streaks of grey in our hair, we may also slowly learn how to communicate and say when things are a bit shit for us and why. Why my instinct is to run screaming from things and why you think everyone you love is going to leave.”

Marcus curls forward so he can rest his forehead against yours before placing a small kiss there, “Now you’re really gonna have to be two minutes if we’re gonna get to work on time. I’m just gonna shut my eyes until you’re dressed so I’m not tempted to make us late.”

“You think that’ll work?”

Chuckling at the wink you throw at him over your shoulder, Marcus starts to allow that tiny ray of hope he’s been burying for years to shine again.

✪✪✪✪✪

As Marcus opens the door for you, an overwhelming wave assaults your senses. Noises from tapping keyboards, phones ringing and computers blaring, the overwhelming scents of fatty, sugary yet discarded breakfasts and coffee hits hard but it’s the tiny, surreptitious stroke at the base of your spine gives you the kick you need to go in and start your day. A steaming coffee is thrust towards Marcus behind you and some case files are handed to you by a smiling Andy, “Morning Sir, morning Nush. What time did you manage to get cleared up?”

“Between the two of us, it didn’t take too long,” you grin at the PA before looking over your shoulder to find Marcus smiling at you, “Think I was asleep by eleven.”

“Snoring away,” Marcus barely audibly whispers, making your eyes widen.

“Ready for the meeting at nine o’clock, Sir? I have everything set up in the conference room, ready to go…” Andy sweeps Marcus away from you as you head over to your desk, spying the hot cup of Java awaiting your arrival.

New piles of paperwork seem to litter your desk, replacing the ones you’d tried so hard to clear on Friday afternoon. Office life. That it is a life is a bit of a lie, as every soul within your office space looks like it is in some stage of decomposition. Kiri appears to be in need of another weekend to get over the two days of rest just gone, Dian is yawning into her coffee and as for Harper, well, there’s a part of you that doesn’t quite believe she’s fully human with the way she’s already ploughing through her work.

When 9am finally rolls around, it feels more like two in the afternoon. Marcus sticks his head out of the door to call everyone into the meeting and is met by several groans from the team as they reluctantly shake themselves from their chairs and drag their Monday fatigued bones towards the conference room. At the oval, walnut table, you sit sandwiched between Dian and Kiri, directly opposite Andy in a hopefully not too obvious ploy to not be too close to Marcus.

“Good morning everyone, I’d ask you if you’d all had a good weekend but I think we spent enough time together to know that we all did,” a chuckle rises from your office mates as Marcus welcomes everyone, “I wanted to have a catch up this morning as the Soutine that Agent Pierce and I checked in Lyon, has come back as a definite fake. The verdict was reached late Friday afternoon and the French authorities are currently trying to trace its origins.

“We also received word this morning that a Modigliani has turned up in Sotheby’s - they have their own art fraud team but hopefully we will get a look in soon. Agent Pierce, I know I haven’t asked you to prep but could you explain to the team what the issues are around his work?”

“Sotheby’s?” you question, staring straight at Marcus and entirely ignoring his request, “I can get in there now as my best mate works in the fraud team.”

“Hephzibah?” Andy catches your eye, “Didn’t realise she’d transferred over from Scotland Yard.”

“More money,” you shrug as Andy presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“No, Agent Pierce, I’d like us to hang back for now,” Marcus responds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “If you could give us some of your insight about Modigliani’s pieces, please?”

Slightly taken aback by Marcus’ firmness, you take a moment before responding, “Modigliani’s back catalogue is a fucking mess as he used to give out sketches like a fortune teller.

“Jean Cocteau said that he was drawn by Modigliani roughly fifty times but he only ever owned one picture. Prices have skyrocketed over the past decade with one going for $170.4 million dollars so he’s very much a member of the $100 million club along with Warhol, Picasso et al but not quite at their ethereal prices.

“One of the main things about Modigliani is that the love of the man is not easily separated from his art. Over the years, he has been painted as somewhat Byronesque in his exploits by salacious biographies and films - very much sex and drugs and rock n roll. A bohemian who lived in Montparnasse and Montmartre at the Fin de Siecle - he was known by all the artists who lived there at the time - Picasso even said he was the only man in Paris who knew how to dress.

“To be honest, whilst he was hot - soulful dark eyes, ebony, wavy hair and a beautiful bone structure with an extraordinary amount of intelligence and eloquence-”

“Ah, so you have a type?” Harper mutters into her notes.

Your cheeks flush and eyes dart around the room, hoping that Marcus didn’t hear that as you desperately try to summon a consummate professional performance for the others, “-It is hugely difficult to separate the man from the myth but the main issue due to his profligacy with his art, unlike the other greats who get over $100 million for their work, Modigliani’s work is often questioned. You could easily find a Modigliani in an attic with a letter attached from the man himself and people would still raise an eyebrow at it.

“So, um, the main thing according to all the auction houses is that unless it is in the catalogue curated by Ceroni, it ain’t a Modigliani. This is problematic in itself as that was published in 1958 and even some of the pieces on his list are questionable. People have ended up in prison over their dubious dealings with Modigliani’s back catalogue as you can see in the case of Parisot.

“So if a piece comes to auction that isn’t on the list, they’re damned if it is a Modigliani, and damned if it isn’t?” Dian questions you.

“Pretty much. And he worked at a time when a lot of advances and changes happened in artist’s products. In the first half of the twentieth century, both the production of paint and paper changed massively as everything was slowly more industrialised and made more stable. By industrialising these things, it made the equipment cheaper quicker as more could use it rather than being made Etsy-style in tiny batches that were way beyond the means of most artists.

“Normally, with older pieces we can look at how the artists use paints and the type of paints they use but with more modern artists everything becomes a bit murkier as it is harder to date. And I will stop there before I piss off Harper by rabbiting on too much more.”

Even Harper has the decency to smirk at your comment before returning to her notes. Marcus’s gaze has softened again as you finish speaking, “ Thanks, Agent Pierce. Perhaps we could hear from you now Agent Gleason and Youngerson?”

Harper raises her eyebrows in Marcus’ direction before starting, “So, Agent Youngerson and I have been looking at various right wing groups currently active across the world and what their links are to the art world. The main ones who have thrown up scents for us to chase are The Old School Society, Hydra and The Order.”

Dian looks up from her pad of extensive notes, “Yeah, we've been tracing money routes with those three and when looking at the main donors to these groups, they’ve all had dealings with art galleries and auction houses recently. So we’re now looking into each donor carefully and may need to do some in the field meetings with them as prospective buyers - so my darling work wife, Nush, we may need notes unless you fancy being our cover girl?” she comically winks at you. Making a little heart with your index finger and thumb, you send an equally cheesy wink and click of the tongue back at her.

Marcus huffs a chuckle out at the two of you before turning his attention to Kiritopa, “How have you been getting on with your catalogue of fakes relating to this case?”

“Yeah, alright - slow going collecting all the data as it seems some auction houses are reluctant to reveal how many fakes pass through their doors,” Kiri frowns before glugging some more coffee.

“It’s understandable, they don’t want their reputations dashed. Doesn’t make our work any easier though. Agent Morrison - if you can show me what you’ve compiled so far that’d be great,” Marcus gives the agent a small, sincere smile before turning to address the room again, “Right, I have a meeting this afternoon that’ll keep me out of the office for the rest of the day so I’ll leave you all to get on. Have a great day everyone.”

✪✪✪✪✪

You:

Hey sexy lady, I hear you’ve got a tasty little number at S’s - can I take a look?

Hephzi:

Off the books? Course you can. Change into civvies and I’ll get you in this afternoon.

You:

You’re a fucking ⭐️. I’ll make it worth your while

Hephzi:

Do you mean cake and coffee? Because if you do, I’m fucking yours.

You:

Urm obviously! See you around two?

A small knock on your desk makes you put down your phone and you look up into Marcus’ face, “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Yes, Sir,” as you push your chair away from your desk, you throw your mobile in your desk drawer and follow him into his office.

His desk is immaculately tidy and warm to the touch with its honey and caramel tones washing back and forth in undulating waves as if across a beach. There’s not a hint of Marcus in his office yet - no personal treasures - it stands in stark contrast to the warmth of the man you’re getting to know.

“I just wanted to check you were ok. I heard what Harper said,” he reaches out to straighten the ribbing at the bottom of your jumper, his thumb stroking your tummy lightly.

“She’s not wrong,” you grin lopsidedly at him as you step in closer, placing your hands on either side of his face, “Dark soulful eyes, beautifully high cheekbones, delightfully luscious lips that are perfect for kissing - hard not to fancy Modigliani, really.”

“You’re mean,” Marcus squeezes your hip as he shakes his head, “When would you like to speak to the others? I think being up front with them will help us in the long run.”

You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back slightly, your face illuminated by your smile, “Maybe we can have our first date and then think about the long run?”

When you see the flinch from Marcus, a pang of guilt echoes through your gut as you recall your earlier conversation, “I think you’re right- once we’re truly confident we know where this is headed, we should speak up. I am not going to lose my job or risk my reputation for you… but I also already know that I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Me neither,” his hand reaches out for you, fingers entangling, thumbs stroking - eyes crinkling as they meet yours, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“Well, I was a bit distracted when I got dressed this morning - there was this really hot guy in my flat…”

“Uh huh, tell me about him,” Marcus slowly drawls, looking down at you amusedly.

“Oh you don’t want to know, Sir. Wouldn’t let me get dressed. Just kept groping me.”

“How... inappropriate of him.”

“Yeah - so I was almost late to work because of him wanting his wicked way with me and accidentally ended up putting on two different shoes.” Marcus steps away from you and having looked down, notices the one extremely dark navy and one black ballet pump with a gently shaking chest as he tries to swallow his chuckle.

“Going home to change? Your mind really must have been elsewhere,” you nod at him -slightly embarrassed by your initial genuine mistake that has now become a cover story. His gaze intensifies as he cups your face, his eyes focussing on your lips, “I’m sorry honey, I don’t think I’ll have time to drop you there and back before my meeting - will you be ok?”

“Of course, Marcus - I’ve worked here for years,” you tease him, feeling awkward as fuck when the half truth you are spinning for your boss feels awkward and bitter in your mouth.

But his kiss doesn’t. Marcus quickly closes the gap between the two of you, leaning towards you - his head tilted, lips soft and welcoming with their desire for you utterly apparent. Deepening the kiss, his mouth gently opening, tongue searching as his hands drop from your face to your waist, you find yourself forgetting to worry that anyone could walk in. Forgetting the regret of lying to him. What had you even been talking about? Should you be doing this? Fuck it. You pull him the final distance so that no air could pass between you - just you and Marcus refusing to pause for breath until your lungs run out of air.

Pulling back to gaze at him with lust blown pupils, wanting him so much more, you eventually find the energy to push away from him. Swiping at your lips with your thumb in case anyone spots the remnants of this moment as you walk towards the door on brand new baby deer legs.

“Hey Nush,” you swing back to look at Marcus, still standing, equally dumbstruck as you, before he winks with a cheeky grin, “Nice shoes.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Gripping the cardboard carrier that holds two steaming cups of black coffee in your left hand, you ring the bell to the magnificent Bloomsbury building that has sold multiple pieces of multi-million pound art. The Georgian façade is impressive in its structure and beautifully kept without a sign of peeling paint, decrying its almost 250 year history - a far cry from the shatterproof glass and steel at HQ. Hephzi opens the door to you with a wide grin upon her face, “Bang on time, missus - I swear the only way to get you places quickly, is with the promise of fine art to get you salivating!”

You can’t really respond eloquently to her as you are absorbed into the cool of the elegant building. Whilst kept modern and minimalistic, the space has retained some of its more charming period features - the cornicing and ceiling roses are still firmly in place despite the stark white of the walls. Oh, the pieces that have passed through this space! The very thought makes you tingle all over through excitement.

Currently bedecking the walls are a collection of women artists about to go up for auction the next day. To you, there was no true money in those frames - just a conversation between you, the spectator and the artist about their emotions in picture form. A discussion that spanned centuries as you follow Hephzi’s soft footsteps through the gallery, enjoying every single one from a still life of flowers surrounded by butterflies and other insects by Rachel Ruysch to one of the copies of Blinding by Tracy Emin - the upside down nude female form shaped in neon pink tubes. The artists speak through ages, through the art upon the wall, in the language of your soul.

Marcus would love it here. Oh to bring him and enjoy it together, walking through the space, hand in hand. My head on his shoulder...

“...Hello? Earth to Nushka? Ah, welcome back,” Hephzibah is shaking her head at you, “You’re here on work experience if anyone asks, yes?”

“Yup,” still only half listening to your friend, you begrudgingly continue on to her workspace in the fraud and forgeries department, reluctantly walking away from the art you long to submerge yourself in.

“Right, hand over the coffee and cake- I take payment in advance, Madam,” Hephzi demands, hand outstretched, “So tell me about the new job. What’s your new boss like?”

“Marcus is nice,” you quietly offer into the rim of your coffee.

“First names already?” Hephzibah’s eyes are round with surprise, “And you mention him before the job… Who even are you? What have you done with the real Nush? Oh! Oh Nush, do you like him?”

You stand there blinking hard, feeling an absolute idiot for being so awkward in front of the person you call your best friend. A small, barely perceivable nod through the steam of your coffee has the arms of your best friend wrapped around you, “Nush, tell me more - has anything happened? Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I think so. Made a curry last night for the team at his flat, and ended up staying the night - nothing happ.. Well, we didn’t have sex but I think he likes me,” you nervously chatter at her before drawing a deep breath, “He’s pretty fucking amazing. Seems to be genuinely a nice guy - just straight talking, gentle, kind and holy shit is he good looking! His kisses and touches just turn me into fucking jelly.”

“Better than Jas?”

Your heart thuds in your chest so hard that there is a point where you fully expect it to wrench open your rib cage and run across the floor. You stare wide-eyed, your mouth open

“What?”

Hephzi steps forward, her gaze gentle as she places her hand on your arm, “You weren’t quite as good at hiding it as you thought you were. It was pretty obvious you were together and loved each other very dearly - I just knew that if I ever brought it up that you would run a mile.

“I tried telling you that I knew before. It was after he died and I wanted you to know that I knew it wasn’t just the death of a co-worker. Not that there’s ever any just in those situations for us either but I knew. When I asked about meeting someone the other day, it was more of me just trying to figure out if you were ready to date again.”

With that, the floodgates open and the grief flows you like a river, eroding your defences away. Hephzi holds you as you utterly soak through her expensive blouse, “I wanted to tell you so many times but I was terrified of what you’d think of me.”

“What I’d think of you - are you fucking kidding me, you absolute idiot?” she tucks your tear drenched hair behind your ears, “I’ve held your hair back in pub toilets as you’ve thrown up from too much alcohol and gotten you out of so many other scrapes but that, a relationship with a man from work is what you think I’d judge you for? Nah, that's not how any of this works, mate. Firstly, you can’t help who you fall in love with and secondly, where else are you ever going to meet someone when all you do is work?”

“N...N...Need a tissue. You made me get all snotty,” you tearfully stammer, all blotchy-face and tear streaked.

Hephzi can’t help but laugh at you blaming her for your tears. As she grabs a tissue, she also grabs the cake and the serviettes from the bag, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up - cake and a masterpiece.”

Following her into the studio beside her office, there it is. A supposedly lost version of Modigliani’s Nu Couché sur le Côté Gauche - her sheer sensuality rolling off her in waves. The way that she gazes out of the piece beguilingly, inviting you to join her on the bed, the sheets ruffled and rolling beneath her delicious curves.

Hephzi laughs at your reaction to the piece, “She’s hot isn’t she?”

“Yep - I’d definitely do her. I’d like to say that it is her almond eyes enticing me but really, it’s that entirely biteable bum,” you say before biting into the pastel de nata.

“Agreed - although for me, it’s her back and her thighs. They are edible - as you rightly say,” she says into her coffee.

“How’s the provenance?”

Hepzhi pulls a face as she turns back to you, “Traceable, but this one isn’t in Ceroni.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts entirely. Look, love, I can’t let you touch it but feel free to take photos, measurements etc. As soon as my own tests come back, I promise you’ll know before the guys upstairs do,” Hephzibah asserts before sitting back on the desk in the room, “Just remember, you’re here on work experience.”

You throw a thank you over your shoulder at the rapidly retreating figure of Hepzi as you set to work. Using a Canon with a macro lens, you instantly photograph the major features and then take several overlapping pictures so that you can look close up on your computer at work. Whilst not quite a microscope, it would have to do given the circumstances. You trusted Hephzi’s sample taking but it was good to see it in person, even if Marcus had asked you to hold fire.

Whilst you were taking measurements of various points and aspects of the picture, you realised there were multiple footsteps coming up the corridor. Hephzi, obviously heard them gaining on the studio too and rejoined you, to back the story of work experience rather than letting her old friend backstage for some covert readings. She threw her notebook at you with a pencil to have the pretence of you taking notes as she worked.

“Well, Hephzibah, that is the first time I’ve ever seen you entrust your beloved notebook with anyone other than yourself. You have never even shown me the secrets you record there, and I am the person paying your salary,” a truly plummy voice cut through the room, “Whoever this work experience girl is, we will have to see about hiring her if you trust her this much.”

Hephzibah plasters a smile onto her features, “Sir, she is the best I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Such a keen eye.”

Refusing to turn around, you carry on making notes in Hephzi’s journal, attempting to concentrate on the words written in front of you, instead of the intrusion.

“So what d’ya think? On first impressions, is it real?”

Shit.

That voice.

Stepping up in response, Hephzibah firmly states, “Sir, I am terribly sorry but I am not currently at liberty to be able to fully disclose that info…”

“Oh no, it is quite alright, Hephzibah - this gentleman is Marcus Pike. He is currently fronting an investigation into white terrorism and art forgeries with 5 Eyes. One of your old lot, you know,” Hephzibah’s boss winks as if he was letting her in on the national secrecy act.

“Marcus Pike?” Hephzi shoots you a surreptitious look before the smile is back, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Shame we haven’t crossed paths before now.”

Marcus offers his hand in greeting to Hephzibah, “I hope we can put that right in the future. I was wondering if we could hear from your work experience person. I am always open to fresh eyes.”

Dread courses through your veins as you turn towards Marcus, not wanting to look him in the face, “It would be remiss of me to make a declaration without reading through and tracking back the provenance as well as undertaking the necessary infrared and paint samples.”

“Sensible,” Marcus nods, his face not betraying a single emotion.

Your face creases at his lack of response, something that Hephzi’s boss picks up on, “Are you alright, dear? You don’t look terribly well.”

“Sudden headache, sir. I should probably get going for today anyway,” you virtually throw Hephzi’s notebook at her before grabbing your bag, “Thank you for today, I will be in touch, Hephzibah.”

Running out of the building as fast as your feet and lungs can carry you, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Sir Agent Marcus Pike:

Hey,

We need to talk. My office at 5?

You:

...

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @day-off-inkyoto @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @lawfulgranola @agirllovespancakes @theravenreads @lv7867 @ezrasbirdie @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader #marcus pike x fem!reader

85 notes · View notes

dream-a-little-bigger-x · 3 years

Text

‘Til I Forget About You | Reggie Peters

JATP x BTR Week - Day 2: BTR

Song used: ‘Til I Forget About You - Big Time Rush

Pairing: Modern Day!Reggie x Reader

Summary: When Reggie’s girlfriend breaks up with him, he’s completely devestated. Now it’s up to y/n, Luke, Alex and Julie to cheer him up again. With the help of parties, movie nights and just overall fun things, Reggie completely forgets about Lisa.

A/N: Thanks @jatp-btr, @meangirlsx and @darlingsteveharrington for this amazing idea! Honored to be a part of this! Extra special shoutout to @darlingsteveharrington for making me these amazing time jump headers!! I am forever grateful and appreaciate you so so so much! 💕

Warnings: Underage drinking, party, alcohol, heartbreak

Words: 5,880

Reggie sat by himself in the garage one afternoon, plucking the strings of his bass guitar soothingly as he tried to forget about the screams and clatter of plates breaking at his house. Things had gotten heated again when his father came home drunk for the nth time that week. He didn’t blame his mother for slowly losing her patience with her husband. Sure, he couldn’t help it if his boss fired him instantly and he couldn’t find a new job. Albeit he didn’t search for one either.

His thoughts were thankfully interrupted by his phone buzzing on the coffee table in front of him. He halted his fingers before leaning over to see if he could ignore whoever needed him at this moment.

Confusion rose within him as his girlfriend, Lisa, smiled back at him on the picture that had appeared on screen. “Hello, gorgeous,” he said upon picking up, a smile playing on his lips. A smile that faltered as soon as it appeared when he heard sniffles coming from the other side. “Are you okay, Lis?” he asked, worry lacing in his voice.

“I can’t do this anymore, Reggie. I… It’s over. We’re done.”

With those simple words, Lisa hung up, leaving Reggie frozen in place. He couldn’t move his muscles, let alone feel them. His mind had blanked. His eyes focused on the closed white doors in front of him.

He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong for Lisa to suddenly break up with him. It wasn’t like anything had happened between them. In fact, last time they saw each other, everything still seemed peachy. More than peachy. They’d spent the night together, which seemed to have been the very last one at that too.

“Oh, hey, Reg,” a voice made him jump out of his trance. He finally dropped the phone in his lap and stared at the girl that had entered the garage. “Are you okay?” she asked, growing worried for her friend. He almost seemed catatonic.

“No,” he muttered, and finally remembered to blink. “Lisa.... I think Lisa just broke up with me?” Tears pooled his eyes as everything dawned on him, the words repeating in his head. Over and over again. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. “Lisa just dumped me…” y/n’s heart broke at the sight of the confused and broken-hearted bass player.

“What?!” y/n exclaimed as she moved over towards the boy. She grabbed his bass and gently placed it on its stand again before pulling him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him. As he cried, y/n rubbed circles on his back, trying to soothe him a little. “I’m so sorry, Reg.”

He sniffled once more before gently pushing the girl off him. “I-I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” he said and made a beeline out the door as Luke and Alex walked in together with furrowed eyebrows at the haste their friend just left in.

“Is he okay?” Alex asked y/n, pointing back to where the other boy had just left.

“He will be, I think… Lisa just broke up with him.” Y/N’s forehead creased as she frowned, concerned for her friend’s broken heart. “Before you ask me, I don’t know why, I don’t know how. I just know she dumped him and that he’s pretty distraught.”

Luke only moved one muscle, intending to follow behind Reggie, but y/n stopped him. “Let him be. For now. He’ll come back when he needs us.”

He did come back that night, but only for band practice and only because he knew he needed the music to numb his brain that was overflowing with thoughts about his now-ex-girlfriend.

He’d been breaking his head over the reasons why Lisa would ever break up with him. They were doing so well. What changed that she ultimately decided to break it off. Has he done something wrong?

For days, he’d tried to call her, went to her house, tried something to get her to talk to him. But it was all in vain. Lisa cut off all communication. She blocked his number, told her mother that if he ever came to their house, she’d have to send him away, … She didn’t even grant him one glance when they passed each other in the hallways at Los Feliz High.

His friends were at a loss. Reggie was so disconnected from the real world, he didn’t even care if he missed a few chords during rehearsals or his notes sounded flat. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted Lisa back.

For days they tried to patch him up. They’d talk to him about the most random stuff they could think of that wouldn’t remind him of Lisa. None of which seemed to have an effect. Even at the boys’ banter Reggie just chuckled half-heartedly. Even when y/n made him a peppermint hot chocolate, he shot her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Nothing worked.

“I’m at a loss, you guys,” y/n mumbled as she got up from the couch after the Julie and The Phantoms band rehearsal that night.

Reggie had just left the garage to go for another ‘walk’, which they knew by now just meant going places that reminded him of her, and left his friends with a sour and tense feeling lingering in the air.

Julie nodded her head as she turned her keyboard off, but stayed put on the stool behind it. Luke placed his guitar on its stand while Alex came out from behind his drum set, leaving the sticks behind. Julie then said, “I really wanna help him, but I don’t know what to say to him anymore… I’m so scared I’ll say the wrong thing.”

“We can’t just keep tiptoeing around him though,” Alex chimed in as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket.

Y/N started pacing the floor nervously whilst going over some ideas in her mind that could possibly help out her friend.

Reggie had been there for her so many times whenever she’d gotten her heart broken by someone. He’d cuddle her, make her peppermint hot chocolate, let her cry for a while and watch 10 Things I Hate About You with her as it was her favorite movie. It gave her the opportunity to open up the floodgates without having to feel guilty about crying her eyes out.

Luke grabbed her by the shoulders, stopping her from making him so nervous. “This is not a runway, angel,” he told her before turning to the others. “We need an intervention.”

Alex pointed a finger to his friend in agreement. “Yes! Any ideas?”

Y/N’s brain immediately went to one occurrence during one of her very many heartbreaks. Reggie’s very own intervention to the road to happiness. She remembered his words to a t, “The only cure to a mended heart is a party and alcohol.”

Her friends’ heads whipped around to face her after her mumbling.

“I know what we need to do.”

Reggie plopped down on the armchair after yet another failed band rehearsal. He pulled at the fabric of the piece of furniture, silently cursing at himself and Lisa for letting him fall down this far.

With one collective glance, the boys, y/n and Julie turned towards the brunette bass player. All four of them crossed their arms and glared at him sternly. Reggie felt their eyes burn on the side of his face and he already knew what was going to happen.

“Don’t even try,” he warned.

Y/N uncrossed her arms in defeat and went to kneel down in front of him, placing her hand on his to make him stop tearing the chair apart. “Yes, try. Reggie, we’ve let you be miserable for an entire week. It’s time for an intervention.”

“Guys…” Reggie sighed, shaking his head in objection.

“Reggie,” Julie stated sternly, capturing the boy’s attention. “We’re gonna help you forget all about her. Okay? We’re gonna party, we’re gonna spend so much time together to the point you’ll be focusing on how sick you are of us and you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

The dark-haired boy glanced at the boys first before his eyes landed on y/n’s, who was still crouched down in front of him. She nodded her head encouragingly. Then finally, a soft smile fell to his lips before he got up from the chair slowly as if moving was against his own will.

That night, they all got ready together for the night ahead. While y/n and Julie were doing their makeup and jamming to all the tunes that were bursting out of the speakers, the boys were chilling on Julie’s bed. Neither of them were ready yet, but they said they were going to bequeath the girls their precious time in front of the vanity mirror.

“The mirror is all yours, pretty boys!” Julie sang as she pressed her glossed lips together and popped them before getting up from the stool.

Luke and Alex both whistled as the two girls stood in front of them in their party outfits. Julie opted for a tight purple dress from her mother’s chest of fashion treasures while y/n was wearing a black mesh top and a pleather skirt, paired with black over-the-knee boots.

The two girls striked a pose, both pouting their lips simultaneously. Their giggles filled up the room until y/n’s eyes landed on Reggie, who was just staring at her with a bright pink dusting his cheeks. Her giggle faded and changed into a simple smile. A smile that said ‘I see you’. A smile that caused Reggie’s heart to skip a beat.

Julie had picked up on the change of vibe that exuded from the interaction between her two best friends, and a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Get ready quickly, boys. We wanna partyyyyy!” she dragged out the last word and threw her hands up in the air, clearly ready for letting loose on this wonderful Friday night.

The gang arrived at the Wilson estate an hour later than the party actually kicked off. “Being fashionably late” Luke had called it, though that was just an excuse so the girls wouldn’t complain about him taking so long to style his hair.

“You took longer than we did and we’ve done a full face of makeup!” y/n had teased him which had earned her a glare from the perfectly coiffed guitarist.

They stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the grinding bodies in the middle of the living room as the music thumped through the speakers and the stench of alcohol filled up their nostrils. It was an overwhelming feeling to arrive at a party that was already in full swing, and y/n could tell Reggie was somewhat agitated.

To ease the tension in his shoulders, she reached for his hand and squeezed it, saying, “The only cure for a broken heart…” She didn’t even need to finish her sentence for he already had a smile climbing up his cheeks.

“Let’s start with shots!” Alex suggested excitedly and skipped through to the set-up bar in the kitchen. The remaining four glanced at one another and collectively chuckled at the drummer’s eagerness before following behind.

The blondie stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a pretty long-haired boy the gang knew as Willie, Alex’s long-time crush. Nobody was really sure what was happening between the two, but they did find them sneaking off at every party they went to together.

They were lining up six shots of Tequila, ready for their friends to shoot back. Every party the group attended, these two took care of every beverage. Whether it was lining up shots for their friends or shaking up a good cocktail. They were the pros out of all of them. The self-proclaimed Liquor Kings.

“Tequila for the pretty lady,” Alex handed the small cup to y/n, sending a blush straight up to her cheeks, but Alex was too busy handing out the drinks to even notice the effect his flattery had on her. Y/N always blushed whenever somebody complimented her, even if it were the people she had been friends with for a long old time.

Willie handed her a lime slice, which she held between the fingers of the hand her shot was in as he needed her other hand to line up the salt in the crook between her thumb and index finger. She shot him a quick thank-you wink before turning to the rest of the group who’d been equipped with all the ingredients for the perfect tequila shot.

“Ready?” Willie asked as a wide smile lit up his face. The group nodded, one a little more excited than the other, and Willie started the countdown. On three, the entire group licked the line of salt off their hand, threw back the shot and then sucked the lime.

Y/N’s face scrunched up as the three tastes mingled on her taste buds and the burning sensation of the liquor slithered down her throat. Reggie was mirroring her expression with the slice of green between his lips.

She giggled at him as he groaned, throwing the sucked-dry lime on the counter. “Feels great, doesn’t it?” Reggie coughed and reached for the two cups their Liquor Kings handed over.

“Amazing,” Reggie mumbled with a chuckle, though his smile fell almost immediately as he brought the red cup to his lips. Y/N knew Lisa was still on his mind and she’d have to do a lot more than just have him drink a shot of Tequila.

Determinedly, she grabbed his hand and led him towards the living room where all party attendees were dancing. Reggie looked scared for his life as y/n started to move to the music, coaxing him to follow her lead.

“Come on, Reg! The best cure to a broken heart is a party!” She tried again when he didn’t even move a muscle. “And at a party, you dance!” Next thing he knew, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her hip while her hand sneaked up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards her until their chests were pressed together. Slowly but determinedly, she started to sway her hips to the music, automatically forcing him to move along with her.

Reggie moved along absentmindedly as his cheeks heated up at the close proximity in which they were dancing. He had never seen his best friend in any different way. Y/N had always been there and she’d always been just a friend in his eyes, but dancing so close to her gave him a whole different perspective.

He blamed it on being vulnerable post heartbreak.

After a refill on behalf of the Liquor Kings and a few songs dancing together, y/n was suddenly being pulled away by Julie and Flynn as they shouted, “Come on, Bitch! This is our song!” Y/N mouthed an apology to Reggie and joined her two best friends in their dance circle.

With his support system gone, the dark-haired boy had fallen still. He didn’t have another move inside him, not without her, at least. It was like y/n was the battery and now that she wasn’t empowering him to dance, there was no energy left inside him. So, instead of standing in the middle of the dance floor like an absolute loser, he shuffled into the kitchen to get something else to drink. He was in need of something stronger.

Luke had been chatting up a girl when he saw his buddy walking in, looking solemn for someone who loved going to parties. He excused himself and walked over to where Reggie was pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“You okay, buddy?” he asked with worry laced into his voice. Reggie offered him an unconvincing smile as he poured the liquor into the empty red cup.

“Yeah, totally.”

Luke sighed and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the boy’s hands. He poured some into his own cup before placing it a little out of reach from the sad bass player next to him, who glared at him.

“I’m sorry, bro. But you’ve been sad for an entire week. We let you be miserable but it’s gotta stop at some point.” Reggie scoffed as he stared at the brown liquid in his cup. “Listen, I know Lisa meant a lot to you and she was amazing and everything but you gotta let go. I know it’s hard, but you gotta forget about her.”

“How can I forget about her when she’s literally everywhere I go?” He nodded to somewhere behind Luke and when he turned his head, he saw the auburn haired girl talking to Carrie on the patio outside. “She’s doing this on purpose,” Reggie said through gritted teeth before chugging the 5 ounces of whiskey.

The guitarist blinked a couple of times, impressed at how Reggie could just throw that back without even flinching the tiniest bit. His ear suddenly picked up at the beginning notes of a song the bassist would always go crazy on at parties. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as an idea popped into his head.

Reaching over the counter, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey again, poured a bit into Reggie’s cup and guided his hand towards his mouth, demanding him to drink it. Confused, but obedient, Reggie threw back the bit of liquor. The burn in his throat felt right. Numbing.

As if on cue, three girls waltzed into the kitchen, singing along loudly to the first verse of the song as they approached the two boys at the counter. A smile befell on Luke’s lips as y/n tapped Reggie’s shoulder and beckoned him towards the dancefloor as Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight) by ABBA blared through the house.

Chuckling, and mostly because the alcohol was forcing him to, he obeyed to y/n’s rules. Luke, Flynn and Julie followed behind them, shouting along to the lyrics. The commotion lured the Liquor Kings to the dancefloor as well. This was the song Reggie needed all along.

“Come on, Reg!” Julie demanded as he was moving now, but not belting along to the words like he normally would.

As the chorus floated through the speakers, the magical powers of the ABBA song finally reached his brain and he started to shout the lyrics. The rest of the group threw their hands in the air, cheering the still brokenhearted boy on.

All he needed was his ABBA song to get him loose, to get him to forget all about the girl with the auburn hair. All he needed was his friends and a good party to let loose of all the negative feelings that had been bottled up inside of his chest over the past week.

By the end of the night, all six had to support Reggie as they walked to Julie’s house where they’d crash in the garage. He was singing a remix of all different ABBA songs whilst the others tried to quiet him down. Their giggles tangled up in the shushes and Reggie’s singing, carrying through the fresh, spring air.

“I love you, guys,” he slurred as y/n tucked him on the mattress. “Gimme hug,” he pulled the girl on top of him and held a tight grip on her body as she giggled. His lips pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair whilst she tried to wriggle loose.

“Reg, lemme go!”

“No! It’s cuddle time!” He protested and didn’t let go of his best friend.

“Fine, but at least allow me a bit more air.” Reggie’s arms loosened a little and y/n got situated properly. She laid on top of him, stomachs and chests pressed together, one hand tangled up into his dark hair while the other rested on his chest, next to her head. His arms were wrapped loosely around her.

His eyes were fluttering shut as he mumbled, “Can you stop spinning us around, y/n?” She giggled at his drunken mutters and started drawing patterns on his T-shirt clad chest. It seemed to relax him a bit as a big sigh of contentment expanded his lungs, bringing y/n’s head up with it too. “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Reginald.”

Saturday didn’t count. Everyone was hungover and didn’t want to move at all. So, they just watched movies together all day long in the garage, a tangled up heap of humans. But from Sunday onwards, Reggie was in a whole better mood.

A mood where all he wanted to do was write songs and be productive. So, that’s what he did. Every day he worked on the song; after school, after band rehearsals, even during his free periods. The words, the melody, the beat, it all seemed to just float out of him.

On Friday, Reggie told everyone he’d written a song and wanted their opinion on it. He was both nervous and excited as Luke would never listen to any of the songs Reggie wrote by himself. Though all those songs had always been country songs and Luke didn’t think country fitted the image of the band.

“No, Reggie, we’re not doing country,” Luke repeated for the nth time.

Reggie was fed up with the guitarist’s neglect of his creativity. “Shut your mouth and listen for once, asshole.” His voice was strident and taut. A tone he’d never used. The rest of the group was a little taken aback and exchanged nervous glances while Reggie handed out a sheet of paper with the song worked out on it. He’d used the copier at school to copy the page in his notebook.

They heavily discussed his idea for the melody and listened to his ideas for the beat he wanted until a song floated through the garage. Soon after, Reggie started singing the song too with Julie and Luke throwing in some harmonies that Reggie approved with a smile and a nod.

By the last chorus, everyone had the lyrics down and sang along with the bassist.

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a “what now”? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to Till I forget about… Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to… Till I forget about you! Till I forget about you!”

As the music stopped, everyone stayed silent, basking in the adrenaline and the amazement of the song. This was exactly what Julie and The Phantoms sounded like. This was a soon-to-be hit.

“I think we’ve found ourselves our closing number for tomorrow night,” Alex said with a grin from behind his drum kit. The bassist was surprised to see Luke and Julie nod in agreement to the blondie’s statement. Reggie had finally written a song for the band they didn’t immediately dismiss.

They rehearsed the song a couple more times on Friday, and some more on Saturday before their soundcheck to tweak it a little bit until it was perfect and everyone had it down. Now all they needed to do was perform it at the end of their set at The Mint, a gig they landed thanks to their amazing marketing team -- Flynn and y/n -- and the fact the owner was a family friend of y/n’s.

It was a gig. And a gig meant exposure. And exposure meant the possibility of a manager noticing them increasing.

“You guys ready?” y/n asked as she knocked on the door of their dressing room five minutes before kick off. Her eyes darted from an all dolled-up Julie to a shirtless Luke and then to a drumstick-twirling Alex, realizing they were a man short. “Where’s Reggie?”

Luke shrugged as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. “He said he was going to the bathroom, but that was like half an hour ago.” Y/N pulled her mouth into a straight line before turning and leaving the room to find her friend.

Cruising through hallways, she finally stumbled on a room that wasn’t being used by them until she noticed the door ajar. She carefully pushed the door open a little further to find Reggie on the red carpeted floor with his phone in his hands and a tear running down his cheek.

“Hey,” she announced herself as she moved towards him. He looked up at her and offered her a half-hearted smile whilst wiping the tear away. “You’re on in five.” Even though the words screamed urgency, her tone didn’t and her actions didn’t either. She went over to sit next to him, shoulders touching.

“Yeah, I’m ready to go,” he said, but didn’t move.

Y/N’s eyes landed on the phone in his hands, a conversation blinking at her on the screen. At the very top of the conversation was her name and the only message she could read was “I miss you, please come back.” in a bright green.

Her body heaved as she inhaled deeply, “You can do this without her, Reg.” The boy shook his head in objection. “I know you can. This girl is not worth your tears and frustration. She’s not worth anything if she can’t see how amazing you are.” Reggie looked up at y/n, his eyes gleaming with tears as he listened to her words. “If she doesn’t appreciate everything you do for her and how much you cherish her, she’s not worth it.”

The girl fell silent for a moment, anticipating his reaction as their eyes were locked in an intense stare. What he did next was something she hadn’t calculated with the speech she’d prepared in her mind on the spot. His hands lifted to her cheeks and his lips pressed against hers in a spontaneous passionate kiss. He pulled back hesitantly but when y/n kissed back, every doubt in his mind just washed away.

Y/N couldn’t say she had ever thought of kissing her best friend, but at that moment it seemed so comfortable and familiar. Like she’d been doing it for years. Their lips just fit together so perfectly and moved in sync like a choreographed dance.

When they pulled back for air, the back of y/n’s neck was aflame and her lips tingled. The flustered Reggie in front of her coughed as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

She knew the only reason this happened was because Reggie was so overwhelmed with this broken hearted feelings and she was just there. A smile formed on her lips as she patted his chest and while getting up, she said, “That’s cool, Reginald. Glad I could be of assistance to let go of your frustrations.” She reached out a hand for him. “Now, let’s go rock this place, yeah?” He placed his hand in hers and let her pull him up to his feet. Entangling their fingers, y/n guided him out of the secluded room and backstage to where the others were waiting for their bassist to start their show.

“Sorry, guys!” Reggie said while the sound guy helped him out with his in-ears and another one handed him his bass.

Luke patted him on the shoulder. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Reggie answered with a smile that for the first time in two weeks reached his eyes. He glanced over to y/n. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, ready to go!” Sound Guy 1 said. Y/N and Flynn put their thumbs up to wish them good luck before the band rushed onto the stage, an uproar of cheers erupting from the crowd. They were rowdy tonight. A good omen for an amazing show.

“We’ve got one last song for you guys,” Julie said into her mic with a smile bright enough to light up the whole room as she glanced at Reggie. “You wanna introduce this one, buddy?”

He stepped closer to his mic, a nervous grin spread on his face as he spoke. “This last song is for everyone who has ever felt heartbroken before. Remember that even though it might seem dark and lonely without that one person there, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Follow that light because it will lead you to amazing things.”

The other band members exchanged glances, all with proud smiles plastered on their faces. Reggie had come a long way from two weeks ago and he still had a long way to go, but he was on the right path. As long as he had his friends, his band, his family, by his side, he’d be good. Even better if the girl that stood in the wings on his right was at his side too.

Alex counted them in and Luke and Julie began to play their instruments before Reggie’s voice floated through the venue along with the thumping beat of Alex’ drums.

“Get a call on a random afternoon I pick it up and I see that it's you Like my heart, you were breaking the news, you say It's over, it's over, it's over.”

He looked over at Julie and Luke while his fingers were plucking at the strings of his bass. They shot him an encouraging smile, offering him a little boost of confidence as he continued the verse.

“Heading out, cause I’m out of my mind All my friends are gonna see me tonight Stayin’ here until the sun starts the rise, And I'm, I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm gonna…”

The beat went up a notch as confetti cannons went off, covering their entire view in purple butterfly confetti pieces as they slowly whirled onto the dancing and screaming audience.

In the wing to Reggie’s right, Flynn and y/n stood, dancing and singing along to the music with the widest smiles on their faces. A big perk to being the band’s marketing team was definitely the free gigs they benefited from.

Luke then takes the next verse, his growly tone sending some of the girls in the front row into a frenzy. A smirk tugged at his lips upon noticing but then he focused his gaze onto Julie as he sang with her harmonizing.

“And you thought, I'd be here on my own Waiting for you to knock on my door Since you left I don't wait by the phone I'm moving, I'm moving, I'm moving”

Reggie walked over to Alex’s platform. The drummer shot him a toothy smile that could land him a spot in a toothpaste commercial. Reggie really appreciated the support his band gave during performances and with this song in particular.

“Found a place where I can lose myself And just leave your memory on the shelf See I'm fine, no I don't need nobody else Cause I'm, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going…”

When Reggie turned back to his mic, his eyes landed on y/n, and he shot a quick wink her way. Unbeknownst to him, this sent her cheeks aflame and her stomach fluttering. That kiss about an hour ago really wasn’t just something that happened because he was overwhelmed. She actually felt something then. And she’s feeling it now too.

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a “what now”? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to ‘Til I forget about… Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to… ‘Til I forget about you!”

The bassist’s eyes now lock onto y/n’s as he sings the bridge towards her. She had barely even recovered from his wink and now he’s staring right through her soul while she had to act like it didn’t even affect her in any shape or form.

“Spending money like you don't mean a thing Going crazy, now don't even think Losing my mind, is all I can do Till I forget about you”

He turned back to the frenzied crowd as he belted out the high note.

The band then played a musical intermezzo. Luke joined Alex at his platform and Reggie stepped up to Julie’s keyboard as she played the synth-sounding notes. The Latina girl was happy to see Reggie in his element again and actually have fun as they played their set. It was a nice change from the otherwise solemn and sad Reggie they were plagued with in the past weeks.

For the first half of the last chorus, they all stopped playing their instruments except Alex. He went wild on the drum solo Reggie had blessed him with while the rest clapped their hands to the beat, getting the crowd to mirror them.

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a what now? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to Till I forget about…”

They picked their instruments up again and continued singing. Even the crowd started to get a hang on the lyrics by now, which hyped Reggie up even more for the rest of the song.

“Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to…”

“Till I forget about you!”

Reggie belted out a high note, which made y/n’s heart leap. His voice had always been her favorite sound in the whole entire world but hearing it so confidently coming out of him had her on her toes.

“Till I forget about you”

He turned to y/n again as he sang the very last line with a certain glint in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place.

“I can’t forget about you!”

The band played their very last chords, notes or hit their last cymbals, and when the song rang out, the audience were applauding, cheering and whistling. But Reggie couldn’t bear tearing his eyes off of y/n.

She was smiling at him and he was smiling at her.

Both of them knew that he was okay. He was going to be okay with Lisa being gone because he had y/n by his side. She was the one who changed everything around. She was the one who made him go out to Carrie’s party. She was the one to remind him that he would be okay without the auburn haired girl. She was the one that helped him forget about her. She was the one.

JATP Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti @alexpjoyner @n0wornever @kaitieskidmore1 @tefilovesreading @happinessinthedarkesttimes

Names crossed out are the ones I couldn’t tag, sorry!

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #julie and the fat ones #jatp #jatp x btr #jatp x btr week #jatp-btr #reggie jatp #Jeremy shada #reggie x reader #reggie nolastname #reggie fic #reggie imagine #modern day!reggie #alive!reggie #2020!reggie #til i forget about you btr #reggie peters

261 notes · View notes