#Oh and Barb falls in love with him and he tells her the truth right after their first kiss in troll form

[avatar-anna]

The Only Exception

summary: Y/n tries to write her wedding vows

words: 2.6k

“What are you working on over there?”

“Me? Oh nothing,” Y/n said, quickly covering up the journal she’d been writing in.

Not believing her for a second, Harry came closer to where she was laying on their bed in one of his threadbare sweaters and a pair of sweatpants with a hole in them. “You sure, love?”

The truth was she was working on her wedding vows. Y/n had never been one for public speeches or grand declarations of love, but at some point during the wedding planning process, Harry expressed how much he wanted to do personal vows instead of traditional ones. He didn’t beg or plead, but he didn’t have to. Y/n would do just about anything for Harry, so despite her fears, she said yes.

Now she and Harry were a week away from the wedding, and she had yet to write down a single word. Not because she didn’t love him, it was quite the opposite, actually. Y/n loved him so much she couldn’t find the right words to describe her feelings. He was the first person to really make her believe that love existed. Harry pretty much did the impossible. He took the barbed wire around your heart and didn’t let up until it was healed.

“Yep. Nothing to see here,” Y/n insisted. She didn’t need him knowing that she was failing at writing their wedding vows. Or worse, Harry was so sweet, he would probably help her write them.

“Well then. Permission to board? I am in need of a good snuggle.”

A snort escaped past Y/n’s nose as she laughed. “Why do you talk like that, you dork?” she asked, but she knew why.

Harry had a penchant for knowing when she was stressed and often tried to cheer her up by making her laugh. Instead of answering her, he waited for her answer.

Rolling her eyes, Y/n said, “Permission granted.”

Harry was quick to get on the bed with his fiance, immediately cuddling into her. Before nuzzling his nose against her neck, he peeked at the journal she’d been writing in. He smiled to himself as he read “Wedding Vows” in big letters at the top. It was blank, but Harry wasn’t worried. Y/n was a bigger romantic than she gave herself credit for.

“You’re gonna be my wife in just seven days, can you believe that?” he asked, voice muffled against her skin. Y/n was warm and smelled like lavender and sandalwood, a scent that charmed him the very first day they met.

“Not too late to back out, you know,” Y/n joked.

“Don’t say that,” Harry said, frowning at her.

“I was only kidding, H.”

“Mm. It was a bad joke.”

Y/n could be a bit of a pessimist when it came to love and relationships. It took her a long time to fall in love with Harry, and it took even longer to admit it to Harry and herself. Together they let down a lot of her walls, but she still liked to hide how she felt about things by joking about them.

Sighing, she tentatively began to play with the rings on Harry’s hands. “I’m sorry, you know how I get.”

“I do,” he said. “Care to tell me what's on your mind?”

Y/n sighed. “I…It’s not that I don’t think you love me, or that you’ll ever stop. You know I don't believe that. I just don’t want to end up like my parents.”

“We won’t.”

Harry said it like it was that simple, like nothing could ever possibly come between the two of them. He believed in their love for each other wholeheartedly, and despite her previous misconceptions and beliefs about love, Harry helped her believe in it too.

“I know, I’m sorry. This must be like the opposite of reassuring a week before our wedding,” she said.

Y/n wasn’t facing him, but she could tell Harry was smiling against her neck before he gave her a tiny kiss. “Not at all. I’m surprised I haven’t had to talk you off the proverbial ledge sooner.”

“Rude…but fair,” was all she said.

Turning around, Y/n faced her fiance. She took in the familiar planes of his face, his pointed nose and high cheek bones, his pink lips, his expressive eyes. How she managed to make a literal angel fall in love with her, she wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t about to complain. Y/n leaned her forehead against Harry’s, reveling in the feel of being close to someone, of being in love with someone.

“I love you. My first and only,” she said.

Harry grinned from the sheer openness with which Y/n spoke. Hearing those words shot a line of fireworks down his spine. She used to be so prickly and cynical about love, and he often felt proud (and maybe even a little smug) that he was the one to change her mind.

He leaned in to kiss her, then, holding her cheek gently in his hand. Y/n responded instantly. Her arms curled around his neck, her finger winding around the soft strands of his hair.

One of the first things she learned about Harry was that he had different kinds of kisses. There were the little ones. The tiny pecks that were reserved for places like her shoulders, her nose, her temples, and her hip bones. He’d give her those kisses if they were just hanging out with friends or on the couch watching TV; they were casual, loving kisses.

Then there were the sloppy kisses he’d smother Y/n with if he wanted something or just wanted to make her laugh; and the frenzied passionate ones when he pushed her up against a wall or pin her arms above her head before he had his way with her.

And then there were the slow kisses, the ones that told her he didn’t want to be anywhere else other than right there with her. He was so gentle, so deliberate, with each movement it made her toes curl. No feeling was more euphoric or reassuring than when Harry kissed her like this. She never wanted that feeling to ever go away.

Later that night Harry was fast asleep. Y/n was sitting up against the headboard of their bed, the lamp on her bedside table casting a warm glow over the journal in her lap.

“When I was younger, I had to watch my parents’ marriage fall apart. I watched them break each other’s hearts and swear off love, and from that moment on I swore I would never end up like them. I swore off love, if love even existed,” she wrote, her hand occasionally running through her fiance’s hair. “And I was content to live in loneliness, content to keep a comfortable distance between me and the rest of the world…”

“And then I met you,” she said, tearing up a little. She laughed, slightly embarrassed to be crying in front of a room filled with her and Harry’s closest friends and family. Her hands gripped the two sheets of paper that had her vows written on them. She went back and forth between looking at her vows and looking into Harry’s eyes. They’d been lined with tears since Y/n walked down the aisle, and while she had been able to hold it together for most of the ceremony, she was starting to lose her composure.

“Um…And—And even though I’d convinced myself that I was happy being alone, you showed me more love than I’d ever experienced and made me believe that I could love someone that much too. You proved to me that love wasn’t some dream or fantasy that only existed in a fictional world. No, you, H, you continued to shower me with so much love and affection until I had no choice but to believe in it and fall in love with you.

“I wasn’t an easy person to love back then, I know that,” Y/n said, trying to add a little humor to her voice. Harry saw right through it though and shook his head, mouthing the words, that's not true.

“I was skeptical, I was cold, and I rejected the mere idea of love at every corner. But you saw something in me that was worth loving, that was worth fighting for, and despite my cynicism and lack of belief, you—you patiently waited for me to realize that love wasn’t something to curse at or hate or run away from, but something to embrace and cherish. And I embraced you, Harry, and I never want to let go. I promise you that I will never let go.”

With a shaking hand, Y/n wiped her cheek. She didn’t dare look over at everyone who was watching her say her vows, but the room was so quiet that the only sounds that could be heard were her shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle.

Harry leaned over and kissed her forehead, an offering of comfort and a silent message to take her time until she was ready to continue. He knew how nervous Y/n had been to give this speech, so he gave her what little comfort he could as they stood together with the officiant. When she finally caught her breath, she continued.

“I don’t know what the future will hold, or what my life will look like next year, or in five years, or in fifty, but one thing I can promise is that I will never stop loving you. I will never curse at the wind or run away from you, ever.”

“What are we doing here, Y/n?”

“I—I don’t—”

“I want to be with you. I want to grow old with you, have kids, all of that. I don’t want that life with anyone else, I’m not in love with anyone else. I’m in love with you, and I’m not ashamed of that!”

Harry’s cheeks were red, and he looked angrier than Y/n had ever seen him before. The truth was she was in love with him too, but she couldn’t admit it. The idea of sharing herself so completely as to be in love with them petrified her. Her feelings were unfamiliar and terrified her to no end, and her first instinct was to run, to leave before that love fizzled out or blew away with the wind. It always did.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I don’t feel the same way.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” he said.

He surged forward to hold her hand in his own. He was so close that Y/n had no choice but to look him in the eye.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not in love with me.”

“Harry, please let go of me, I can’t—”

Despite being upset, he wasn’t going to hold Y/n against her will. Harry dropped her hands unceremoniously and turned away from her, and that was the first time Y/n had ever truly felt her heart break.

“You can, but you won’t,” Harry said, his voice devoid of any emotion. Still not looking at you he said with a shaky breath, “I want you to love me the way I love you, but I can’t force you to. I thought if I showed you what real love looked like, you would believe me, but I—I realize now that that was foolish of me. I shouldn’t try to change you, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Harry—”

“You can run. I know you want to. Just know that my love for you is real, and that I don’t think I’ll ever stop being in love with you.”

Y/n couldn’t stop the tears from running down her face, but she did exactly as Harry said. Without a single word other than, “I’m sorry,” she took her keys and left his house.

She didn’t know where to go. Not home, Harry’s things were everywhere there. So she drove aimlessly, sobs wracking her body every now and again.

Y/n didn’t want to be in love, didn’t believe in being in love. She told Harry that one of the first times they met. And yet he somehow broke down every barrier, every wall she had ever put up around her heart, and that was the single most terrifying thing she would ever feel—her heart stripped bare, unguarded for Harry to do with as he pleased.

As she drove, her heart cried out for one person, the only person she knew could make all of this pain go away, if she only let him. Falling in love was something Y/n vowed she would never do, yet somehow she fell in love with Harry, the first and only person she’d ever been in love with.

In a split-second decision, Y/n turned the car around. She raced back to Harry’s place, back to him. She hoped that she didn’t make irrevocable damage, but wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

Letting herself in with her keys, she let herself into a dark house. Y/n checked a couple rooms before going to his bedroom. He was lying on the bed facing away from her, but she couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not.

Hesitantly, she took off her shoes and her jacket and walked over to him. Harry’d eyes were closed, but she opened up the covers and slid into bed with him anyway. And when he immediately wrapped his arms around her, something in her settled, the last piece of a puzzle falling into place.

“I love you,” she whispered. “And I’m so scared.”

“I know.” Harry’s voice wasn’t deep or scratchy the way it was after he’d been sleeping for a while, so he clearly has been awake when Y/n came in.

He didn’t really have to say anything else. He knew why she was so skittish around love, why she didn’t want anything to do with it. He loved her anyway, and was willing to wait as long as it took for her to comfortably say she loved him back.

“I’m sorry for running away from you and for saying I didn’t love you earlier.”

“But you came back,” he said softly. “Why?”

“Because…” Why did she come back? She had a hard time putting it into words. “Because you make me want to be in love, even though it terrifies me.”

Y/n finally turned in Harry’s arms so that she was facing him. It was too dark to make our any of his features, but she didn’t need any light to know what he looked like. His face had been scarred onto her heart so that she could never forget it.

“I can’t promise that I’ll be easy to love or that I’ll deserve it,” she said.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” Harry chided. “You deserve all of my love. Every last bit of it. Just—No more running, okay?”

“I promise to love you forever, Harry. Even on my darkest days, because you made me believe that love was something worth having in my life. So you are my love, my life, my heart and soul. My first and only.”

She’d said the last sentence directly to him, the rest of their audience falling away so it was just the two of them. A tear escaped and trickled down Harry’s cheek, and Y/n was quick to wipe it away with her thumb. He smiled against her hand and kissed it before he was instructed to say his vows.

“How on earth am I supposed to follow that up?” he muttered to himself, though with the microphone he was holding to say his vows, everyone heard him and laughed.

Taking a deep breath, Harry looked at Y/n and smiled. His green eyes were watery, but they were filled with so much joy it gave Y/n butterflies. He truly was her one and only, and by some miracle, she was his. Harry made her believe in love, and she couldn’t be happier because of him.

[earl-grey-love]

how about 💚 and 💜 for the pre-relationship asks? (and I hope you're day has been going good~)

Oh, Hii Percy! 💖 Thank you so much for the questions. My day has been wonderful and I hope yours has been too! 💕

💚 do they both realize they have a crush early on, or does it take them forever to realize?

For Sunny, it takes some time. Her feelings for him are purely friendship once she gets over her initial fear of him. He's not the one she would have expected to feel that way for, and because of their limited access to each other, there's a desire to not go down that route. But those feelings don't go away. And some of that initial apprehension of getting to know him may even have been early attraction anyway.

Barbs is a bit more complicated, because I honestly can't decide on my preferred "canon". On one hand, I like the idea that he foresaw their inevitable relationship a very, very long time ago. While he intially thought it was awful when he was younger, by the time they actually meet, he's matured and come to embrace it. Though he does still need to get to know her in the moment and to allow his own feelings to grow, plus he will play hard to get. (+ the fact no matter the timeline, she also loves Mephisto)

But on the otherhand, I like the idea that he naturally falls in love with her over the course of their friendship. It takes him a long time to realize it's happening because romantic love is either something he's never experienced or hasn't for a very long time, and then he doesn't quite know how to deal with it. I also interpret Barbs' canon lack of pursuit of mc as him simply thinking he's not going to win and therefore gives up on principle.

So the truth is, I don't really know Barbs' side of things.

💜 how do they confess? is it a grand gesture or in a more mundane moment?

Again I don't have an exact canon on this, and it's because it's really rather mundane. Sunny will tell him how she feels the moment it really occurs to her and the timing feels right. Like they're alone and have had a warm moment together. And of course, Barbs doesn't give her an exact answer on his own feelings. When they actually come together to form an official relationship, it's more of a discussion than a confession, really.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E4; Chapter Four, The Body- [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Mike flips through the drawings Will had given him what seems like ages ago. He found himself unable to tear himself away from one of Will's favorites. It was the party. But they were their dungeons and dragons selves. Will the Wise stood proudly amongst his fellow party members. Together they stood triumphantly.

Mike was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of the feedback from the supercomm.

"Can you please stop that?" He asked exasperatedly at El, who sat in her fort fiddling with the device.

El looks to him, before returning to the com, the crackling of the feedback whining throughout the room.

"Are you deaf?" Mike snapped.

El was determined to keep tinkering away.

"I thought we were friends, you know? But friends tell each other the truth. And they definitely don't lie to each other. You made me think Will was okay, that he was still out there, but he wasn't. He wasn't! Maybe you thought you were helping, but you weren't. You hurt me. Do you understand? What you did sucks. Lucas was right about you. All along."

El's eyes bore into Mike's as he yelled at her. However, she sat there, unfazed before turning back to the com. With the final crackle, the distinctive voice of Will Byers rang over the comm and across the room. He was singing.

"So come on and let me know, Should I stay or should I go?"

Mike slowly looked up from the picture and towards El, goosebumps littering his skin. She was looking to him expectantly, blood dripping from her nose.

"Should I stay or should I go now? Should I stay or should I go now?"

Mike jumped off the couch and ran to El, who slowly handed him the walkie. Mike stared at it in disbelief as he listened to the unmistakable voice of his best friend.

"If I go there will be trouble. If I stay it will be double."

Mike gladly took the comm. His finger pressed firmly on the speaker button he practically yelled into the speaker. "Will, is that you? It's Mike! Do you copy? Over."

El stares at the boy, wishing she could help him more. Alas, she knew Will would be unable to hear him. The room was met with the dreaded static of the other line as Mike waited for a response that would never come.

He tried again.

"Will, are you there? Will!"

Mike saw the look on El's face, knowing she had done her best. He dropped his hand to his side.

"Was that...? Was it...?"

El gave Mike a bittersweet smile.

"Will."

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Michael? Hi, honey. How are you feeling?"

Karen poked her head into her son's room.

Mike stuttered as he lay under the blankets, and she crosses the room to sit at his bedside.

"I, uh... I don't think I can go to school today."

"Oh, that's fine, sweetie. I need to drop off Nance, then I'm gonna check in on Barb's parents. Why don't you grab a book or something and come with me? We can stop by the video store on the way back, pick out whatever you want. Even R-rated."

Karen offered, a small smile on her face.

"I think I just want to stay home today. I mean, if that's okay?" He asked, tentatively.

"Well, are you sure you're gonna be all right here by yourself?"

"I think so."

"Okay." She sighed, patting her son on the arm comfortingly."If you need anything, call Dad at work."

Mike softly nodded his head.

"Okay."

"Okay."

Karen leaned forward and kissed her son on the forehead before stepping out.

"Bye." Mike softly called after his mom.

She turned to him as she closed the door, a smile on her face.

"Bye, sweetie."

As soon as his mother closed the door, Mike jumped up from under the covers, fully clothed. He reached for the supercomm on his bedside table and extended the antenna.

"Lucas, do you copy? Lucas, come on, I know you're there! This is urgent. I'm serious."

Mike stood up from his bed, continuing into the walkie. "I'm not gonna stop until you answer. Lucas. Lucas!" He took a deep breath. "Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas... Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas--"

"Go away, Mike." Lucas had sat up in bed, frustrated as he extended the antenna.

"I'm not in the mood, all right? Over and out."

Before Lucas could close the supercomm antenna, Mike's voice had stopped him.

"No, not 'out.' I'm not messing around, okay? This is about Will. Over."

Lucas paused, not letting himself get his hopes up.

"What about Will? You mean about his funeral? Over."

"No, not his funeral. Screw his funeral!" Mike spits.

"What?"

"Just get over here stat. And bring Dustin and Y/n. Over and out."

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

I blink away the tears as I stare at the same wall my eyes haven't left since I woke up. Lucas saw me and Dustin off and made sure we got home. My whole body has been numb since last night. The image of Will laying lifeless on the gurney hasn't left my mind.

I never would have believed it but, I wanted more than anything to be at school rather than staying home today. Mom thinks it was the stress and trauma that made me sick today, but whatever it really is, she insisted I stay home.

I locked myself in my room as soon as I got home, Dustin had filled Mom in on what happened. She had woken me up this morning, apologizing and asking if there was anything she could do to help. But she couldn't do anything. Nobody could. Will, my best friend, is gone.

Apparently, I was burning up because Mom began freaking out when she felt my forehead. I didn't feel any different apart from grief and heartbreak.

"Alright, Pumpkin, I called the school and they know you're staying home. I wish I could stay with you but I can't miss another work day. I'll be back at the regular time, and you know what number to call if you need anything, right?"

I felt her hand rub my shoulder as I never broke eye contact with the wall. Tears were falling freely down my face, through my scalp and into my ears ears pillow. My left arm had become numb from laying on my left side.

"Mm." I couldn't even bring myself to speak.

"Bye, sweetie."

I heard her footsteps recede followed by the closing of my bedroom door.

I closed my eyes, trying to sleep. But every time my eyes closed I saw it all over again. Will being pulled from the water. I tried to push through it. But my mind began creating scenarios of how he fell in. Countless images of him stumbling over the cliff. Or even the horrific thought of his already lifeless body being tossed into the water by a faceless figure that I only assumed to be his murderer.

Countless, horrendous scenarios playing like a slideshow in my head and the second wave of pain washed over me as it felt as if someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart into dust, while another hand punched my gut.

I rolled over on my back, I felt the anguish surging through my veins and all the way to my fingertips as a wave of anger erupted from deep within. I heard items fall to the floor somewhere around my room and I figured that in my fit I had slammed my fists too hard against my bed, shaking the room somehow.

I quickly dismissed the odd thought and the second wave of hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

My palms began to sweat as I felt my body temperature rise out of what I could only assume was anger. That must be where my fever had come from but I still didn't understand how that all happened.

I was angry my best friend was taken away from me. I loved him, and he was the closest friend I have ever had. And now he's gone. I still refused to believe it yet my mind was cruel enough to replay the worst moment of my life everytime I close my eyes.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and sat up. I couldn't stand being alone with anything else to think about and I looked around my room for anything to take my mind off everything that's been happening.

My eyes scanned the room and then they fell on the all too familiar mix tape Will had lent to me just months ago. A bittersweet smile had made its way onto my face and I got out of bed. I put the tape in the boombox and pressed play.

"Should I stay or should I go?"

I sat listening to Will's favorite song and I felt a different wave of emotion wash over me for once.

I think it was a stubborn hope.

[estians]

Est cries and no one ever seems to have the right words.

Palla and Catria coddle and scold in equal measure — she is their youngest, most prone to mistakes, and they forgive but do not often forget. In her own twisted way, Est understands this. Though sisters three are the Whitewings of Macedon, she feels most days like a mere feather upon her sisters’ wings. She is simply there, existing, hardly anything in the grand scheme. But like a pegasus shedding after winter’s passed, feathers upon feathers pile up. In time, it is an annoyance. A burden, even.

Commander Minerva must never see her cry. No, before her commander, Est has only smiled and laughed, as has come to be expected of her. She can be the perfect little soldier if she tries, if only to see the tacit approval on the commander’s face.

And Abel — her darling and beloved Abel — always speaks wrong. Oh, she loves him so, but he says the worst things at the worst times and she wonders if it would have been kinder to them both if neither had ever loved the other at all. Is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? Because the loss makes her heart ache with a pain she cannot possibly describe.

“Why did you fall in love with me? Please, Abel. I must know.” “Good grief… It was so…natural, I never gave it a second thought.”

And she cries and she cries and she cries for this man whose only curse must be to love her.

She cries for the fact that she is surrounded by good people — and for the fact that she is not good enough to deserve it.

Est cries.

And then, she mounts her pegasus and goes.

It is better this way, you see.

‎

Leaving Archanea, the only home she has ever known, must be done on more than just a whim. It will take time and patience — and though she knows her sisters might call her reckless should they ever meet again, they will never know that this is, perhaps, the least impulsive Est has been in her life.

There is nothing for her to prove and everything for everyone else to gain. She has thought this through countless times; she could recite the steps of her plan in her sleep.

Est does not like to fight, but the sorry truth is that she is good at it. If fate had not intervened, she and Abel might have lived a very happy life indeed, tending to their little shop. But her pegasus can only take her so far before it tires, and to feed it and herself, and find safe passage elsewhere to boot, will take more gold than she carries in her satchel.

She took up her lance, once, to follow after her sisters. Now, she takes it up for what she hopes shall be the last time — for what she knows will not be the last time, despite her deepest desire — and turns to the life of a mercenary. Her poor pegasus stays stabled, for tales of a pegasus-riding mercenary might travel too far for her liking, but well - fed. It will not be long before it can fly free once more, Est promises every evening. It will not be long before she is free, too.

Altogether, for one hoping to take up a mercenary’s path, her strengths do not number too many. You can scarcely find a more talented flier than one of the Whitewings, and she has always been good at working in teams, but these skills are all but useless to her now. Still, Est is fine with a lance, she is fine at fighting on foot, and she is fine on her own.

These are the lies she tells herself, at least. Without the ever - present crutch of her sisters by her side, she feels as though she must stumble through the dark for the first time in her life. No more is Palla’s gentle guidance or Catria’s barbed concern. All Est has ever known is how to fly — she has never had to fall.

But she falls. Fate hammers the truth into her over and over: she will never be as strong as her sisters, as clever as her sisters, as brave as her sisters. Palla and Catria will work alongside the commander to restore Macedon to its former glory — and they will go down in the annals of Archanean history for it. Est is a Whitewing but nothing more, merely the name of a skilled knight that future generations will memorize from a history book then forget.

However, Est isn’t a name in a history book just yet, and she has further still to run.

‎

“Something the matter? What’s got our loveliest merc staring daggers at an innocent mug of ale?”

Est blinks, stirred from her thoughts. The mug before her has gone untouched from the moment the captain slid it over, saying that she looked like she needed a drink. It feels like a trap, mostly, like Palla or Catria will jump out of the shadows and scold her for it if she even dares to take a sip. There’s no time to drink and be merry when there’s always another battle to march off to, after all. That aside, Est is barely eighteen.

With a soft sigh, she glances up to say hello, cracking a small smile. “Emory! The captain told me you wouldn’t make it back in time.”

“Mm, that so? Well, I had to come rushing back when I heard you were leaving! Can’t let you run off without saying goodbye, can I?” Emory reaches over to tap at her nose, and Est leans away with a squeak of protest. “You were frowning real hard just a second ago, though. What’s got you moping?”

Est waves his hand away with a laugh. “I’m not moping, Emory, it’s nothing.”

The mercenary snorts, a brow raising. “Yeah, because the brightest and smiliest of us would get all frowny over nothing. You’ll need a better lie than that.”

It’s nothing or I’m fine have always been her magic words. She smiles and says them and the conversation moves on. With Abel, at least, that’s how it always went, and Est was glad for it. If he knew what she was really thinking, if he knew just what she was planning to do…

For a moment, Est finds herself at a loss.

“If it was a lie, then I’d get a better one,” she eventually says, her arms crossing. “Except it’s not. Seriously, Emory, I’m fine! I’m just a little sad to be leaving.” She has an itch, now, to run, because if she knows anything about Emory, it’s that he likes to push. Still, he’s her friend and she’s leaving in the morning, so Est can suck it up for just one more evening. One more goodbye, both to her new friends here and to her home, before she leaves for good. “You just got back from Macedon, right? Your stories have gotta be way more interesting than whatever I was thinking about.”

Maybe it’s her tone, dripping with a desperation that he’s never heard before. Maybe it’s just pity — and Est is almost inclined to accept pity instead, if it means he’ll stop. But Emory just shrugs, dropping into the seat across from her.

“Sure, I got gossip for days.” His head tilts, considering. “I heard through the grapevine that one of Macedon’s Whitewings has gone missing. Pink - haired fella, good with a lance, has a pegasus and all. Fought under Princess Minerva during the war, right? Sound familiar to you?”

Est stiffens. “What?” She never was a good liar. Words are one thing that she’s got plenty of, though not necessarily the right ones, but her body betrays the truth. “Ahaha…I didn’t know one of the Whitewings went missing. Are they all right?”

Emory, for his part, looks thoroughly unconvinced. “You’d know better, I think. You got nothing to say about how she kinda sounds like you?”

“Pink hair, okay with a lance, and no pegasus in sight. Though it’s a funny coincidence, huh?” Her answering laugh is entirely forced. “Imagine me as a Whitewing! I’d be laughed out of Macedon!”

“Discounting the pegasus you’re hiding in the stables, sure.” Est flinches, and the edge of Emory’s lips quirk upward. “Hell of a coincidence, that.”

She’s so close. All Est needs is one more day, one last evening in a too-uncomfortable bed, one last morning eating a too-bland breakfast, then she’ll be free. Did Emory tell them where she was? Has he led them straight to her doorstep already? If she just runs —

“Reckless,” a voice that sounds like Catria chides. “Did you really think we wouldn’t look?”

And part of her hadn’t been sure, really, if they would’ve cared enough to go and save selfish, little Est from herself a third time. Part of her hadn’t been sure if she wanted them to.

“Emory,” she chokes. Est has always cried easily; she hates it, now. As if she wasn’t already out of place here, smaller and greener than her peers in this line of work, sticking out like a sore thumb. “Please, you can’t —”

Emory sighs, reaching out to rest a hand atop hers. “Hey, what’re those tears for? You don’t think I’m here to rat you out, do you? Listen, obviously you’re running from something, and it ain’t my business what, but if you need somewhere to run to…”

Stay, she thinks he is trying to say — and it wouldn’t be so bad if she did. They have all been kinder to her than is deserved by some passing stranger who was always going to be gone in a few months. It would never be like the Whitewings, but for Est, it might be close enough. Not her sisters, but her friends instead. Maybe they would even grow to be family, with enough time.

Yet, go, the traitorous voice in her head whispers. Run, to somewhere they can’t find you.

Even the furthest tip of Archanea wouldn’t be far enough. If Palla and Catria had chased her even a continent away to Valentia, then she has to go further. She isn’t far enough yet.

“Hey, come on, Est,” Emory says. “You know I’ve got no clue what to do when you cry. The thought of gracing us with your presence a little longer ain’t that bad, is it? I didn’t think we were that awful as company.”

Her breath is a little shaky as she exhales, the ghost of a laugh on her lips as her free hand reaches to wipe at her face. “Hee hee… No, no. You guys are great!” A twinkle sparks in her eyes. “Really, you’ve all been amazing. Thanks, Emory.”

He relaxes now that she’s stopped crying, hand pulling away to grab her ale for himself. “Just think about it, yeah? Stay a day or two longer. We like having you here, y’know? We won’t tell any of them Macedonians that you’re with us if you don’t want us to.”

Est smiles. “I’ll think about it,” she lies. “And it’s sweet of you, Emory, really.” She straightens in her seat as Emory waves down a server to get her some water. “Anyway, you must have brought back some stories from Macedon, right? I’ll trade you for some of mine! Once, I flew all the way to Grust and…”

The coin purse at her side is heavy enough, she thinks, and Est has lingered for too long.

‎

The Whitewings will always be three. Est knows this to be true, knows that despite everything, even if she vanishes for good, her sisters will not let her name disappear with her. Palla, Catria, and Est — immortalized in history. The tender knight, the merciful protector, and…her. The Whitewing who should have been better than to be kidnapped on a routine delivery. The Whitewing who was captured by the enemy and gave her fiancé cause to turn traitor. The Whitewing who does not seem like much of a Whitewing at all, on paper. She is not as talented as Palla nor as dedicated as Catria.

She is simply Est.

Somehow, it is never enough.

She wonders, in quieter moments, slowly lulled to sleep by the rocking of the boat upon the waves, if history will be kind to her. Will they remember the valiant soldier who rushed behind enemy lines to rescue Mercurius from their hands? Or the burdensome girl, needing to be saved time and time again?

To be revered for a false image or to be forgotten for the truth — which fate would be kinder?

‎

Some nights, Est dreams of home.

Home is the smiles of her sisters and their warm embrace. It is soaring through the skies, aloft on her pegasus; hefting her spear at the commander’s command to follow her into battle. Home is Abel and the shop they opened up together, a nice, retired life, away from the horrors of the battlefield and the war cry that she has sung ever since she first held a lance in her hands.

Home is happiness. Home is love. Home is undeserved.

‎

Some nights, Est dreams of the past.

Why did you fall in love with me, she asked Abel once. Not if he was — for that was a truth burned like a brand onto her heart, the blessing and the curse of it all — but why. And the answer, offered so honestly, that he loved because it was merely inherent for him to do so, that he couldn’t help it, that he never had cause to think otherwise, made her heart ache.

Abel thinks she cried because she was unsatisfied with his answer, but Est cries because his answer cemented the last of her resolve, the final nail in the coffin that she must go. Anywhere but here, where she is so, so loved but knows not how to accept it; where she has fought two wars and escaped scathed, wounds of the mind and scars of the heart weighing her down; where she knows she only hurts the ones she loves, a trail of problems left in her wake.

Goodbye, she tells her sisters. Goodbye, she tells the commander. Goodbye, she tells Abel. Come morning, she will be gone, but they do not know it yet. She wants her final farewell to be sweet rather than bitter, something perfectly ordinary. Come morning, they will find her room empty and her essentials missing and her pegasus gone.

Maybe she wants it to hurt. Maybe she wants them to hate her. At least, this way, they will no longer be encumbered by an Est - sized weight in their lives.

Maybe it is easier to convince herself that it is for the best this way.

‎

And, very rarely, Est dreams of a world where fate treats her kindly.

But in this one, the waves take her away and swallow her whole. They shall spit her out elsewhere; it matters not where. So long as it is anywhere but home.

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | SEVEN

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 4,000

warnings: fluff. angst. language. not even sure why i warn for angst anymore this whole story is just angsty af

18+!!! minors stay away!

In the following few weeks, you realized two things. One: Peter Parker was definitely not subtle. The other being that you were definitely in way over your head. There was no denying the stupid butterflies in your stomach anymore, or the way you found yourself expecting his touch before it even came.

It seemed as though the two of you were like magnets; a constant tug gravitating the pair of you back to each other with an unstoppable force. If you weren't together, he was on your mind, and like he could sense you thinking of him he'd be quick to reach out in some way or another. Be it appearing at your side, all happy grins and playful eyes, or calling your phone no matter the time with his stupidly adorable stutter--Peter seemed to think of you just as much as you thought of him.

The more that you thought of him, the more that you wished you didn't. It was terrifying. You wished that you could pull away again, to push him back out of your heart and lock those iron bars tight once more, but your heart had grown selfish and stubborn. It was as if you were the one locked out anymore; the control over your feelings slipping further and further from your clutches with every toothy smile Peter sent your way.

Like a magnet, he held you in place. Oh, to be held by... You slapped a pillow over your face and screamed, holding it so tightly that your nose ached and you couldn't breath. Peter Parker was like a disease. A stupid, all-consuming, utterly infatuating disease of the mind and the spirit.

You knew that you were wasting time, undoubtedly causing yourself to risk being late for school with every minute that passed as you continued to lay in your bed, but you couldn't bring yourself to get up. Already, your mother and father both had knocked at your door on multiple occasions and questioned if you were sick, and now you were regretting saying no. It would have been so easy to avoid him if you'd just played hookie.

But, with midterms in the near future, you knew it wasn't the best idea. The realization had come to you in the night. A moment so insignificant, so mundane, but it had been as if a switch were flipped in your mind. A light was turned on, so to speak, and illuminated all the thoughts and emotions you'd been so tirelessly repressing.

Talking on the phone with Peter was like a drug, and talking on the phone to him at night was a dangerous game. Under the dull light of a crescent moon and the ridiculous teddy-bear night light that was plugged into your wall, a lingering remnant of your sister's presence in the space, your inhibitions were always low. With sleepiness your walls were always lowered, and he'd unknowingly put a fatal crack in the foundation.

You rolled onto your stomach on your bed, kicking your feet through the air like a little kid as you fought back the grin that always seemed to worm its way across your lips when you were talking to him. "So, how do you like Ned and MJ?" Peter asked, and you could almost picture him mirroring your position as you heard the quiet rustle of blankets over the line. A little giggle bubbled out of your mouth at the thought.

What a sight that would be, Peter kicking his legs to and fro like a school girl in love. "They're cool. I kinda like that MJ doesn't even pretend to hide the fact that she thinks I'm weird. I don't--I don't know, it's refreshing I guess. Ned's sweet." you rambled, and it was the truth.

Ned and MJ were easily slipping into the fortress that shielded your heart with every passing day. Somehow, it wasn't as terrifying as you'd expected it to be. Perhaps that was because they didn't harbor a secret identity with which they risked their lives every single night, or maybe it was just because you'd come to realize that letting people in wasn't so bad. Not everyone was going to die on you.

Michelle Jones really didn't pretend not to think you were weird, not even a little bit. Her blunt and honest nature was a nice change from the quiet stares that seemed to follow your every move; MJ wasn't much for staring. Rather, she boldly told you what she was thinking without any shred of doubt.

And Ned, sweet Ned Leeds, was like a puppy personified. Always happy, always smiling, and always waiting to offer you compliments when you approached. You couldn't remember the last time someone had dared compliment your hair, your smile, or your outfits. Ned made it impossible to feel anything but comfort and joy in his presence, even his awkward nature was endearing.

"I'm glad." Peter hummed, "They really like you. To be honest, though, I kinda like it when it's just us. Maybe I should have waited a little longer to share you."

There was a pang in your chest at his words. Peter had been subtly flirting with you for days now, but this was more direct. He didn't have to come right out and say it for his implications to come across loud and clear, and that magnetic pull grew stronger.

So strong, in fact, that you murmured back, "I like it when it's just us, too."

If you had just kept your mouth shut, maybe he wouldn't have been so bold as to say, "Not gonna let them steal your heart from me, are you?"

The words were right at the tip of your tongue. Your heart was screaming, never! Nobody could ever steal me away from you, Peter! Yet, your mind was racing with a million and one horrible thoughts that made you feel as though your mouth was full of mud.

The silence between yourself and Peter grew thick as it drew on, no words escaping your lead-like lips. The voice in your brain, the one that sounded like your sister yet you knew was not her, was ringing in your ears. How could you ever fall in love, when she never could? How could you give your heart away, when she never had the chance?

You took that chance away from her. You stole it. This thing, whatever the weird force between the two of you was, was all stolen time, stolen opportunities, and stolen lives.

"Good night, (Y/N). I'll see you at school?"

You whispered, "Yes." The line went dead, and you felt cold.

Those simple words from Peter, with meaning and intention that was far from simple, were all it took to send the walls, bars, and barbed wire around your heart crumbling into nothing. With no protection, no barrier between yourself and the dangers of everyone else, your mind was working on overdrive. It would have been so easy to let him in, had that voice remained quiet, and yet you were steadily building those bricks back into place.

Now, all that was left to do was to steal your heart back. When had he managed to take it from you? Had he snuck in during the night, slipping through the strategically placed cracks and weak points he'd created, and stole away with it undetected? Had he taken it that first night, without you ever noticing?

As you finally released the pressure over the pillow on your face, sucking in a shaky breathe and letting all the heavy things crash over you again, tears burned your eyes. You didn't want to push Peter away. You didn't want to be the reason he was hurt, upset, or angry--you weren't ready to be the villain in his story.

"Mom?" you called out, knowing she was lingering close by.

Proving you correct, the door to your bedroom cracked open only seconds later and your mother's worried eyes fell upon your blinking ones. She definitely saw the troubled look on your face, the tears in your eyes, yet she held back from mentioning any of it as she asked, "Are you sick, honey?"

You nodded, the lump in your throat aiding your act as you croaked, "Yes. I don't feel good."

She frowned a little, knowing that you were bending the truth of the matter. Your mother was perceptive, and with the emotion all over your face, it easy for her to know that this wasn't some stomach bug or sore throat. To your relief, though, she resigned, "I'll call you out of school for the day. I'll be in my office if you need me."

Tomorrow, you could be the villain. For today, though, you were content to avoid your troubles and wallow in your self pity. At least this way you had some time to slip back into your stoic, cold demeanor before you had to face him. Time to prepare yourself to be alone again, because you knew that once you pushed Peter Parker away, Ned and MJ would be quick to follow him.

Sleep didn't come for you like you hoped it would. Well, it did, but then you found yourself dreaming of Peter and woke with a start. School had started an hour ago, and already there were a flurry of confused and increasingly alarmed messages from him lighting up your phone screen. Even though you couldn't hold back from reading them, you locked it before you found yourself replying as if on autopilot.

Pete: are you late

Pete: i'm at your locker

Pete: hello?

Pete: i'm going to class... see you there?

Pete: are you okay? you said you'd be here

Pete: at least let me know you're aldkhdkfj

You spent the day in your room, ignoring Peter and ignoring the world. Occasionally your mother would crack open your door to check on you, fussing over feeling your forehead despite the fact that you both knew you didn't have a fever, and tittering little comments about getting rest and staying hydrated. She knew you weren't sick, yet you were grateful she didn't try to pry.

As much as you wanted to tell her all of the things that were on your mind, the reasons that you were upset, you couldn't. You couldn't tell her all of the awful things you were thinking, and see the way her face would contort in anguish over you. You certainly couldn't listen to her telling you that it wasn't your fault, you weren't wrong for liking a boy, and your sister would want you to be happy. Even if you knew, in some deep part of your brain, that it was true.

Pete: got my phone taken in calculus sorry

Pete: I'm at lunch now, are you okay?

Pete: are you sick?

Pete: like... actually sick?

Peter really was relentless. You wondered how long it would take for him to catch onto what you were doing, or if he would at all. Would he understand why you suddenly gave him the cold shoulder? Would he understand, and be okay when you pushed him away again?

Pete: I'm in speech now.

Pete: we got the class to work on the speech and you're not here

Pete: not that we could do much anyways since you're so stubborn but still

Pete: okay what is going on

Pete: (Y/N)

Pete: please talk to me

Reading all of his messages kept the ache in your chest alive, stopping the numbness from creeping back in. You wished you could put your phone down, turn it off even, but it was like a cruel an addicting game to read each message as it arrived. You found yourself watching the little three dots as he typed another message eagerly, even if he was far from happy.

When school ended, he called. You let it ring each time, watching his name scroll across your screen over and over again until it ended. Once, twice, three times--he finally stopped calling, not leaving a voicemail.

For awhile, you wondered if that was it. Was he done? Had he caught on? Had he figured you out just as easily as he always seemed to do? Had Peter given up?

Pete: i know what you're doing

Pete: i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable

Pete: we can just be friends if that's what you want

It wasn't what you wanted, and that was the problem. You didn't want to be friends with Peter Parker. Well, you didn't want to just be friends with him. You wanted to know what his touch felt like when it was deliberate and welcoming, not the fleeting and curious brushes of his skin on yours. To be held by him, to taste his lips, to hold his heart in your hands like he already held yours--you wanted so much more than friendship with Peter, and that made you a thief and a fraud.

You: that's not what i want

You were weak. A weak, cowardly idiot is what you were, and you threw your phone on your bed with a groan as you realized what you'd done. The voice in your mind whispered insults, taunting you for being so easily broken.

Pete: what do you mean

You: i don't want to be friends with you Peter

Pete: oh

One simple word, and you realized he had taken that in a completely different way than you had meant it. Yet, you didn't correct him. You didn't explain that you meant you didn't want to just be friends. Maybe this was your chance--an easy way to kick him outside your walls without having to see it firsthand.

The chance didn't last long. A quiet knock sounded on your window, and your heart froze in your chest as you tried to sink deeper into your bed. It was the wind, you told yourself, until the knock sounded again and slightly louder. You could see the shadow on your floor out of the corner of your eye, and you buried your face into your pillow to block it out. If you ignored him, he would go away, and this would all be over.

After a few more knocks, it was silent for awhile, and you tempted a look at the floor only to frown at the sight of the shadow missing. He was gone, and you were alone again. Your lip quivered at the thought; what had you done? It was a mistake. This was a mistake.

You didn't want to push him away. You wanted him to hold your heart. You wanted Peter Parker as your friend, as more than a friend, hell, as anything as long as it was with you. But now? Going back on your word and dragging him back in again would be pathetic. He didn't deserve such treatment, especially not from you.

So, you pulled your pillow back over your face and let the tears fall. Your hot breath burned your eyes and made you feel sticky and gross, but you didn't care one bit. It felt cathartic to cry, like returning to a familiar place you'd been skirting around for ages. Crying over Peter was different than crying over your sister; the hurt was different, but one thing was the same: both were all your fault.

"Go away, mom." you whined, barely hearing the sound of your door unlatching over your muffled sniffles. It creaked further open, and you groaned, pressing the pillow harder onto your face, "Mom, please, I just want to be alone."

A throat cleared, and you froze. That wasn't your mother, the voice was deeper. The sound was still too light to be your father's, though, and that left one option that made your blood run cold. He didn't--did he?

He did. Peter pried the pillow out of your hands, all red cheeks and sad eyes as he stared at you in a sullen silence. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered, "Why are you pushing me away?"

You blinked at him, too paralyzed by the sight of his fluttering eyelids and pouting lips to speak. It must have been a sight to see you like that, your face red and blotchy, streaked with tears and snot that you'd been too lazy to wipe away. He didn't look away from your eyes, though, gazing into them with an intensity that dared you to look away.

Sensing that you weren't going to speak, he pressed on, "(Y/N), what is going on? I don't--It's okay if you don't like me back, I can deal with that. I want to be your friend, though. I thought you wanted to be mine, too."

Voice scratchy, you muttered, "I don't."

Something changed in him, and suddenly Peter was raking a hand through his hair as he frowned deeply. You wanted to smooth the crease between his brows, but you felt frozen. He was angry; he was angry with you, and he didn't hold back as he snapped, "That's bullshit, and you know it. If you didn't want to be friends, then why did you make that deal? Why did you let me make a complete fool of myself just to get your attention? Why did you let me introduce you to my friends? Stop lying to me!"

"I'm not!" you yelped, sitting up frantically and wiping at your face, finally. "I'm not lying, Pete!"

He threw his head back at the nickname, a sigh of exasperation forcing its way from his lips, nostrils flared. "I don't get you, (Y/N). I don't get you at all." he growled, facing you again with a heavy brow.

You gripped your blankets tightly, bunching them around your waist as you blinked at him with wide eyes. "I don't want to just be your friend, Peter!" you burst, "I don't want to just be your friend, and I don't know why. You make me feel all these things that terrify me, but I keep chasing after you and whatever those things are! It was so easy being alone, okay? Then suddenly you came swinging into my life and made everything so--so complicated!"

Your mother's face peered into your room, eyes blown wide in surprise, but the moment you glanced at her she backed away with a bitten smile and you flushed. You didn't get the chance to dwell on the fact that she'd been eavesdropping, though, because Peter sat on the edge of your bed and bit the inside of his cheek, blinking at you with teasing eyes.

"So, you like me?"

Eyes narrowed, you grumbled, "Are you really going to make me say it, Pete? After all of that?"

A sly grin stretched across his lips, cheeks puffing out adorably and making you bite your own to keep from grinning too. He tutted, raising his ruffled brow as he jabbed, "After everything else today? I think it's the least you could do."

You were screwed. His fingertips barely caressed the backs of your knuckles, and you shakily grabbed them before he pulled away again. "I like you, jerk." you mumbled, screwing your eyes shut as you felt your face burn in embarrassment.

Peter just chuckled, squeezing your hand as you felt your bed shift under his weight. "I don't want to just be your friend, either." his breathe fanned over your cheek, and your eyes snapped open to find his face closer than ever. If you just turned, ever so slightly, his lips would brush your own... He kissed your cheek softly, backing away with a tiny smile that you matched. "I like you a lot. Probably more than like, really."

"That scares me." you whispered, eyes still latched onto his, "Peter, you scare me."

He took a long moment to answer, weighing heavily the words he would utter next, before finally telling you, "You scare me, too, but I think it's worth it."

A gentle tapping at your door crashed through the moment, both of your faces burning a deep red as you turned to face your mother's sheepish smile. "Sorry, sorry, don't mind me--"

"Mom!" you wailed, slapping your hands over your face in mortification as she stealthily slipped into your room and dropped a box of condoms onto your dresser before racing away again. "Oh, I can't believe she--Mom! Did you really have to do that?"

Peter was laughing boisterously, head thrown back and eyes shut, though you could tell he was flustered too from the cherry red color that creeped down from his face and under his shirt. As humiliated as you were by your mother's actions, you couldn't help but to feel a little grateful for the interruption. The intensity, the tension in the air, had disappeared with the intrusion, and things felt a little bit lighter again.

You flopped back onto your bed, still pouting over the spectacle, as Peter breathed out, "That's so something Aunt May would have done, too."

At least you weren't alone in the embarrassing family department, you thought to yourself as Peter threw himself down beside you. She meant well, obviously, but did she really think that you and Peter were going to go from admitting you liked each other to ripping each other's clothes off in one night? Well, you were eighteen--maybe she had a bit of a reason to be so hasty.

"Do you think it's worth it?" Peter questioned, and you turned your head to face him, trying to ignore the close proximity of his face to your own. "Liking me?"

You chewed at your lip, listening for that voice in your head that had suddenly gone silent. "Yeah, yeah I do." you responded, and his face split in a blushing smile. You did think it was worth it, because being with him reminded you of all the good feelings you missed out on when he wasn't around. "I just wish we could have been like this before. Maybe then I wouldn't feel like I'm stealing her life."

He grew serious in an instant, eyebrows furrowing as he stated, "I don't." At the sight of your confusion, he continued, "I don't wish we met before. Can you honestly say that you're the same person you were before?"

"No."

He nodded, "Exactly. Stuff like that... It changes you. I would know, remember? You wouldn't be the you that I like, and if Uncle Ben were here maybe I wouldn't be who you like, either."

You had to admit, he had a point. "I guess so." you pondered aloud.

"You're not stealing her life, either, (Y/N). She would have wanted you to be happy, to do all the things she never got to. It took me a long time to stop thinking that way, too, but I did. It wasn't your fault, and you can't miss out on stuff just because of her." Peter advised, and you swallowed down the lump that was growing steadily in your throat, "She didn't give up her life for you to stop living yours."

Fuck, Peter really knew exactly what to say. You, however, were at a loss for words. He said all of the things that you'd needed to hear for so long, so perfectly, and it rocked you to your core. How did he know just what you needed to hear? The answer was simple--because he knew you, and he knew how you were feeling. He knew, because he had lived it.

Changing the subject, you asked, "So, what do we do now?"

You didn't have to explain for him to understand, and he swallowed thickly, "Do you... will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yeah. That might be worth it."

He scoffed, "Might be? Forget it, I don't want you to be my--"

"I want to be your girlfriend, Pete!" you cut him off, laughing loudly. "I really, really want to." So, maybe you lied when you said that Peter made things complicated. In fact, Peter made things incredibly easy--and that made it worth it.

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb @sweet-symphony @cherthegoddess @justsomebodyweird

[monstersandmaw]

Male drider x female reader - Part Three (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Sorry for the huge delay on posting this - I was prepping to drive halfway up the country last week, and then when we got here my mother in law fell and badly broke her arm at the shoulder, and had to go to the local hospital, with surgery scheduled for Monday, so it’s been... busy...

Here’s part three of cranky spooder, with part four (final, long, and nsfw) scheduled for next Wednesday so that even if there’s more drama up here in the Lakes, you’ll still get your story.

This one is shorter, but I still hope you enjoy it. The fact that he's a widower is brought up, and the fire in which his wife and unborn eggs died is also mentioned, but briefly, and in no real detail. Hope you enjoy getting to know him a little better, and we find out his name in this one too.

On Monday morning, you pushed the door open with no small degree of trepidation, but found it deserted. Your task for that morning would take you up the wooden and brass ladders into the upper reaches of the library shelves, up and down, up and down. It was exhausting, but you welcomed the exertion after days of standing over piles of books and noting down titles.

On your fifth trip down, arms laden with books, you heard your name spoken from below, but as you looked down, your foot slipped, and the books rained down to the ground.

With a shout, you scrabbled for the ladder rung but missed, and found yourself falling through the void behind you. There were easily fifteen feet between you and the hard floor, but before you could even process what was really happening, something cushioned your back and you bounced softly, swaying perhaps four feet off the ground.

Looking around, you found that you were lying in a hammock of white webbing, slung hastily from a shelf nearby and gripped in the front talons of a drider’s two front legs.

Carefully, he lowered it to the ground and held out his hand to you. Shaking, you stepped from the webbing, too surprised to notice that it wasn’t sticky, and let him lead you back to the table. “Are you alright?” he asked.

You nodded, adrenaline still flooding through you.

“I thought I wasn’t going to catch you for a second there.”

“Thank you,” you managed. “That would have been a nasty fall…”

“I shouldn’t have distracted you like that. It was thoughtless of me.”

Looking up at him as he cringed away slightly, you found yourself asking, “What’s your name?”

“My name? Why?”

You shrugged. “Everyone calls you ‘the master’, but you’re not my master. I don’t work here.”

“Yes you do,” he said, glancing at the table groaning with books for reshelving.

“Only for another four months,” you said. “I mean… I’m not part of your staff. I don't know what to call you.”

He swallowed thickly and half turned from you, showing you his profile. He had a slightly hooked nose and a sharp chin, and his dark, glowering brows didn’t lend any softness to his already angular and gaunt face. “Gilvas,” he said, so softly you nearly missed it. “My name is Gilvas.”

“Well, Gilvas,” you said with a faint chuckle, “I think we’ve got to find a way to stop scaring the living shit out of each other whenever we meet… Unless you want to keep shaking me from the stacks like an apple from a tree…”

He stepped back then and blinked softly. The tiniest smile graced his lips and he stared at you. “Perhaps we should,” he said. Taking another few steps back, his legs moving like silent mechanical levers in an inventor’s toy, he swallowed again and sighed. “What are you working on today?”

Your gaze dropped to the scattered books and you picked one up and held it out to him. “See for yourself.”

He reached falteringly for the book and missed, eyelids fluttering. “Like I care anyway,” he said, turning and leaving.

“Wait,” you called. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

At that, he halted again. “Excuse me?”

“I forgot…” you admitted. “I forgot that…”

“That what?”  he snarled, rounding on you and rearing up again, though only slightly this time. His pendulous body acted as a counterweight and he hung there like a nightmare between the shelves. “That I can’t see you in this light? That catching you was a literal shot in the dark? That I can’t read the title of a book this close to my face?” He brandished the tome before flinging it roughly into the depths behind you.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly.

Your admission must have taken the wind out of him because he sagged, returning his lethally-clawed spider legs to the ground again and turning away, resting his weight on the shelf with a hand as he did so. “I shouldn't have lost my temper,” he said quietly, and then left.

Chance meetings with him after that seemed to occur more regularly, though none matched that one for drama, to your relief. Finally, on one rainy afternoon as you stood by the window taking a break, he approached you. His hair was tied back off his face that day, revealing its gaunt angles and bruised-looking shadows. He was clearly a wreck of his former self, but you thought you could see the ghost of who he had been.

“You’ve finished the first four sections,” he stated.

You turned from the rainy view and nodded. “Yeah. It’s still a lifetime’s work to fix all this, you know? I’m just grouping it by category. If you want a detailed catalogue of everything that’s in here, you need to hire someone permanently.”

He nodded. “I’m aware. Though frankly, I can’t see the point. When I die, the whole estate will be broken up anyway.”

The bluntness of his words took you by surprise and you paced over to him. He wavered, as if on the point of stepping back into the safety of the shadows, but he remained where he was. He had the body of a black widow spider, you had come to realise, with the black carapace marked with the hourglass of red. The red streak in his hair highlighted it, and the colour was picked up again in his inhuman, garnet-red eyes and in the swirling, watercolour birthmark across the right side of his face and neck.

“Don’t say that,” you breathed.

“Why not?” he scoffed. “It’s the truth. I have no heirs.”

“Gilvas…” you began, but you stopped. It wasn’t your place. In the months you’d been here, all the two of you had discussed was poetry and shared the odd comment on whatever your current topic was.

With a long inhale, he said, “Tell me about yourself?”

“What about me?” you laughed. “I’m an archivist, my best friend is an orc, I’ve lived in Starfall Springs all my life, save for going to the university at Old Trollbridge, and —”

“What college?”

“At Trollbridge?” you asked. “Lady Francis.” Lady Francis of the Barbed Arrow, to give it its full title, but no one called it that.

He smiled. “I was at Calnehouse.”

Something softened in him then as he trailed his elegant, if bony, fingertips along the edge of the table.

“Met my wife there.”

Your heart leapt. This was the first time he’d ever mentioned her - or anything personal really. “What did she study?” you asked in a whisper.

“Foreign languages,” he said, voice catching. “She was brilliant.”

“You must have loved her very much…” you offered, your words feeling empty and inadequate.

Meekly, he nodded. “She would have liked you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm.”

With a shy smile, you ventured, “May I ask why?”

He twitched his head in a ‘follow me’ gesture, and you walked by his side to the back of the library. A panel stood between two wide bookshelves, and he pressed a rosette amid the ornate carving. With a click, it sprang free from the wall, and he ducked through it with barely a whisper of room on each side of his body, leaving you to follow after. As the door closed behind you, the corridor was plunged into complete darkness.

You gasped and shot a hand out for the wall.

“This way. It’s not far,” Gilvas murmured, and a moment later, a shaft of light pierced through the absolute blackness and the pair of you emerged at the other end in an unfamiliar part of the house.

“Where are we?” you asked as you watched him squeeze through and step down into a slightly lower passage. He turned and, to your surprise, offered you his hand.

You took it and found his skin cool, almost cold, and his grip strong despite the slight tremble to his fingers. He steadied you and then let go, allowing you to look around. Portraits hung all down the corridor and you stared from one to the other of them. Most seemed to be of driders, although you picked out a tiefling in one, and what appeared to be a human in another.

Finally, your eyes lighted on a striking likeness of a young, female drider with pure white hair and lavender skin. “Is that…?”

Silently, he nodded and blinked slowly.

You crossed to her and stared up at the modestly sized painting. The drider was laughing, caught on the moment of turning to look out at the viewer, hair swirling. You thought of all the life and vivaciousness he’d missed out on since holing himself up in here after her death. “She’s beautiful,” you choked. “I’m so sorry you lost her.”

“There was a fire,” he said. “Took out the whole east wing. Gutted it. I… I couldn’t reach them.”

“Them?” you blurted unthinkingly.

“She was… She was with…”

A chill plunged through you as you remembered what Naril had told you, and you turned from the painting. “Stop,” you hissed. “You don't have to relive that. I’m sorry.”

He blinked down at you, face achingly sad. “I’m glad you came here, you know?”

“I thought I was just a nuisance, reorganising all your books and getting in the way…”

He managed a weak, wonky smile and shook his head. “This place has been the same for too long.”

With a quick glance back over your shoulder at the laughing drider, you asked, “How… Low long?”

“Nine years,” he said. “She died in our last year of university. In the spring.”

“And you’ve lived here alone all this time?”

“I’m not alone,” he said, turning and looking pointedly down the length of the corridor.

Frowning, you turned and found Chiara standing at the far end, gawping at the pair of you. “My lord?” the harpy croaked, looking stunned to find you there. “Is…?” she looked from you to him again. “Is everything alright?”

His lip twitched fractionally, and he nodded. “I was just…” he sighed. “Never mind. I should let you get back to work. I promise not to shake you from the rafters again.”

“Only if you promise to catch me,” you grinned as he opened up the passageway for you.

He faltered. And then nodded. “Deal.”

Final Part --->

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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[satendou]

hiii!!!!!!! can i request a scenario where tendou (+ bokuto if u want!! if not that’s fine) seem to only say they love reader during sex and it’s making the reader really insecure and unsure if the relationship is serious or not. i love ur writing!!! seriously i’ve read monster at least five times ❤️❤️ 

as if i wouldn’t do poly if you give me the option. if you give me an opening i will take it don’t test me. i don’t think i filled out the exact requirements of your request but this is what i came up with so

༶•┈┈ 𐐪 ┈♛ ♛┈ 𐑂 ┈┈•༶   

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༶•┈┈ 𐐪 ┈♛ ♛┈ 𐑂 ┈┈•༶      

↠ includes: bokuto, tendo

↠ warnings: angst, fluff

❀ུ۪   they probably don’t even realize what they’re doing honestly. like tendo is better at physical expressions of affection just because he’s afraid of how verbal ones will be received. it stems from telling people about his feelings for them and watching the disgust on their face afterwards. physical expressions are clearcut and you have to be willing to receive them, so there’s less chance that he’ll be rejected because he reads physical tells very easily. ❀ུ۪   bokuto, i hate to say it, literally just doesn’t think about it. if you say you love him, it’s got to be just that, with no other add ons because he’ll lock onto the additions and forget to respond. sorry bo. ❀ུ۪   tendo figures out something is wrong first, obviously. since he can’t quite figure out what it is, though, he doesn’t say anything and just watches for a while. ❀ུ۪   bokuto doesn’t take long to figure it out either tho. when he asks what’s wrong, he’ll take your reassurances at face value for a little while, but when your mood doesn’t change, he’ll start to realize it isn’t nothing after all. he’s not as tactful as tendo about approaching it tho.

you tried to ignore it, really you did. they probably didn’t mean to do it, especially tendo. he wasn’t used to affection in general, so when you expressed that you loved him, he would often draw you into a tender kiss but never say it back.

in bokuto’s case, you just chalked it up to him forgetting. which, when you actually thought about it, only made you more insecure whenever he was hovering over you in bed. the only time he said it was when his hips were rutting into yours, the words a harsh grunt as he pleasured the both of you.

“babe?” tendo asked, resting his hand atop yours. he watched you jump and give him quick smile, not meeting his eyes. “what’s going on?”

you stilled, hand curling into a fist on your thigh beneath the table. you knew better than to lie to him, knew you would never get away with it, but still you said, “nothing. i’m fine.”

you didn’t ask him why.

sharing a glance with bokuto, tendo realized even he noticed your strange behavior, his yellow eyes narrowed with concern as he stared at you.

“no, there’s definitely something,” bokuto said, and tendo wanted to facepalm as you stood up. 

you couldn’t even muster the energy to pretend today, gazing out the restaurant window with a distant expression. “i, uh, need the bathroom. i’ll be right back.”

you couldn’t bring yourself to look into the mirror, afraid seeing yourself would make you cry. you were already having a hard enough time holding back tears today, the fear and insecurity especially prevalent as you tried to have lunch with them. every little thing, from an overlooked comment to each whisper shared between them across the table, felt like a barb in your skin, sinking in and causing another negative thought to surface.

you weren’t sure if you could keep the facade up any longer, knowing you needed to just talk to them about it. surely they would understand.

they were waiting for you at the register when you emerged, sharp eyes following your movements through the crowd. you were shrunken in on yourself, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your side as if to hide yourself from something. when you came to stand beside them, your gaze remained locked on the window, watching the people pass by outside.

“let’s go home, hm?” tendo asked, staring down at you while bo led the way through the tables. 

the bell dinged above the door and you were hit with the cool fall air, each of your hands being taken in one of your partner’s, though your grip was loose around their fingers. they tried to fill the silence for you, but it fell flat whenever you hummed in response instead of saying anything, eyes locked on anything but them. there was a flare of guilt in your chest, settling like a rock in your stomach when you caught a glimpse of bokuto’s hurt expression, his shoulders slumped when you didn’t laugh at one of his jokes.

you really needed to talk to them, but as the key to your apartment slid into the lock, your heart slammed in your chest. you didn’t even know how to bring it up, how to articulate your worries, and there was the very real fear that bringing it up would cause truths you didn’t want to know to come to light.

maybe they really didn’t love you and only kept you around out of pity, or maybe they had fallen out of love with you before they ever got a chance to say the words-- those thoughts settled like ice in your veins.

the door shut behind tendo, the silence inside the apartment was tense as they stared down at you. you felt like you were under a microscope and you knew it was well deserved. they were hurting just as much as you and, by saying nothing, you were all hurting each other.

“tell us what’s going on in that pretty little head, princess,” tendo cooed, turning you around and drawing you into his arms. he had shed his hoodie, and his t-shirt did nothing to muffle the sob that broke out against his chest.

whatever he had expected, it wasn’t that.

bokuto was on you in an instant, wrapping his arms around both you and tendo and cocooning you in a warmth that would have been comforting a few months ago, but was now stifling. still, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, because it would mean looking them in the eyes as you asked the dreaded question.

“do you love me?”

they took a moment to understand what you meant, your voice thick and hoarse as tears streamed down your cheeks, and it felt for a moment like the room rocked-- at least for tendo.

all those whispered ‘i love you’s’ came back to haunt him as he realized his response wasn’t enough for you. he should have known as much when they stopped coming, but he had ignored it.

bokuto took longer to get what you meant, returning tendo’s stunned, understanding look with a quizzical one, one brow raised. 

tendo forced your head up to look at him, cupping your tear stained cheeks in his long spidery fingers, and said, “of course i do. i love you so much it hurts. i don’t even know how to express how much i love you, sweetheart.”

your eyes widened at the conviction, fresh tears spilling down and pooling between his fingers and your skin. you had only heard him speak that passionately about volleyball and manga, and never had he looked so serious before. you blinked rapidly, trying to clear your blurry vision as he leaned in, covering your lips with his.

it was about that time that bokuto finally fitted the missing puzzle piece and bent nearly in half, nuzzling your cheek and littering kisses on your skin. his heart hurt seeing you so torn up over the whole thing-- he knew for a fact it was a big misunderstanding. you had never heard the way he and tendo talked about you when you weren’t listening, but he realized now maybe you should.

“baby, ‘m sorry,” he murmured into your ear. tendo pulled away, allowing bokuto to spin you around to face him. his hands were larger and more callused than tendo’s when he cupped your face, making sure you continued to look at him as he spoke. “i love you too. so much. i love you more than volleyball and-- and barbecue and--”

he paused, and tendo piped up. “volleyball?”

bokuto shot him a sharp look but couldn’t quite hide the amusement, causing tendo’s lips to curl up at the corners.

you hid your face in bokuto’s chest then, letting tears spill anew as the weight in your chest disappeared, allowing you to breathe freely again. through shuddery breaths, you said, “‘m sorry i didn’t say anything sooner. i thought-- i thought i was just being silly.”

tendo’s arms covered yours around bokuto’s back, his head resting atop yours as he said, “we’re sorry too, princess. we should have said it back. i guess we just... it doesn’t matter. we won’t let you down again, ‘kay?”

“okay,” you murmured, looking up into bo’s bright yellow eyes. 

before you could think, his lips had captured yours, prying your lips apart so he could slip his tongue into your mouth. you felt yourself being lifted up off the floor, tendo’s laugh rumbling against your back as he said, “you beat me to it, ko. wanna show her how much we love her?”

bokuto pulled away to look at him over your shoulder, lips shiny and swollen from the kiss.

“oh yeah, i think she deserves that, don’t you?”

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[dettiot]

a quarrel between friends (not lovers)

Set in-between The Mandalore Plot and Voyage of Temptation

The blue swirl of hyperspace filled the viewports of the main bedchamber of the Coronet. But Obi-Wan Kenobi paid no attention to what was visible through the transparisteel.

He had a much more pleasing view in front of him. 

“Obi,” Satine said, smiling without opening her eyes, “stop staring.” 

“Why would I want to do that?” he asked, leaning down and brushing his lips slowly over her face. First one eyebrow, then down the line of her nose. Across her cheek and along her jaw, pausing to suck lightly on her earlobe as she let out a soft sigh and tried to wiggle away from him. But Obi-Wan wouldn’t let her, sliding his mouth over her skin to her lips and kissing her slowly. 

And Satine wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her lips warm against his. 

She brushed her nose against his. “Are you all right?” 

What a silly question, he thought, as he rested close to her, their skin bare underneath the silk and wool of the bedcoverings. “Of course I am.” 

Her blue eyes, so pure and clear compared to his muddled blue-gray-green ones, looked up at him. “You seem a little distant. A little reserved.” 

Obi-Wan let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I . . . I have to keep my shields very secure, with Anakin on the Coronet as well. Our bond is very strong--I didn’t want him to know about what we’re doing.” 

“Why not?” Satine asked, lightly stroking his shoulders. “He cares about you quite a lot. It’s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together. Why bother to conceal this?” 

“Beyond the reasons we’re already hiding this?” Obi-Wan asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Telling my people I’m involved with a jetii is one thing,” Satine said. “Telling the man who’s basically your son about us is different.” 

Deep down, he could recognize the truth of Satine’s words. Even if he felt a flicker of annoyance at how her politcal reasons were supposedly more valid than his personal ones. But then, that was the peril of being with Satine: she was a politician. 

He never thought he would have ended up like this. To fall so deeply for a woman whose life revolved around politics, when he so distrusted politicians. 

“Anakin is in love with Senator Amidala,” he said. “And she has a clear affection for him. But he has never said anything to me about her, about wanting a relationship with her. I’m honoring the boundary he set between us by ignoring his feelings, so doing the same when it comes to you and me is the least I can do.” 

Satine rolled her eyes, but when she spoke, her voice was fond. “Men.” 

“Thank you for making it about us being male instead of being Jedi,” Obi-Wan said dryly, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“Because all men are the same, regardless of whether they’re Jedi or not. Stars forbid you talk about your feelings with each other,” Satine said, stretching her arms over her head and then propping herself up. “Perhaps he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t think you’d understand.” 

With a shake of his head, Obi-Wan rolled onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. “I’ve given him every opportunity to talk to me.” 

“Ben,” Satine said softly, leaning over and kissing his shoulder softly, “even I am sometimes intimidated to talk to you. Just imagine what it must be like for Anakin, who looks at you as his mentor, an ideal Jedi . . . the man he least wants to disappoint.”

“I can’t make him talk, Satine,” Obi-Wan said, trying to let his frustration go into the Force. “If he doesn’t want to tell me the truth, then I have to respect his choices.” 

She shook her head, her soft blonde locks swishing around her shoulders. “If only you were both Mandalorians. You would have a fight and clear the air between you and then things would be better.” 

“That’s quite an attitude for a pacifist to take,” Obi-Wan said, knowing it was a bit of a low blow but unable to help himself. Unable to hold back and enjoy this brief moment with Satine, because he knew it was nearly at its end and he didn’t know when--or if--they would ever have this again. 

His barb landed, he could tell, from how she stiffened. “I suppose that’s true,” Satine said, tossing the covers aside and rising from the bed. “I guess I’m not perfect, either, unlike you.” 

“Satine,” Obi-Wan said, struggling with the bedcovers to reach her. “I’m sorry--”

“You’re not, because you know you’re right,” Satine said, picking up her robe and wrapping it around her body. But then she sighed and turned to look at him.

Obi-Wan wondered what she saw when she looked at him. If she saw what he imagined: a tired, slight man, growing old before his time, kneeling on a bed and unable to break free from a set of sheets, desperate to be with her and knowing he shouldn’t want her. 

Slowly, Satine walked over to the side of the bed and reached out to stroke his hair. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, soaking in the peace he found with her. The warmth, the care, the support. 

“Oh, Obi,” she whispered, gazing at him. “If only you could express your feelings as strongly as you feel them.”

It wasn’t the Jedi way to be emotional. To be passionate. Yet it was true: he felt love and anger and hurt as strongly as anyone did. He just didn’t show them. 

“When I’m with you, I can,” he whispered back, wishing he could live in her eyes. 

In unison, they sank into each other’s arms and for a moment, they were both able to forget everything but themselves. Satine’s hands were warm and soft as she ran them over his hair and shoulders and back. He wrapped his own arms around her waist, relying on the solidness of her presence, her strength. 

“Come, my dear,” she said, pressing a kiss to the part of his hair. “We need to put on a show for your former apprentice and for everyone else on this ship. We can’t have anyone thinking there’s anything between us.” 

And even though it was the plan they had both agreed upon before tumbling into bed together last night, Obi-Wan’s heart ached at the deception. 

But she was right. So Obi-Wan nodded and tilted his head back, doing his best to smile at her. “Do you think you can sound annoyed and frustrated with me?” 

“Oh, easily, Obi-Wan,” she said, smiling back at him. 

That made him laugh a little, and he felt his heart lightening even with everything ahead of them. 

Which was probably how he knew, deep down, in the part of his heart that was exlusively Obi-Wan, untouched by Jedi teachings or restrictions, that he loved her. 

And always would. 

End.

My Star Wars Fic Masterlist

[hiscyarika]

Some Things You Just Can’t Speak About

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Reader and Javier work through the emotional baggage that comes with their jobs in Colombia. (Unofficial Prequel to When It’s Finally Over)

Warning(s): Heavy Angst, Hopelessness, Grieving, Mentions of Death, Blood, Mentions of Violence/Terrorism

A/N: So like a lot of people, I’ve fallen in love with Taylor Swift’s new album folklore. And when I heard the song “epiphany” (which I highly recommend you listen to while you read. I would link it but I’m afraid the post wouldn’t show up in the tags. The hellsite has been weird about that lately), it immediately sparked the idea for this oneshot. I just hope that this hasn’t been done yet, because I’ve already seen that a couple of authors have used songs on the album as inspiration. I really hope you guys enjoy this. It’s taken a couple of days to get it just the way that I want it. And a special thanks to @bestintheparsec​ for beta reading this for me! I love you Lauren! ❤️

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Gif by @pascvl​, originally from this post. Please let me know if you’d rather me not use the gif! I’ll take it down immediately with no questions asked.

The thing about Colombia is that even after the smoke clears, the blood remains. It’s a crimson river that runs through the streets of Bogotá, then dries as a deep, lingering stain. The blood of men, women, and children. Guilty and innocent alike. And so long as Pablo Escobar lives, the stain will never wash away.

Even the sky burns scarlet with the dying sunset when you finally step out of the hospital. Ambulance sirens glow bright as paramedics attempt to bring more people into the already overwhelmed building.

Early in the afternoon, over two hundred pounds of C4 had been detonated outside of a crowded shopping center. Dozens were killed on impact and the death toll has continued to rise throughout the day. For hours, you haven’t stopped moving, trying desperately to save those who’d survived long enough to get to the hospital to be treated. Fortunately, recovery will be possible for some, but what weighs more heavily on your shoulders are the countless others that you could do nothing for.

Even now that you stand outside with a chance to breathe, your lungs can’t draw in enough air. The sharp stench of antiseptic still burns your nose, turning your stomach in violent knots. Every muscle is sore with a bone deep ache as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your car. But none of it compares to the stabbing pain in your soul, the helplessness and defeat that throbs more fiercely with every passing second.

You climb into your car, meeting your own eyes in the rearview mirror. You tear the nursing badge from your scrub shirt and toss it onto the passenger seat, not caring when it slides off the vinyl and onto the floor. Immediately, you have to close your eyes at the sight of the bloodstains on your clothes, a gruesome token of a day spent battling death.

All your years of schooling never prepared you to fight this war. You know how to read vitals. You know how to staunch bleeding and stitch wounds. You know how to intubate someone, to breathe for them. These are all things that can be taught. And you’ve learned them well.

But watching a woman die on the table, one close to your own age, is something entirely its own. You never get used to the shrill cry of the heart rate monitor as it flatlines. Nothing can prepare you for standing in front of an elderly woman, telling her that she’s outlived her daughter. They can’t teach you how to crouch down in front of a six-year-old boy and explain to him that he’ll never see his mother again. There’s no way to gently shatter someone’s world. As their reality crumbles, it takes a piece of you with it, and you only have so much of yourself to give.

The drive back to the apartment passes in a blurred haze, your mind on autopilot as you navigate your way in the growing darkness. You repress every emotion that threatens to bubble to the surface of your consciousness. Forcing numbness is far easier than letting your humanity tear you apart.

The last of the light dies from the sky as you pull into the parking lot, right next to Javier’s Jeep. You find your only solace in the fact that he’s home. In what little news you’d been able to hear, you’d learned that the DEA had been called to the scene. Escobar had never claimed responsibility for the attack, but a confession wasn’t necessary to know the truth, so you knew Javier would be part of the investigation.

Sucking in a deep breath, you try to prepare yourself for whatever state of mind he might be in. Javier brings work home in the form of endless files and a guilty conscience. Both he processes with whiskey and sleep deprivation. But you understand. You’re fighting with him on the front lines of this war. Losses are shared just the same as victories. Even the hard ones.

You drag yourself from the driver’s seat, locking the car up once the door is closed. The stairs to the apartment seem so much steeper as you stare at them now, and it takes what little remains of your perseverance to make it up.

The usual squeal of the front door grates on your nerves as you enter the apartment, more so than it normally does, anyway. You stop for a moment in the doorway, toeing off your shoes and listening carefully for any sign of Javier. From where you stand, you can see the soft yellow glow of the lamp in the living room and after a moment you realize that the voice you hear is coming from the television.

Padding quietly into the room, you feel your heart clench when you see what’s playing on the screen. It’s one of the local news stations, replaying footage from earlier in the day. You’re too tired to mentally translate the quick Spanish that the news anchor speaks, but when the numbers appear next to her to note the casualties, it’s not something that you can ignore. There are more than you thought.

You lose yourself in that news report, your mind running back through all of the trauma that you’ve seen. The shouting and screaming and crying becomes the soundtrack of your thoughts, all blended together in a somehow deafening cacophony despite the fact that it’s all in your head. You see that little boy again, the confused look he had given his grandmother as he asked her when his mother was going to come back from heaven. Oh, how her tear-filled eyes had pleaded with you to give some kind of an answer. And you’d tried. You really had.

You’re pulled from the violent reverie when the news report is replaced by a commercial. You pay it no mind, instead looking around the room for any sign of Javier. It doesn’t take you long to find him.

He’s passed out on the couch, sitting up with a glass of whiskey still in his hand. Even in sleep, his brow is furrowed, and worry lines cut deep into his forehead. Upon further inspection, you find the liquor bottle and a messy array of manila folders on the wooden coffee table in front of him, just as you expected.

You shake your head slightly, though he can’t see the action. The ache in your heart grows stronger as you watch him, his lips parted slightly as he breathes deeply and evenly. You suppose it’s the one thing that you have to be grateful for. As closely involved as he is with the hunt for Escobar, every night he comes home is a blessing. And for him to be sound asleep despite the day’s tragedies is truly invaluable.

You decide to leave him. Better for him to rest uninterrupted than to wake him. And though you know it’s better to work through the horrors you’ve been subjected to before you sleep, you don’t have the energy to face any of it right now. So you step closer to Javi, carefully prying the glass from his hand. Against your better judgement, you finish it off. You wince at the way it burns down your throat as you place the empty glass on the coffee table, but the warmth in your chest that follows is a welcome relief.

You scan the room then. It takes you a minute, but eventually you find the remote on the floor by his feet, probably dropped after he’d fallen asleep. You don’t hesitate to press the power button on the TV, and it brings you a bit of peace to watch the screen go black. Silence falls over the room, interrupted only by a soft snore from Javi.

You turn back to the coffee table, making sure that there’s a paperclip in each file to mark where he’d been. All the while, you try to avoid reading over any classified information, not that your brain could truly process a word of it in your current state of exhaustion. You then close the folders and stack them neatly on top of each other, letting out a heavy breath as you push yourself to stand upright again.

Your face falls in sympathy as you look at Javi once more. Even in sleep he looks exhausted. Your own emotional turmoil aside, it pains you to see the way that Colombia has worn him down. Every day he grows more desperate to find the man responsible for so much suffering, and with each day that passes, you know it only seems like he’s getting further and further away. You wish there was something more you could do to ease his mind.

After another moment, you take the blanket that’s draped over the back of the loveseat, unfolding it and gently covering Javi with it. Your movements are slow and cautious in an attempt to keep from waking him. Once you have the blanket situated, you cradle his cheek lightly in one hand, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

You close your eyes at the contact, the first and only gentle interaction of your day. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel your chest begin to swell, and emotion wraps around your throat like barbed wire. Your lips linger for a few seconds longer than necessary as the dam inside you cracks, threatening to give way to a flood at a moment’s notice.

But as you pull away, you feel the feather light brush of eyelashes against your cheeks. You open your eyes, finding soft, tired brown eyes staring back at you. You’re frozen in place as he takes a moment to rouse himself, and once he’s more alert, his eyes trail down your body, catching sight of the blood on your scrubs. When he looks at you again, there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. You don’t have to tell him what you’ve seen, because he already knows. He’s seen it too.

Javier places his hands on your hips, gripping them gently as he tries to pull you closer to him. You brace yourself against his shoulders, resisting him while you’re still wearing your scrubs. Your chin falls to your chest in defeat. It only takes a moment to understand, and he carefully pulls the shirt up and over your head, making sure to keep the bloody fabric away from your face. Once it’s off, he tosses it carelessly to the floor.

You collapse into him as the dam breaks, and he takes it in stride, cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. Your knees land on either side of him, and with his free hand he guides you into a more comfortable position against him. In any other context, this arrangement with you straddling his lap would be carnal and passionate, but all Javier can feel now is the same pain that you force from your body with each gut-wrenching sob.

There are no words he can give you that will ease your pain. It’s something he knows from experience, repeated experience that he wishes you didn’t share with him. He knows what this constant fight against death and injustice can do to a person. He’s not blind to the ways that he’s changed in the years since he came to Colombia. Javier would do anything to make sure that you don’t suffer the same fate. You’re too good to have your gentle soul torn to shreds.

But he knows that all he can do for now is hold you. He can let you cry and mourn and release every emotion you’ve had to keep caged since you first stepped into the hospital this afternoon. And as you wrap your fists around the fabric of his shirt, he only holds you closer, clutching you tightly as his own pain begins to bubble back up into his chest. He’d tried so hard to drown it in booze and escape it in sleep, but Escobar had taken it too far this time. The saving grace is that the rest of the country agrees.

Javier cries silently with you, and though the manifestation of his grief is much quieter than yours, it’s by no means trivial in comparison. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And break he does, in the safest place that he possibly can. He knows that there’s no judgement here, and that there never will be. So he closes his eyes and presses himself closer to you, your proximity being the only thing that could possibly soothe him.

Time is rendered tangential as you mourn together, though eventually you both fall quiet again with no more tears left to shed. Only when you stir against him does Javier lift his head and open his eyes. He manages a halfhearted smile as you meet his gaze, gently wiping away the remnants of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. In turn, you do the same for him, and he turns his head just in time to press a kiss to the underside of your wrist before you pull away again.

He watches you intently, and for just a moment you seem to hesitate, but then you capture his lips with yours. Javier lets out a soft breath in surprise, but soon melts into your touch. You are the salve to his very being, soothing his soul in a way that no one and nothing else can. At the end of the day, when the smoke has cleared and it’s time to count the dead, he thanks whatever god looks down on him, because he has you. Never will he march into battle alone. And he’s grateful, because he knows that he would never survive the war without you by his side.

You pull away again, and the look in your eyes says far more than words ever could. Because in your eyes is the same reverence for him that he holds for you. It’s night like this where you question why you chose the life you did, why you endure more anguish than any one person ever should have to. But then you look at Javier, and you know that you’re fighting the good fight. You know that with him, you can keep going until you reach the end of it all.

Javier presses a quick, soft kiss to your forehead, then shifts again to turn out the lamp light. In the dark, he carefully maneuvers you with him to lie down on the couch. You’re both still in work clothes and the couch is far less comfortable than your shared bed, but that’s not important now. What matters is the feeling of his heartbeat under your cheek as your head rests on his sternum. In just a few hours, the sun will rise again and you’ll both be forced to return to the battlefield, but for now you can find just a glimpse of relief in each other’s embrace.

-

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[samsexualdeancurious]

Rediscover (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Dean x Reader

Words: 2,627

Summary: Sam and Dean reunite with someone they never thought they would see again.

Warnings: heavily implied Wincest, threesome, oral sex (male and female receiving)

A/N: Written for Meghan's May 2020 prompt.

Betaed by @manawhaat

---

When the blindfold is removed and Sam opens his eyes, the last thing he expects to see is Y/N’s smiling face.

“Hiya, Sammy,” she says cheerfully as she saws through the ropes binding him to the chair. “Long time, no see.”

“Y/N?” He stares at her in disbelief, shakes his head, and squeezes his eyes shut because there’s no way she can really be standing here. “What? H-how?”

“I’ll do the tests for you,” she assures him as the last of the ropes fall away. “Let’s go find your brother first, though, so I only have to do them once.”

Sam can’t find the words to respond so he just follows behind her through the witch’s compound. They find Dean a few doors down in an almost identical position to the one Sam was just in, though Dean has made a little more progress in escaping his ropes.

“Dean,” Sam says, forgetting about Y/N for a moment as he crouches beside his brother and yanks the blindfold from his eyes.

“Thank god. Get me out of he- holy shit. Y/N?!?”

“Hey, big boy,” she says with a grin and a little wave. Like their long-gone lover being back from the dead is just another walk in the park. Though, if Sam’s going to be honest with himself, he shouldn’t be that surprised when loved ones come back from the dead anymore. It seems to be all the rage as of late.

“Sam, is that-”

“Haven’t done the tests yet,” Sam says softly, lifting his head to meet Dean’s hopeful gaze. He doesn’t want to get either of their hopes up but he can’t help the lump in his throat. It’s been so long…

“Let’s get out of here and you two boy toys can do whatever you want to me.” Y/N shoots them a wink and holds out a hand to tug Dean to his feet. “Where’d you park the car? Mine’s a few blocks east of here.”

“South,” Dean answers, eyes locked on her face. “Is the witch…?”

“I took care of her for you,” Y/N assures him. “We should probably get rid of the body. Your trunk is bigger. Which one of you wants to go get the Impala?”

Dean and Sam exchange a look and then Dean pats his pockets. “Witch took my keys,” he grumbles.

“They’re probably with your weapons. I think I saw those on my way in.”

Sure enough, the keys to the Impala are piled with their weapons, phones, and wallets in the same room where the witch lies dead on the floor. Sam checks that she’s actually dead - she is - and then Dean strides off on his own to get the car.

Sam’s alone with a Y/N, again, and as he eyes her a shiver runs up his spine. He’s still not sure Y/N even is Y/N. At least he’s armed now.

“It’s been a while,” she says, leaning against the wall to the side of the doorframe. “I half expected you guys to come looking for me years ago.”

She shoots him a smirk like she’s teasing him but Sam’s too busy puzzling through what she’s just said to catch onto her playful tone. Look for her? “Y/N,” Sam says slowly, struggling to find words through his confusion and the emotions knotted up in his chest. “John- dad told us you died.”

Her eyes go wide and she straightens up, fists curled tight. “That dick! I know faking my death was part of the whole plan but I didn’t think he’d lie to you guys, too.”

“Faking your death?”

She grimaces. “It’s a long story, and one I don’t really want to tell more than once. How have you guys been doing? I saw you died - again - a few years ago...”

“That’s also a long story.” Sam runs a hand through his hair. “We’ve died a few times, actually.”

“A few times?”

Sam chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It, uh, didn’t stick?”

She stares at him, incredulous, for a moment before laughing. “I guess if anyone was going to come back from the dead repeatedly, it would be you Winchesters.”

--

Dean returns with the Impala a few minutes later. As soon as he pops the trunk, he pulls out a silver knife and hands it to Y/N. She makes a small cut on her forearm before taking the flask Dean’s holding out. She takes a big swig and swallows, grimacing.

“What the hell is that?” she grumbles, handing the flask back.

“Salted holy water.”

Dean smirks at her reaction, screwing the cap back on, but he doesn’t look at her, though. He can’t. He’s focusing his attention on straightening things in the trunk that definitely don’t need to be straightened. Sam, though, Sam can’t keep his eyes off of her as she plucks a bandana from the trunk and wraps it around her arm.

“Y/N,” he manages, voice breaking with every emotion he’s been pushing down since she first took off his blindfold.

He reaches for her and she comes easily, fitting into his arms just as perfectly as she always has. It may be fifteen years since he last touched her, last held her, last cradled her head in one palm and pressed their lips together, but it still feels as right as it did way back then. Even more so when Y/N loops her arms around his neck and happily returns the kiss, fingers sliding into his hair.

“Little Sammy Winchester grew up,” she teases when they pause for air. One hand comes around to cradle his cheek, her thumb rubbing softly against his skin. “Look at you. So handsome. Still with that hair, though.”

“I missed you,” he mumbles, eyes stinging as his view of her blurs with tears.

She wipes under his eye, catching the single tear that escapes when he blinks. “I’m right here, baby. You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

Sam nods, grinning a little stupidly, and she kisses him again. When she pulls away, she turns to find Dean watching them.

“C’mere, big guy,” she says, stepping away from Sam but not out of his arms, holding one hand out to the older Winchester.

Dean breaks then, falling forward into her embrace with a little choked sound that lands in her hair. She holds him close, hands rubbing over his broad shoulders as his arms wrap around her waist and hold on like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he lets go.

“Dad told us you were gone,” Dean manages, voice muffled against her shoulder. “You were gone and we weren’t even there, we didn’t even get to go to your funeral.”

“Hey.” She gives him a squeeze and turns her head to kiss him softly, one hand sliding around to cup his jaw. “I’m sorry, Dean. I thought he would have told you guys the truth. If I’d known he lied to you, too-”

“What happened?” Dean interrupts, turning his face away while he wipes his eyes.

“Some asshole hunter was after me. Only God knows why, but he was relentless so John helped me fake my death and found me a place to hide away until it was safe,” you explain, your hand still on his face. Like you can’t bear to stop touching him. “I didn’t learn until recently that Gordon was killed just a few years later.”

Gordon. Sam grits his teeth, old anger stirring in his chest. That fucking asshole. “I killed him,” he bites out without thinking. “About three years after you... ‘died’,” Sam air quotes. “He was turned into a vampire and I killed him.”

“Took his head off with barbed wire,” Dean adds. His eyes are red but he’s pulled himself together enough to don a slightly proud smirk.

Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, Sammy. That’s intense.”

Sam shrugs. “I was locked in a room with him. I had to improvise. It’s not my proudest moment, but it was me or him.”

“Hey.” She loops one arm around his waist, the other still around Dean’s. “Gordon was an ass. If he was after you, vampire or not, you had the right to defend yourself.”

Sam nods, leaning his cheek against her head at the same time Dean presses his nose and then his lips to her temple. “We’ve missed you,” Sam murmurs, his free arm settling around his brother. Dean imitates him, completing their little circle. “All those years, we thought you were gone…”

The brothers lock eyes and it’s there, clear as day - that spark she saw way back when the three of them first fell into bed together. She glances between them, one eyebrow quirked.

“And you guys?” she asks softly, not wanting to imply anything or offend if she’s wrong.

“Yeah,” Dean says with enough emotion in his voice that she knows how much they needed each other. His thumb rubs softly against the sliver of Sam’s skin where his shirt has ridden up. “We’re all each other has. I mean, things weren’t the same without you but we made it work. We leaned on each other.”

“Good.” She gives them both a squeeze. “I never wanted you guys to have to be alone.”

“Doesn’t mean we didn’t still spend every night wishing you were with us,” Sam murmurs, ducking his head down to nip at her earlobe. “Between us…”

Y/N shivers and squirms a little at the want in his voice. “Do you guys, uh - do you have a motel room?”

“One king at the Scope Motel on the west side of town,” Dean tells her, dipping his own head down to kiss at the side of her neck before pulling away. “But we’ve got a dead body to take care of first.”

Y/N groans.

--

Y/N decides to drive her own car - a yellow 1969 Chevy Nova SS two-door that Dean immediately starts cooing over. She bats him away from peeking under the hood, insisting that if he wants to pick up where they left off any time soon then they better get to work. Dean pouts but backs off and the trio pile into their respective vehicles to go find a safe, discrete place to burn and bury the body. Sam finds himself glancing in the rearview mirror over and over, just to make sure Y/N is still following. He can’t shake the fear that if he takes his eyes off her for too long, she’ll vanish.

When they find a good spot, she grabs her own shovel and lends a hand in digging. Dean grumbles the whole time and she gives him shit about his old man back and everything just feels so right that Sam can’t stop the second round of tears that well up in his eyes.

“Oh, Sammy,” she murmurs when she sees his face in the light of the burning body. She reaches up to brush his hair back. “I’m right here, baby. C’mon, let’s finish this up and head to your motel room.”

Sam nods, turning his face into her palm, and draws a deep breath. She smells like dirt and sweat and something sweet, familiar, that stirs heat in his belly.

Suddenly, they can’t get back to the motel fast enough.

--

The motel isn’t anything special but it is nicer than where the boys would usually stay. They’d decided to splurge a little this time around and Sam’s grateful for that fact. He doesn’t want to take Y/N back to a shitty motel with two queens.

As soon as the door has closed and been locked behind them, Y/N turns to face the brothers. She grins and spreads her arms, taking a few backward steps towards the bed.

“Well?” she asks. “You gonna stand there all night?”

Dean moves first this time, shedding his jacket and button-up as he crosses the room to sweep Y/N into his arms and drop her onto the bed. She shrieks, grabbing at his shoulders as they tumble back onto the mattress. Sam laughs at the sight, toeing off his boots and tossing his own top layers in the general direction of their duffel bags. When he reaches the bed, he tugs off Dean’s boots and then Y/N’s. She peeks over Dean’s shoulder at him and crooks one finger in an unmistakable “come hither” gesture.

Sam strips off his jeans and boxers in one move before climbing up onto the bed. He wriggles his hands between their bodies to find and undo Dean’s belt.

“Too many clothes,” he teases as he gets the belt open and moves on to the button and zipper.

“I agree,” Y/N says, squirming out from under Dean so she can sit up and start taking off her own shirts.

Both men freeze at that sight, eyes locked on her as she tosses her flannel aside and peels her t-shirt over her head.

“Wow,” Dean sighs, one hand reaching out to settle on the bare skin of her waist.

She shoots him a wink, teasing her fingertips along the top edge of her lacy bra cups. “Like what you see?”

Sam nods for both of them, reaching for her with lust-darkened eyes. She rises up onto her knees, allowing him to pull her into his lap. The bed rocks suddenly and they both turn to see Dean flopping like a fish out of water, trying to get rid of all his remaining layers at once.

“Some things never change,” Y/N says with a fond smile, twisting to grab Dean’s t-shirt and free him from it.

Dean pouts even as his hard cock finally bounces free of his boxers to smack against his belly. Sam unhooks Y/N’s bra and she throws it aside as she leans over to put her mouth on the head of Dean’s cock.

“Oh, my god,” he gasps, head slamming back against the mattress and hands flying to her hair. “Y/N.”

Sam’s own cock throbs at the sight and he shifts around so Y/N can kneel more comfortably on the bed with Sam behind her instead of beneath her. He blankets her back with his body, laying a line of kisses across her shoulders and down her spine.

“Sam,” she whines, grinding her ass back against his cock. “Don’t tease.”

He smirks against her skin and reaches around to find the button of her jeans. While she leaves kitten licks down the side of Dean’s cock, Sam helps her out of her jeans and panties. She arches her back and spreads her thighs with a playful little wiggle of her ass, giving Sam a perfect view of her glistening pussy. He groans and can’t resist. It’s been so long. He has to get a taste.

Y/N whines and presses back against his mouth, silently begging for more. Sam is happy to oblige, laying down on his back to get a better angle. He guides Y/N to straddle his face with hands on her hips.

“Someone’s been practicing,” Y/N says breathlessly. “Goddamn.”

Sam grins against her clit and then delves his tongue between her folds. She tastes even better than he remembered, that perfect blend of sweet and salt and musk he just can’t get enough of.

In the morning, they’ll get her stuff from her motel. She’ll take them with her to get her things from her storage unit in Idaho. Then she’ll follow them back to the bunker and the Winchesters will help her make a space of her own.

Tonight? Sam digs his fingers into her thighs, Dean sits up to pull her into a kiss, and they get to work rediscovering her body.

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward @emoryhemsworth

[chaotic-noceur]

if you love something, let it go

[ day 2 | angstageddon masterlist ]

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: Javier is familiar with the concept of love, but it is not something he’ll allow himself to indulge in.

warnings: heavy angst, swearing, degradation (DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT IN A GOOD MENTAL SPACE)

credits: shout out to my loves @din-damn-djarin @ezrasarm for beta reading and letting me hurt them at too-early-in-the-morning o’clock! Some dialogue was prompted by this shadowhunters clip.

a/n: I AM SORRY. I love every single one of you reading this but I’m an angry sad soul and it had to go somewhere 😬also, im a little all over the place rn so i might be a little slow on replies but im sending all of you virtual hugs!

Seriously, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT IN A GOOD HEAD SPACE.  

gif by @pascvl​

You lose your breath every time he walks into the room. Your heart beats faster when he passes by. Your skin tingles when his breath kisses your skin as he hovers over your shoulder. You think this is the feeling that they talk about in the movies. You think this is love. The thought makes your heart flutter.

His mind goes blank every time he sees you. His heart flares when he hears your laughter and he’s not the cause of it. His mind replays your conversations on an endless loop. He thinks this is the feeling that his father had told him about. He thinks this is love. The thought makes his stomach churn. 

●●●●

The betting pool is started by a new trainee looking to make some quick cash. He bet that he could get a confession out of Javier Peña before the year was through. When word gets out that there’s a wager for the office’s resident grump to finally ‘get his head out of his ass and admit his feelings’, agents from every department are quick to place their bets. It didn’t take a trained agent to see that the pair of you were hopelessly in love.

The pool gets spread so far up the ranks that even Messina hears the whispers. She turns a blind eye to the childish game. She knows that the rumours of their infamous philanderer in love were only that: rumours, half truths, lies. A man with his history wouldn’t know what love was even if it was staring him in the face.

Days turn into weeks, which turn into months but no amount of meddling by the trainees is enough to draw out an admission of his affections. Steve watches you from his perch on Javier’s desk as his partner stabs at the typewriter keys. “You could just talk to 'em instead of destroying government assets.” There’s a smugness in his voice that tells Javier that his meddlesome partner is smirking. 

“Fuck off Murphy.” Your laughter cuts through the bustling office chatter. Javier looks up to see a fresh-faced trainee leaning against your desk, taking up too much of your personal space for his liking. He grits his teeth and once again the sound of his furious typing takes over the room. Steve throws his hands up in mock surrender.

●●●●

The clearing of a throat has you turning your head over your shoulder, coffee pot in hand. Steve is leaning against the door frame with one eyebrow raised. You roll your eyes at him as you return to your coffee making. 

“What do you want, Murphy?” you call over your shoulder, feigned curiosity lacing your voice. You know what he wants. He has that look in his eye, the one that says ‘how many more times do we need to have this talk’. 

“Don’t give me that shit,” he starts. You raise an unamused eyebrow at him in return. He puts his mug down beside you, leans his hip against the counter and folds his arms as he turns to you. “If I have to slap him out of his daydream one more time, he won’t have a face anymore.” You scoff.

“You have no proof that he daydreams about me.” He opens his mouth to speak but your finger strikes his chest before he can. Coffee splashes against the inside of the pot dangerously as you move. “And even if he does, that doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.” Steve snorts at your words.

“Oh, he’s in love with you alright. He talks about you so much that even Connie’s getting fed up.” You shake your head in mock disbelief, an attempt to hide the sheepish smile creeping its way onto your face. The blond man sees right through your charade. “Just, tell him for fucks sake. I need my partner back if we’re gonna take down Escobar.”

You open your mouth to counter him but he’s out of the room before you can organise your thoughts. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his empty cup sitting beside yours. You huff out a laugh, “idiot.”

●●●●

Two months and countless Steve-terventions later, you’d decided that enough was enough. You were getting tired of living in the ‘what ifs’. You wanted to love and be loved by Javier Peña. 

The thought of planning some kind of grand extravagant gesture had crossed your mind but this was Javier you were talking about. He hated grand extravagant gestures. So you settled for just… telling him. No beating around the bush, no carefully-worded metaphors. Just you, your words and your heart. God, you hoped that was enough.

You’re getting ready to leave when the light reflecting off a nearby desk lamp catches your attention. Tracing it back to its source, you find Javier hunched over a heap of files. Spreads of paper are sprawled across every available surface. The corner of your lips turn upwards when he pulls a face at the document in front of him. 

You purse your lips as you contemplate your options: talk to him now, with nowhere to hide from the consequences of your declaration or talk to him during official work hours, where you could be spared prolonged embarrassment. Dozens of scenarios play themselves out in your head, your familiar daydreams altering themselves to fit the scene before you. You let out a puff of air as you settle on talking to him now. Fewer witnesses, for good or for bad. 

You dig around your drawer for your secret stash of snacks before making your way to him. He looks up when he hears the familiar rustling of the packet. A tired smile graces his face as you pull Steve’s chair around, dropping the packet onto his desk as you sit. You fall into the familiar routine and he hands you a nearby file. Occasionally, your elbows kiss and you exchange quiet apologies while pretending you don’t crave each other’s touch.

You’re sweeping stray sheets of paper into your hand when it dawns on you that the ‘right time’ will never come unless you make it. A determined exhale leaves you as you reach across his desk while he files the last of the paperwork. “I need to tell you something and I need you to listen to me.” 

The way you’re looking at him sends a chill down his spine. There’s a fire behind your eyes that he’s never seen before and he doesn’t know what to expect. He nods solemnly instead. This is it, he thinks. She’s going to tell me that I’m a burden or that I’m a fuck up. He braces himself for the news.

“I…” his eyes are fixed on you and you glance away briefly as your confidence wavers. Just tell him. He loves you too. Steve assured you of it. The sheets of paper rustle in your hand as you tighten your grip. “I love you, Javi.” 

Deep brown eyes widen in shock. His heart falters as the weight of your words sink in. He blinks at you hesitantly, wondering if he’d misheard. When you say nothing, fireworks explode in his belly as he searches for his words but- oh.

Why? Why him? Don’t you know of everything that he’s done? He left his high school sweetheart at the altar without so much as a goodbye. He didn’t even have the decency to send her an apology and he can barely bring himself to feel guilty. He’s lied, cheated, and killed without an ounce of remorse. Worst of all, he’d do it all again if it means getting Escobar. He was a monster and a killer. He doesn’t deserve love. Not after everything he’s done. Not after the way he treated his first one. So he does the logical thing. He pushes you away, puts up the barricades and lines them with barbed wire.

“You shouldn’t,” he replies. He jerks his arm away and turns his back to you, moving to store the file in the cabinet behind him.

“But I do. Javi, I-”

“No!” He slams the metal cabinet shut for emphasis. The scraping of rusty metal echoes through the room. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. But Steve had said!

“Just tell me you don’t love me too and I’ll stop. Tell me you don’t feel what I feel. Tell me that your heart doesn’t skip a beat when you make me laugh. Tell me that you don’t count the hours until you get to see me again. Tell me that you don’t wish it was me that you wake up next to instead of-” you choke on your words, instead of your ‘informants’.

He spins around sharply and you fix your gaze on him, desperately willing your heart to stop pounding in your ears. Fiery brown orbs stare back at you instead, void of their previous tenderness. He holds your gaze as he takes curt steps towards you. He’s close enough now that you can feel his breath on your face and your heart clenches in misplaced hope. Your breath hitches as he leans in. 

“I don’t.”

With two words, you see your world shatter before your eyes. You flinch back in response but he keeps going, leaning closer as you draw away. “I don’t love you.” His voice is cold and deadly. It’s icier than you’ve ever heard it and you’ve seen him threaten the devil’s right-hand man. You bite the inside of your cheek in a feeble attempt to stop the tears from welling in your eyes. He doesn’t mean it, you lie to yourself. He can’t mean it. He-

“I never have and I never will. You are nothing but a distraction to me.” He slows his words as he speaks, as if needing to emphasise them. “Do you think you’re important? That you matter? I can’t even tell you what colour your eyes are without looking at them first.” It’s a lie. But you deserve better than a screw up like him. He can’t give you the life you deserve, the life he needs you to live. The life that he wants but can never have. He can’t drag you into the endless pit of darkness that he’s learnt to call home. He won’t. 

He clenches his jaw and brings his lips to your ear, shoving down the urge to kiss you. “I could never love someone as pathetic and weak as you.” He whispers his words like a slow-acting venom, delivering his final blow. He knows he’s hit the mark when he hears the choked sob that leaves your body. He pulls away to see your fists balled at your side as tears glide down your face.

He didn’t have to do that. He could’ve just said no but he didn’t. Instead, he’d rubbed salt into unhealed wounds that you’d made the mistake of showing him. He wanted to hurt you and that made you angry. A quiet voice whispers that he’s hiding behind his words, that there’s more to the story. You silence the voice without a second thought because right now? You don’t care why he did it. All you feel is anger, and pain. 

The fire from before morphs into something sinister and you let the flames grow. It licks at your heart, daring it to explode, to unleash everything you’ve been holding back. So you let him burn in your rage. You let him burn and you drown out the screams.

“Fuck you, Javier Peña!” Your finger stabs into his chest in time with each word. “Fuck you and everything you fight for!” You flail your arms out wide. He flinches but you don’t notice. “All you care about is Escobar. You don’t give a shit who you hurt along the way, as long as you get what you want.” 

You scoff as you fold your arms across your chest. You’re breathing hard out of your nose and you hate the way Javier holds your gaze. You hate the way it challenges you to keep going, almost like he’s enjoying it.

You grind your teeth together as you calm the raging flames inside your chest. “No matter how you spin it Javier, whatever bullshit you tell yourself to get yourself to sleep at night... it’s just that. Bullshit.” You shake your head in frustration as you spin on your heels, turning to leave. 

A picture of him and Murphy falls into your line of sight and something sparks within you. An ember in the dying flames. You drag all the emotion out of your voice before speaking. You need him to hear your words without them being clouded by your fury. “When Murphy walks away from it all, he’ll have someone to go home to. You?” you glance over your shoulder to look at him, “you’ll never have anyone.”

He stays frozen in place until the sound of your shoes tapping against the floor has long since faded. A single tear rolls down the left side of his cheek. I wish it could be you.

——angstageddon tag list

@din-damn-djarin @ezrasarm @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @hillarymurray4 @wille-zarr @oloreaa @this-cat-is-dea @marydjarin @roxypeanut @cryptkeepersoul @agirllovespasta @wickedfrsgrl @dindisneydjarin  @opheliaelysia @aeryntheofficial @adikaofmandalore​ @goldafterglow​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @chibi-liz05​ @scarlettvonsass​ @rpcvliz​ @cinewhore​ @basura2319​ @theravenreads​ @mxndoscyarika​ @jaime1110​ @f0rever15elf​ @pancakepike​ @phoenixhalliwell​

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (I have upped the rating in consideration of sensitive topics I aim to depict later on.)

Words: 6.4K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which history is written on the walls.

Some of my other fics have been showing up in the tags when I use the link post option, so I’m doing an experiment this time. Fingers crossed it shows! If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Chapter 12: Beta, Part 3

Having long since heeded Ruby’s advice to take a mental break, Steven sits criss-cross with his back pressed against the hodgepodge aquarium. If you ask him, this position is a two-in-one miracle, allowing him both an unobstructed view of the doorway, and sparing him from the deep rooted horror of the creepy dismantled plush still floating an aimless arc through the tank. He loves Peridot to death, but good golly, this latest meep morp is deeply unsettling. He shudders at the mere thought of its water-logged stuffing oozing out from the seams, and then— inhaling deep through his nose— steers his focus back to the phone clasped tightly between his fidgety fingers.

Back to the story, you doofus.

With nothing better to do for the moment and a hyperactive mind to satiate, he’s finally started to read the Unfamiliar Familiar fanfic that Connie sent him a link to a few days before. True to her words, it’s super, super good. Well written, great characterization, and best of all, the author keeps throwing in hints of future romance between Lisa and Archimicarus! Considering that, he’s almost surprised Connie likes this fic so much. She’s normally not much of a shipper. To be fair though, romance definitely isn’t the point of the story. Instead, it’s an AU focused on the mystery of the main character’s origins.

He can’t help but let out a sympathetic sigh as— in chapter 5– Lisa tries to calmly explain to her fellow Stonehearth Coven members that somehow her father, the revered founder of the coven, used to be a prince of the wicked Arcane Court. Most of her once-close friends don’t swallow the news well. As a result, Lisa is left alone to seek the truth of her father’s past, with no allies except her trusted familiar at her side. Lip quivering, he presses his thumb solid against his phone’s screen for a while, as if yearning to reach a healing hand beyond the barrier between fiction and reality and let the young witch know she’s not alone, that he sees and supports her. He makes a mental note to thank Connie profusely for sending along this really good fic, and presses on to the next chapter.

He’s halfway to the end of it when Peridot returns.

For someone who appeared super frazzled by Lapis’s terror-struck outbursts the last time she stood at his side, she sure seems fit as a fiddle now, walking with a slight bounce in her step as she crosses past the fence line and onto the property. At least, he assumes she is. He can’t help but immediately doubt this assessment when she spots him sitting against the inner wall of the barn with that piercing focus of hers and bounds through the doorway like a Gem fleeing the apocalypse.

“Steven, Steven, Steven, Steven!” she cries as she runs to his side, flapping her arms urgently.

Practically tossing his phone to the ground to free his hands for combat, he leaps to his feet so fast that his head grows woozy. His rose-thorned shield shimmers into tangible existence in front of his barred fist.

“What, what is it?” he exclaims, the pounding of his heart devolving into an untamable cacophony as all his darkest fears rear their ugly heads at once. “Is- is it Lapis? Did she leave anyways?”

“Uh, no…?”

“Or, or, or- are we under attack?!”

“Steven, I—“

“Who’s here for me this time?” he blurts, grabbing his friend’s shoulders. “Is it Homeworld? Jasper? The Diamonds? Tell meeee!” he whines, roughly shaking her.

“I- No one? It’s no one!” Peridot exclaims when her head finally stops jostling back and forth under his force, waves of confusion coloring her expression. “I’m… just happy to be back?”

His cheeks burn red as he drinks in her obvious statement and eventually catches his breath. He lets go of her. “O-oh,” he stammers, willing the shield floating before him to disappear into glimmers of light and desperately wishing he could do the same at this precise moment of existence. “Okay. Glad to see you back! Did, uh… did you find Lapis?”

She nods in confirmation, but visibly deflates a little at the reminder of her roommate. “Yeah, she’s perched in a tree in the woods. She said she wanted some ‘alone time,’” she emphasizes with air quotes.

Steven clasps his fingers together in front of him as he lets this news sink in, digits tussling without end for the most comfortable alignment. Bleeding heart that he is, he hates the idea of letting anyone be alone, especially after a revelation this jarring, but he must admit that he himself found some comfort in solitude the night his human half took for the beach, inert diamond in hand. If anything else, it was nice to retreat from all the noise, to allow himself the opportunity to form his own opinions about the situation. Perhaps it’ll be beneficial for her, too.

“That’s understandable,” he says, glancing out the barn door towards the forest his friend is taking refuge in. “She’s been through a lot.”

He squats to pick up his phone from the floorboards then, frowning as he notices a fresh crack on the glass at the corner of the screen. Knowing that— despite his desperate desires— there’s nothing he can do to fix this right now, he shoves it in his pocket and pushes against his knees to stand up. The bottom of his shirt catches on his arm as he does so, briefly exposing the unfamiliar facets of his rotated gem. Peridot’s brows nearly shoot above the upper rim of her visor.

“So,” she begins, nodding towards his stomach. “Your gem.”

With a tired sigh, he tugs his shirt back down. Boy, does he already know where this conversation is heading, and boy, is he sick of having to walk everyone through it. “Yup,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ and getting ready to deploy the exasperated eye roll.

“All this time everyone thought you were a hybrid quartz, but now you’re telling me…”

“...that I’m actually a dia—“

“...that I, Peridot, certified Kindergartener, a skilled specialist on every variety of Gem to ever exist, was wrong??”

“Hold on, what?”

She holds her hand over the diamond emblazoned on her chest as she passionately continues, wholly oblivious to Steven’s bemusement. “I was the brightest Gem of my cut back on Homeworld, and yet somehow I mistook a perfectly formed diamond for a quartz! Ah, hahahah!” Eyes glinting with what he can only describe as a borderline feral energy, she moves to clutch at the sides of her head, thick tufts of lemon yellow spilling out from between her fingers. “Oh, my stars. I’ve lost my touch!”

“Wait, who’s out of touch?” Ruby’s curious voice chimes from nearby. Overjoyed to see her again, Steven whirls to face her with a huge grin as she enters the barn and lounges against one of the support beams, propping a hand on her hip.

“I- it’s nothing important,” Peridot mutters, flushing as she smooths her hair back into place.

Immediately making note of the hint of shame dancing across her features, he nods. “Yeah, we were just chit-chatting! Hey, how’s Amethyst doing, though? You went to talk to her, right?”

Ruby huffs in frustration at the mention of the quartz Gem, grinding her boots against the floor so hard that for a second he’s genuinely concerned she might spark a fire under her very feet. “Tried to. But then she slashed her whip towards me and said I couldn’t help her, so ‘go away!’” she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air. “Can you believe it? I’m trying to provide some love and support, and she, she just- tells me to scram!”

“Aw, that’s not very nice,” he says with a frown, feeling his heart pulse in sympathy as she begins to pace back and forth across the wooden slats, grumbling under her breath.

“What’s her problem today, anyways?” Peridot asks, crossing her arms. “She’s usually much more amicable.”

Steven nibbles at the inside of his lip as he considers the concerning downward trajectory of Amethyst’s recent behavior. Sure, she can sometimes get snippy when she’s in a bad place, but this past week her outward attitude has built into a continuous problem. He himself has been on the receiving end of her acerbic words more than a few times, such as that afternoon they goaded each other into a duel at the Sky Arena, and that barbed retort she pierced him with at the fountain. Then there’s her fight with Pearl, her resulting emotional seclusion, today’s callous treatment of Peridot, Lapis, Ruby…

He desperately wishes he could pin all the blame for this on a single person, a single event, (because oh, wouldn’t that make his life so much easier), but when he tracks the evidence of her unrest it becomes blindingly clear that her problems began long before Rose’s betrayal was revealed.

“Well, beyond all the, uh… latest stuff, she’s been super insecure about Jasper,” he offers. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his flip flops rhythmically clapping against his heels, he rummages his brain for the easiest way to explain the root of the situation. “Basically, Jasper took Amethyst out in a fight a week ago, and ever since that she’s been training super hard a whole lot. I think she’s desperate for a rematch, to prove she’s good enough.”

“Wait, wait, wait—“ The green Gem holds her hands out, palms open. “You’re telling me she’s got an inferiority complex about Jasper? With where she came from?” She lets out a raucous peel of laughter, holding her sides. “Oh Amethyst! That’s ridiculous! She was made way better than that clod.”

He squints at her inquisitively, crossing his arms as he tries to make sense of the interesting new conversation thread that just flowed out of her mouth. “But what do you mean, where she came from? Isn’t she from Homeworld, like you?”

Ruby freezes in place upon hearing this question, clear worry threaded through her creased browline. Her mouth bobs open as if she’s gearing up to answer his question, but amidst her hesitation— a timidness that, the more he thinks about it, is bizarrely out of place from the bold, confident Gem Steven’s gotten to know from all the other times Garnet’s unfused— Peridot beats her to the charge.

“Pfft, are you kidding? She emerged right here from Earth, and not even from its good kindergarten!”

He slams his hands against his cheeks, internally reeling from this revelation. “There’s other kindergartens?”

“Well, sure! There was supposed to be one in every facet. Until the rebellion put a swift end to the Diamonds’ colonization efforts, that is,” she adds quickly, adjusting her visor. “There’s Amethyst’s Prime Kindergarten in Facet Five, but there’s also the Beta Kindergarten in Facet Nine. And that piece of work is where Jasper was made… poorly!” Giggling in excitement, she rapidly shuffles her feet beneath her. The glimmer of light reflected in her eyes is bright enough to rival a distant star. “You guys have to see it!”

Steven balls up his hand at his chin, deliberating. He has to admit, after the recent emotional upheaval that he now can’t help but associate with this place, he really likes the idea of spending time somewhere other than the barn.

“Huh. Might be worth asking if she wants to check it out,” he says with a shrug. “Ruby, you in?”

The Gem in question nibbles at the corner of her lip, humming low under her breath as she considers his offer. A small bead of sweat hangs above her brow. Sporting a good natured grin, he nudges her in the side with his elbow, hoping he can cheer her up a bit.

“A little more time with your favorite Steven and Peri? Eh? Come on, you know you wanna!”

“Do it, do it!” Peridot chimes in, pumping her fists up and down.

He eagerly joins in with her rallying cry, and in no time at all they’re both circling around their friend chanting those very words. Ruby stands center with her arms crossed and her back erect, desperately trying not to break her stoic facade with a smile. It’s ultimately futile, of course. After all, no one can resist the good ol’ Universe charm forever!

“All right, fine, fine, I’ll come,” she finally acquiesces, and with a smirk, plants both her hands on her hips. “After all, someone’s gotta keep an eye on all you trouble makers!”

Now that Ruby’s officially on board, the trio ventures outside to find Amethyst, Steven and Peridot giggling as they begin to skip around the perimeter of the barn side by side, arms linked together. Brushing a few flyaway curls out of his face amidst the comforting breeze, he glances over his shoulder when they reach the first corner to make sure they’re not leaving their friend in the dust. And thankfully she’s right on their tail, but he can’t help but notice her enthusiasm seems muted. He presses his lips together in concern. Does she not want to go with them? Is he only forcing her into this? His stomach twists with guilt as he ponders this quandary further. It’s not his intention to be pushy, but maybe— between coercing Amethyst to take a break and accompany him to the barn, begging Lapis to stay, and now, nudging Ruby to come to the Kindergarten— he’s only being selfish and manipulative about all this. He thought he was bringing people together, but what if he’s wrong? What if he’s only straining relationships, tainting the already tense atmosphere, making everything worse?

(What if this is the same sort of excuse his mom Rose used to make?)

With Amethyst slashing her whip at a few old rusted cans in the clearing before them, however, there’s no time to waste drowning within what-ifs. It’s like that day he learned about Garnet’s future vision for the first time: if he lets himself get tangled up in the possibilities he’ll never truly live. He sighs under his breath, lips pursed. Of course. Garnet’s right even when she isn’t here. As much as he’d love to go crazy psychoanalyzing the impact of every solitary step he makes, at this point he’s made his choices and whatever happens, happens. It’s time to live now.

Initially, the purple Gem is rather indignant at the idea that the three of them were gossiping about her behind her back— eyes clouded with hurt— but once Peridot explains that the point of their proposed Kindergarten field trip is to check out Jasper’s no-doubt lame hole, she blinks away her bitterness and seems to eagerly climb aboard.

“Sure, why not? ‘S not like there’s anything more fun than roasting your enemies.”

“I strongly agree,” Peridot says, nodding with pride.

But before the newly expanded Shorty Squad can begin their journey, there’s something Steven really needs to address. Something that’s been troubling him all day. Nervous butterflies filling his stomach, he leans up close to his sibling-in-crime and whispers so the others don’t hear:

“Amethyst, can I talk to you for a bit before we leave?”

Her expression curdles, but thankfully, unlike in Ruby’s unfortunate account, she doesn’t make a move towards her whip to push him away. Instead, she meets him with a gaze so hardened and difficult to read that his eyes can’t help but drift away, perhaps a little intimidated by the intensity of this contact.

“Yeah, I guess,” she mutters eventually. She flicks her wrist up at the other two, gesturing for them to get a move on. “Go on ahead. We’ll catch up.”

Ruby and Peridot nod, the red Gem with a good deal more sympathy drawn on her face, (but for him or Amethyst?), and promptly set off towards the warp pad. He continues to watch until they disappear beyond the curve of the grassy hillside, both conversing comfortably. The last he hears before the warp shoots its cyan stream of light into the sky is a hooting laugh from Ruby. Despite how non-ideal this visit has been so far, he can’t help the smile stretching across his cheeks, or how his chest grows all warm and fuzzy. It’s really nice to see Peridot getting along so well with the others now. She’s made such huge strides in the past few months.

Something metallic clangs behind him. Flinching, Steven whirls around. A crumpled, abused soda can lays overturned by the side of the barn. Amethyst— arms crossed tight just under her gem and her hair more spiked and untamed than usual— glares at that poor hunk of tin as if it’s solely to blame for all of this galaxy’s problems. She moves to lean against the barn’s outer wall and peers at him expectantly, like a troubled child expecting judgement from a parental figure.

“So. You wanted to talk,” she says, tone clipped.

“I… wanted to be honest,” he mutters, threading his fingers together as he grasps for how best to word this. “Amethyst… I know you’ve been going through some hard stuff lately. I know everything that’s happened in the past few days doesn’t help. But you’ve been so inconsiderate of like, everyone here.” He swings his arm in a wide gesture towards the barn. “Peridot and Lapis didn’t deserve the way you treated them earlier.”

No response.

Steven frowns, and— a glimmer of quiet frustration bubbling deep within him, the sort he’d never admit to out loud but can’t help but harbor whenever he catches wind of small injustices that he can never seem to fix— scratches an burgeoning itch at the nape of his neck. He… oh stars, he’s going about this completely wrong, isn’t he? He’s being too confrontational. Hmm. Maybe he should try a new angle. Time for take two.

“I know you only acted that way because you’re hurting and don’t wanna think about it,” he continues, “but please, you don’t have to box your emotions away like that. I wanna help. I wanna listen.”

Slowly, gently, he moves to place a hand on her shoulder. It feels like a small victory when she doesn’t shift upon his touch.

“Believe me, you’re not alone in feeling this way.”

Again, nothing. She’s not even looking at him right now, and her jaw’s locked. Even her form feels tense under his fingers, with hard light pulsing back and forth under her illusory skin at an alarmingly unusual pace.

He sighs, gaze dropping towards the ground, towards the battered can she kicked aside earlier. “I’m worried, y’know? But... I understand if you’re not ready to talk… about Jasper, and—“

“Oh, hoh! That’s rich!” she explodes suddenly, jerking her arm away. “You seriously wanna bury your head in the sand and pretend this is just about Jasper?”

He tiptoes away from her rush of anger, eyes growing puffy. “I—“

“You wanna know how I feel, Steven? About your mom, and the whole awful mess she made? Do you really? ‘Cause I don’t have a single CLUE what I should feel anymore!”

Amethyst pauses for breath amidst her tirade, briefly locking sight with him with a glimmer of hurt reflected in her violet irises, showing that deep underneath all those twisted layers of anger and resentment she’s just another scared, abandoned Gem like him.

“Rose was everything to me, okay?” she says, throwing her palms wide for emphasis. “And all this time, I thought she was the one Crystal Gem who could be real with me. The only one who wouldn’t sugarcoat things or treat me like a baby. ‘Oh, you’re perfect the way you are, Amethyst!’” she coos in a fake, silky-sweet voice, cupping her cheeks as she openly mocks the very Gem who gave her life so he could exist. “You’re such a strong little quartz, you mean so much to me!’ Hah!”

She pauses to force a bitter laugh, clenching her hands into insufferably tight fists.

“And wasn’t that just a huge load of silt,” she spits, staring off into the rosy distance as if it were but a cruel mirage, the pain more than evident in the taut features of her face. “All along I thought she was this great, faultless person, just like you did. Except she wasn’t. She’s a liar, like everyone else. I’m worthless, just like Jasper said… and Rose knew it.”

Hesitantly, compassionately— heart breaking for the internal struggle she’s caught within, a struggle he intimately relates to—  he tries once more to reach out in comfort.

“Amethyst…”

She sniffles, wiping away the leaking fluid pooling at the corners of her eyes.

(She does not, however, brush him away this time when he wraps his arms around her torso and nestles his head against her chest.)

“Just— forget it, okay?” she says after a quiet moment’s embrace, gently stepping back from his affection. “It’s whatever. Come on, Peridot and Ruby are waiting for us. Let’s dump this joint.”

__________

Ruby quietly shuffles across the loose soil, directing her eyes as low to the ground as possible to avoid having to stare at the Beta Kindergarten’s steep cliff walls. Red sandstone, Peridot proclaims a few feet away to their newly arrived sightseers, whirling in place with her arms extended wide. We’re lucky this place hasn’t blown away. Beta, am I right?

Steven manages a soft laugh at this. Amethyst continues onward with her arms crossed, unimpressed. But Ruby herself? Well, she’s the only Gem here who can say she crossed this infamous swath of sedimentary rock at its very beginning, on the day of emergence. The others may choose to laugh about how soft and unideal the soaring sandstone cliffs are, or about the uneven exit holes and curved walls, but in her opinion it’s no laughing matter. She’s seen firsthand how deadly even a so-called ‘imperfect’ Homeworld soldier can be. Even Garnet barely escaped with her gems intact.

Nervously flexing her fingers at her side as she tries not to dwell on that tragedy, she flashes her gaze upward, daring to catch even a passing glimpse of the top of the vast canyon. In an instant her vision swims with endless pillars of rusty oranges and reds.

Everything on this planet might as well tower over her without Sapphire. The once-welcoming arms of their temple? Monolithic. The vaulted ceilings of the beach house? Her eidetic memory can’t help but remind her of her early days spent marching through Homeworld’s diamond sized hallways with the rest of her squadron, patrolling the same route for well over five hundred cycles straight. The kicker? The Diamonds never had any reason to visit the shipment sector in person, anyways. The hallways were only constructed with such high ceilings to remind any Gem passing through of their rightful place under the Authority.

Over two hundred years, she adhered to their twisted rhetoric. Two hundred years of allowing everyone and everything around her to make her feel small, like she only existed for a singular purpose. Two hundred years of ignoring the tug of dissatisfaction at the core of her gem because of the misplaced belief that orderly subjugation under the Diamonds was simply the rightful pattern of existence. Then, in a beautiful bloom of light… she caught a glimpse of true freedom. And for the five thousand seven hundred years after that, Garnet didn’t feel quite so small anymore. She felt capable, confident, satisfied. Aided by Ruby’s physical strength and Sapphire’s future vision, she finally dared to challenge Homeworld’s rhetoric. She dared to live for herself.

Sighing under her breath, Ruby touches her fingers to the place in her right palm where her missing gem is, tracing the triangular shape of its illusory facets.

There’s no use arguing; Garnet was a better Crystal Gem than she can ever hope to be on her own. And now, because Rose just had to go and manipulate all of them, there’s a strong chance she’ll never get to be Garnet with her Sapphy ever again. Which means that until further notice, she’s stuck like this: short, stubby, and woefully insecure. Hah! Figures. All those years spent fighting against Homeworld’s warped notion that Gems had stagnant purposes and couldn’t grow beyond their stations, and now it’s as if she’s been dumped back at the beginning, like the past five millennia never happened.

It’s a cruel irony.

And yet it’s no crueler than this awful place: a cradle of birth manufactured as a tool of war, a Gem’s very existence leeching the life out of this once-fertile ground. The scars on the walls tell a mournful story, and as Ruby slowly trudges after her loved ones, fingers numb and fidgety in the wake of haunted disorientation, she can’t help but wish she wasn’t present for its prologue.

“Ruby…?”

Her sight trains on one of the tilted exit holes closest to ground level, on the messy silhouette it provides. She remembers this one, in fact, Garnet watched her emerge. She was a carnelian. By Homeworld’s standards, an imperfect one. That doesn’t matter, though. None of Homeworld’s lies matter. Running on nothing but the primary orders she was incubated with, (it wasn’t her fault, it was the Diamonds’, she reminds herself with a bitter growl), that Gem still emerged to poof three fellow rebels on sight. If Garnet hadn’t been so quick to retrieve their gemstones, they might have been shattered that day. Many of the others assigned to her squadron weren’t as lucky. Inhaling shakily, Ruby pauses to trace her fingers across a raised ridge in the rough, brittle sandstone.

“Hey, Ruby!” his energetic voice calls again, snapping her out of her intense focus like a fusion splitting in half.

“Aaaah!” she cries, swinging around and pulling both fists up in defense. Her hands uncoil rapidly once she catches a glimpse of that cheery yellow star.

Aw, scrap! she chides herself, repositioning her feet solid on the ground to regain some sense of internal balance. Damned startle reflex.

Unfazed, Steven grins boyishly, skipping a few steps away from the rest of the group to join her by the cliff wall. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Amethyst and Peridot are watching now too, she realizes, her brief but audible outburst thoroughly diverting their attention from their Beta Kindergarten roast session. Their quizzical glances pin her in place, her hard-light form heating in embarrassment as she struggles to organize the flow of her emotions in a way that might make sense to anyone beyond a fellow ruby. She scrunches up her nose and considers her next words carefully, attempting to strike the proper boundary between what is and isn’t appropriate to say in front of a half-human child. Stars knows Amethyst, Pearl, and herself haven’t had a great record with that over the past few days.

“Just thinkin’ about Sapphire, mostly,” she admits, offering him a saddened shrug. “Can’t seem to stop that, even half a world away.”

“Speaking of that... Why did you run after us?” Amethyst asks in a notably less cranky manner than earlier, lightly kicking at the dirt with the toes of her booties. “You never said.”

“Y’know, I…” She pauses, pressing her hand to her chin. “I’m not sure. I spent days waiting in front of the temple door. And eventually, I guess I figured that if she’s gonna make me wait no matter what, I might as well do something with myself until then. ‘Sides, I didn’t want to be lonely,” she adds, suddenly feeling just as small and vulnerable in front of all of them as her timid voice sounds.

She felt lonely enough when she ran away from home a few days ago, tears streaming in messy rivulets down her face, utterly spurning their attempts at comfort so she could pretend she was anything else than powerless amidst this nightmare. She never wanted to split, not at all. She begged Sapphire to give their relationship another chance, to believe in the strength of their love more than the fear of a diamond’s control, but tragically, her partner couldn’t hold up under the pressure. If one individual doesn’t wholeheartedly want to be Garnet, then Garnet cannot exist. They can’t synchronize. It’s simply the nature of fusion. And given her love’s avoidance, refusing to so much as leave her room to begin with, Ruby’s beginning to lose hope that their fusion will ever exist again. The crippling isolation that realization affords is the worst form of loneliness she can imagine.

Thus, the least she can do at the moment to mitigate these all-consuming feelings is to get off her butt, leave the temple, and ensure she’s surrounded by loved ones.

Peridot steeples her fingers together in front of her chest. “Well, what if you moved in with us?” she offers in a meek tone at first, her expression brightening as she continues to explain her idea. “The barn’s got plenty of room, and with two roommates you’d never have to feel lonely again!”

Steven’s dark irises practically sparkle. “Aww, Peridot, that’s super sweet of you to offer!”

“Wow, thanks,” she replies earnestly, puffing out her chest in a rush of personal pride. “I do try!”

“Yeah!” Ruby says with a hesitant laugh, scratching at the back of her neck. “That sounds amazing, but…”

“You should do it, Ruby!” he encourages, bouncing up and down on his sandaled feet amidst his excitement. “You should totally move in with them!”

“D’ya… d’ya really think so?”

“Yeah! It’d be like your very own vacation, but you’d only be a warp away!”

“And you’re sure you’d be fine with it? Y’know, with everything at home all…” She blows a juicy raspberry, jabbing her thumb down.

Amethyst serves her a big shrug. “I ain’t got a problem. Go crazy.”

“There’s no need to worry about me,” Steven says, smiling evenly. “I only want what’s best for you. And if you think not staying in the temple all the time would make you feel better, you should give it a try!”

Her concerned glance drops on the young half-Gem. Sure, it’s very compassionate of him, actively choosing to care so deeply for everyone’s emotional needs all the time, but home life for him hasn’t exactly been nurturing and hospitable lately. He already lost one of his pillars of stability when Garnet unfused. Pearl and Amethyst are at each other’s necks again. Sapphire hasn’t emerged from her room for days. Greg’s… doing whatever it is Greg does when he’s not hanging out with his son, probably keeping his distance from Gem business as usual. So with all that in mind, even if temporarily living apart from Sapphire is sure to be a beneficial move for her personal well-being and sanity, is now actually the proper time to consider a change in scenery? She purses her lips.

“I’ll think about it.”

Peridot lets out a sharp squeal of delight, apparently ecstatic about the prospect of possibly gaining a new roommate. Ruby can’t help but grin at this response. In truth, if she didn’t have to consider the well-being of Steven and the rest of the Crystal Gems, she’d say yes in a heartbeat. After all, she’s never gotten the opportunity to make many decisions on her own. Heck, she’s never gotten the opportunity to do much of anything on her own. Every time she’s unfused within the last five thousand years, her priorities have always been about what Sapphire would want, what Sapphire would do.

Well, what about Ruby, this time? Aren’t her desires important? What does she want?

Long term… she has no clue. But right now? She’d prefer to avoid dire reminders of old sorrows at all costs, thank you. So when Peridot declares that she’s 99.9% positive she’s found Jasper’s exit hole, Ruby declines to join them in their roast session. She never came here for sightseeing, anyways. She came here as their lookout. Just in case. She’s never trusted this awful tear in the ground one bit, and she’s not about to start now.

Running instinctively on old programming she was incubated with, she creeps deeper between the narrow mouth of the cliffs and summons her gauntlets at her side. Sure, so maybe they’re not as daunting in their size as Garnet’s, but they can still pack one heck of a punch. She’s still good at punching on her own, yeah? Hopefully? Stars, it’s been so long since she’s gone solo for more than a few measly hours.

And then, at the cliff base in front of her, she spots the most unusual exit hole she’s seen in this miserable canyon yet. For one, it’s low to the ground, like Amethyst’s. That fact alone is enough to set off alarm bells in her head. On top of that, its silhouette is almost comically wide and indistinct, not resembling any cut of Gem she’s aware of.

“Huh. That’s different,” she murmurs, pacing closer to investigate.

Maybe an off-color topaz could punch a hole as wide as this? But… no, no. That can’t be right. Hard light coursing wildly through her form, Ruby dissipates one of her gauntlets and runs the tips of her fingers across the crumbly inside surface of this hole. A few granules of sandstone break off upon her touch and clatter against the ground, and she jerks her hand away as if touching impossibly cold ice. Something about this feels... wrong. To be fair, she’s no expert kindergartener like Peridot, but she’s pretty confident the interior of exit holes should be smooth, with striated rock layers extending all the way back. Instead, this bizarre scar in the cliffs almost seems like—

“It’s dug out,” she says, eyes widening in dawning horror.

Which means they may not be alone in this rusted relic of a Kindergarten after all.

Her body suddenly feeling staticky and unbalanced amidst all this damning uncertainty, she tiptoes away from this mysterious feature, slowly at first, and then— as the fear begins to bubble up within her core like boiling water transformed under her power— transitioning into a sprint. We’re not alone, she repeats to herself in a harried mantra. Not alone. Not alone, we’re not alone, we’re—

Ruby’s foot catches on an uneven lip of stone jutting up from the ground, and she quickly plows headfirst into the coarse dirt, promptly ending her terror-stricken flight.

“Ow,” she whines as she recovers from this fall, rubbing at the side of her head. Not only is she a little dizzy, but her surroundings are made further hazy amidst the overbearing sunlight pounding indiscriminately upon the ground floor of this canyon. It’s enough disorientation to allow the jumbled code of her gem to begin to play tricks on her. For one, she swears she can hear this low, timid skittering, like thick claws rhythmically scraping against rock. Second, she’s half-convinced she can feel a surplus of physical vibrations radiating from the cliffs surrounding her. Squinting, she shields her eyes under a raised arm so she can begin to gain her bearings again. The blinding light recedes.

The red Gem gulps fearfully amidst the burning colors of the harsh sandstone landscape. “Wait, is that—“

She’s stumbled her way into a massive clearing, lined on all sides by stacked rows of holes physically dug into the sheer walls. Each opening is barred by a number of thick metal rods, stripped from the legs of the injectors that once incubated this hell in the first place. The thoughtful engineering imbued in this setup is impressive and terrifying all at once. Ignoring the tangible tug of hesitation at her core, she pushes herself back on her feet and creeps towards the closest cage to investigate further.

“Uh, you guys?” she calls loudly as she walks, the unusual curves of this canyon an undisputed blessing as they carry her message back to the others.

“Yeah?” Amethyst chimes back, her voice notably distant. Too distant.

“We’ve got, um—” her hand glides across one of the bent, rusty bars— “a bit of a problem here?”

“What?? Speak louder, we can’t hear you!”

Before she can even prepare to reply, a fur-covered monstrous creature leaps from the shadowy abyss of its prison and snaps its tusks at her. She yells, jerking her hand away from the cage and stumbling a few feet back. Her brow creases in abject confusion as she attempts to process what she’s seeing in front of her. It’s… it’s a corrupted Gem? This one’s most definitely a quartz; she recognizes the faceting, as well as the distinctive fur-covered quadrupedal shape of its corrupted form. But why on Earth is it being trapped within a cage in the middle of a defunct kindergarten instead of being placed in a bubble’s comforting stasis? The ground beneath her feet grows noticeably warmer as a rush of impassioned anger surges through her hard light form. She grinds her teeth together, flexing her fists at her side in the name of this cruel injustice. Caging isn’t part of Crystal Gem protocol for a reason!

Unfortunately, the horror show continues as her gaze passes over each and every cage in this clearing, finding scared, thrashing, corrupted Gems in almost all of them. Fluid builds up at the corner of her eyes as they scream and wail at her, riding a fresh wave of cacophony spurned by that Gem she spooked just a moment ago. How could anyone ever build such an awful place? And why?

Heavy, assured footfalls suddenly bounce across the acoustically encouraging slopes and surfaces of this ravine, magnified tenfold in their wake. Ruby gasps, wasting no time in ducking behind a tall rocky formation at the mouth of the clearing. That’s definitely not Amethyst or any of the others. It sounds too large, too bulky. She kneels low so she can still peek over the topmost layer of sandstone, a knot of dread coiling within as the footfalls continue to grow louder. Groaning, she clutches at her head. The unknown, the impenetrable shadow of the future… stars, it haunts her more than loneliness itself.

And then, the specter of her history reveals herself, making Ruby’s tangible form stutter in the sheer terror her appearance affords.

Jasper— her opponent, her nightmare, the Rebel Slayer herself— emerges from a plume of rising dust at the edge of this populous arena and enters the game.

[starions]

*blows the dust off this one* a butch x lw oneshot i wrote when i was fifteen, starring my lone wanderer gigi halloway. enjoy

Gigi wrinkled her nose as she stepped over the dead raider. His blood pooled under her boots and she dragged them along the old, shag carpet to clean them off. One hundred caps to clean this abandoned townhouse of raiders and they got to keep the spoils? Good enough for her. Butch, though, would not stop complaining about it.

“I still think we shoulda asked for more caps,” Butch mumbled, putting his gun back in his holster.

Gigi sighed, and knelt down to loot the raider. She couldn’t help but to notice how young the dead man was; her and Butch’s age tops. She frowned, and brought out a cap stash hidden in his pocket. “See? This job basically pays for itself. And if we sell some weapons and armor, then it will be worthwhile. I’m not sure why you’re complaining. Go loot that girl over there.”

Butch glared at the redhead, but did as he was told. “Can’t we just, I don’t know, find caps anotha way?”

Gigi wiped blood off on her jeans, standing up. “Like what Butch? Cutting hair?”

Scoffing, Butch finished looting the raider, producing nothing but a few bobby pins and some shotgun shells. He never liked that he got hairdresser on the G.O.A.T, just like Gigi didn’t like getting Pip-Boy repair girl. Jesus, Pip-Boy repair. Why would she ever want to do that? She was lucky Mr. Brotch changed it for her, she was much happier working with her dad in his clinic.

Just the thought of her dad made Gigi’s brow furrow and heart twist.

“You okay?” Butch asked, stuffing the bobby pins in his pocket.

Nodding, Gigi turned her heal, facing away from Butch. This was not the time to cry about her dad. Shaking it off, Gigi continued looking for supplies.

The two found nothing more in the living room, except maybe a few good food items and a spare bottle cap hidden under a rug. This townhouse had two more bedrooms, though, and Gigi and Butch couldn’t risk leaving anything valuable out of their hands. They entered the first bedroom, which was obviously used for more than sleep, judging by the smell and the old condom wrappers on the floor. Worn down posters of nearly nude girls plastered the walls, and chems were everywhere. It was fucking disgusting in there.

“Jesus!” Butch muttered, pulling his white undershirt up to cover his nose. Gigi coughed into her elbow, stepping over stains on the carpet. “You ain’t going in there,” Butch said, pulling on her arm.

“I’m not going to touch anything Butch, lighten up. It is just… so gross.” Gigi couldn’t help but to gag, and she stepped back. Butch still held her by the elbow, and the two were touching back-to-back now.

“Remember what Mr. Brotch taught us in sex-ed? About… fluids?” Butch said the last word with disgust, and Gigi snorted.

“I can’t believe you remember anything about that class, Butch, I thought you were too busy thinking about dicks and tits.” She shook loose of his grip and tiptoed in the room. Making sure to avoid touching anything nasty, she pulled open a dresser. Gigi raised her eyebrows. “There are a lot of condoms in here. Jesus Christ what the fuck was this place?”

“Raiders, man,” Butch said, hesitantly following Gigi’s lead. “They’re fucking disgusting.”

Gigi opened a few more dressers, not finding anything worthwhile. She considered stashing some chems to sell, but decided against it. Once people around here catch word you’re dealing, they won’t leave you alone.

She did, however, stash some condoms. Not to use herself, but, you know in case. With who? She didn’t know. Definitely not Butch. That thought almost made her laugh aloud. Though, he was nicer to her now out of the vault. Both of them were the only thing left of the vault. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad… they were already stuck with each other.

Gigi shook the thought out of her head, glaring at the poster of a topless girl in front of her. What in God’s name was she thinking just now? Fuck. She stood there, drumming her fingers on the dresser, admiring the crudely drawn penis pointing to the mouth of the girl on the poster, when Butch piped up.

“Hey Gee?” Her head snapped behind her, and she noticed how red in the face Butch was all of the sudden. “You a virgin?”

The sound that came out of Gigi’s mouth was a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. Why would he ask that in the middle of a dirty sex pit? “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Right,” Butch muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

Gigi turned around, facing the poster again. Truth be told, she wasn’t. Two weeks after the G.O.A.T she had fucked Freddie Gomez because he got trash burner as his job. It didn’t mean anything; he was sad, and Gigi had just come to the revelation that she’d have to lose her virginity to someone in the vault. She’d rather it be Freddie than that asshole Wally Mack, or Butch for that matter.

Gigi faced Butch again, who was fiddling with his Pip-Boy. “Are you?” Gigi asked, suddenly curious.

Butch head jolted up, and he glared at her. “You can’t ask me that when you ignored it when I asked!”

She grinned, amused by his answer. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“You go first.”

“Fine,” Gigi said, stepping over a particularly large stain to inspect the night table. “I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re full of shit,” Butch said, crossing his arms. Gigi looked at him from across the bed and shrugged. “For real? You really fucked some rando out in the wastes?”

“I never said I lost my virginity in the wasteland.”

Butch’s mouth fell open, his eyes wide. “No way you slept with someone from the vault. He would have told me.”

Gigi grinned, pulling a box of stimpacks out of the nightstand. What was the use for them in this setting? Shrugging, she put them in her bag. “I told him not to tell anyone, especially you,” she paused, “considering the fact he was a Tunnel Snake.” Or, trying to join Butch’s gang, for that matter.

“You ain’t gonna tell me, is that it?” Butch narrowed his eyes, wanting more information.

“I’ll tell you once you tell me if you’re a virgin or not.”

Butch pressed his lips together, and avoided eye contact. Finally, he spoke up. “I’m no virgin; what I look like? Some loser?”

Gigi crossed her arms and leaned against the nightstand. “Oh really? Who is the lucky lady who was Butchie-boy’s first?”

Butch paused for a second, and then said: “Susie Mack.”

“No way,” Gigi said, giggling. “Wally wouldn’t let Susie touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“You don’t believe me? Me and Susie did it. Lotsa times.” Gigi saw through his facade, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Whatever you say, stud.”

“Oh yeah? And who was your first, Goody?” Butch said, using the only nickname Gigi didn’t mind. It originally was Goody-goody, but it managed to get to just Goody. Sadly, it’s lost its meaning out in the Wastes.

Gigi swung her bag over her shoulder, hearing the rough leather collide with the barbed baseball bat strapped to her back. She walked out of the room as Butch followed. “Freddie Gomez.”

Butch stopped in his tracks. “Bullshit! Freddie would have totally told me. He would have done anything to get with the Snakes.”

“And I told Freddie that if he told anyone I’d break his nose. You weren’t the only one he was scared of,” Gigi said, going into the next bedroom. It was much cleaner, and much nicer than the one before.

Butch furrowed his brow. Noticing the semi-clean mattress, he plopped down on it. “Freddie? What was so good about Freddie?” He almost whispered.

Gigi cocked her head to the side. “Well, he was nice to me for one. And it wasn’t like I was in love with him or anything. He was upset after the G.O.A.T so I decided to cheer him up.”

Butch propped his head on his hand, looking at Gigi with an emotion in his eyes Gigi couldn’t place. “So you just gave away your virginity, like that?”

“Back then I decided that I’d rather lose my virginity quickly than wait until I was assigned a husband. Like I said, Freddie was nice to me. Now I know that virginity is just a concept and it doesn’t matter,” Gigi said as she opened the two door closet.

Butch muttered something under his breath, and began fiddling with his Pip-Boy again.

Finding nothing in the closet, Gigi turned around, walking to the dresser. Gigi knew something was wrong when Butch didn’t even talk for a straight two minutes. Looking at him, Gigi noted that he looked a bit sad. A million thoughts ran through Gigi’s mind at once. Why in the wastes was he sad? He was sad that she slept was Freddie Gomez? She had told him it was nothing, for God’s sake. Gigi crossed her arms, letting her wait fall onto her left leg.

“Are you upset with me or something?”

Butch grumbled, turning his head to look out the dirty window.

“Because I fucked Freddie Gomez?”

Butch’s frown deepened. “No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t want me to be your assigned husband?”

Gigi couldn’t help but laugh. Her smile son faltered when she realized Butch wasn’t joking. “Are you serious?” She asked. “Did you block out our entire vault life? You treated me like shit.” Gigi paused, her eyes bouncing around the room, anything to avoid eye contact with him. “We treated each other like shit.” A sigh slipped out of her mouth as she remembered all the things she said about Butch and his alcoholic mother.

Butch grinned, his previous sad exterior melting away. “Yeah, you did treat me like shit Goody; almost like you were in love with me or something.”

A glare appeared on her face, but she still couldn’t help the growing on her face. “Gross, asshole. Let’s get out of here, this place smells like ass.”

Butch pushed himself off the bed, a cloud of dust filling the air as he does so. “Lead the way.”

[renatogpadilla]

FFVI as a D&D Campaign:

OK, so I've been watching "Critical Role" (Campaign 1, Episode 31, no spoilers!) a LOT lately and it got me thinking how FFVI (arguably the BEST "Final Fantasy" game out there) is essentialy that. The biggest moments could be atributted to CRAZY rolls! I can see each of the characters being played by one of the people at the table! * Marisha as Terra Branford: Would be phenomenal. Her mentality is kinda in-line with Keyleth's. The "Kill Their Own Emotions" moment in the boat shakes the table as a whole. And when it's time to run an orphanage and protect her kids from Humbaba, the emotion in her voice destroys everyone in the Party. The "Mama?" moment becomes the most fan-arted moment for her character until the final fight. Her Trance ability is agreed to be the coolest looking skill at the table. To say nothing of the way she'd react to the whole Slave Crown bussiness!

Matt: "She killed 50 imperial soldiers in a few minutes." Marisha, and the whole table: *S H A K I N G*

* Taliesin as Locke Cole: "Treasure Hunter!" every single time somebody calls him a thief or a rogue. The "Rachel" story would be absolutely heartbreaking with Taliesin's expressions. The solo-sneak through the town while meeting Celes would be one of the highlights of the Campaign... That and his frienship with Terra would only be accentuated by Taliesin's and Marisha's irl friendship. Not to mention him puking on the ship would serve as some comedic timing straight out of "Critical Role"! Also, "That bow looks good on you" LAUNCHES the ship to heights undreamt of.

* Sam as Edgar Figaro: I mean, COME ON! IT WRITES ITSELF! Besides, it would be enjoyable to see him use his -Artificer- Machinist abilities as creatively as he does! Can you IMAGINE him rolling high enough one day and then he just creates the Noiseblaster? And with that he pulls out the microphone every time he uses it and proceeds to shout some thing Scanlan would be proud of... Not to mention his friendship with Sabin would be amazing if played by Sam! "The little shrimp has become a mighty Lobster!" You can HEAR Sam Riegel's voice come out of that! And the two headed coin? Now THAT's a Scanlan! This without mentioning the violations of the Geneva Convention that the Bioblaster would certainly entail...

* Laura as Celes Chere: I mean, OBVIOUSLY. Meeting Locke in the dungeon? The apparent betrayal? THE OPERA HOUSE?! "I'm a former General, not some... Opera floozy!" TELL ME you don't hear Laura Bailey saying that! And then she rolls a Natural 20 on performance and EVERYONE looses their shit! Her Runic ability is the target of MANY close saves. Also, the way Locke and Celes' interactions happen, she'd be perfect opposite Taliesin. The chat on the bridge in Albrook? HEARTSTOPPING. The attempted suicide? You KNOW Matt would call the sesion there!

* Travis as Sabin Figaro: This one was obvious. Monk/Barb that gets mistaken for a bear, and acts like an absolute teddy bear around Terra? Yes. Gods above, YES. "You think a tiny thing like the end of the world was going to be enough to keep me down?" You heard Grog too, right? The moments would be worth MILLIONS. The Opera house and Travis going "Why is everyone singing?" and then getting more and more into it! Him holding up the house for Celes! "MISTER THOU"... But best of all, and probably the single most famous Sabin moment EVER, The Phantom Train:

Matt: The train tracks suddenly lurch to the side. Even after this long and hard-fought battle it seems *chukles* it seems this train isn't letting you get away with your lives. That brings us to you, Travis! Travis, on his 5000 IQ shit: I grapple the train.

Entire Table: ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?!?!

Matt: No way in hell are you gonna- You know what? Roll for it. *Picks up dice for the Train* Taliesin: He's dead. He's so fucking dea-

Travis: NATURAL 20.

Entire Table: *Silent disbelief, everyone looks at Matt*.

Matt: *Also in disbelief* ...Rolled a 1.

Entire Table: *Inintelligeble gasping and hyperventilating*

Travis: I'm going to use my last Blitz as Meteor Strike and suplex the Train!

Matt: *Looking at the sheet, knowing damn well what's about to happen* Go ahead and roll for damage...

Travis: *Rolls for damage*

Matt: *Braces for impact* How do you wanna do this?

Entire Table and the Internet: *EXPLODES*

The Fanart keeps coming, even YEARS after the Campaign is done...

* Liam as Setzer Gabbiani: Since he's LITERALY "Mister Steal Your Girl", I think Liam would be PERFECT. Just imagine him getting set up as this suave and smooth rougue who wanted to kidnap a beautiful singer and then gets Laura instead! (Which isn't entirely wrong...) IMAGINE his expresions and his dissapearing under the table laughing as the others barely climb aboard The Blackjack. THE ENTIRE PARTY giving him shit for a low roll on a Wisdom Check (the double-headed coin) and him segwaying that into joining the party, only to find out that he actually knew all along... Priceless. The total and undistilled heartbreak as his ship falls apart, him trying to reach out for Terra and everyone falling on different places. And then meeting Celes a year later and doing the whole Daryll story... Liam would be the one to steal the audience every time he takes the spotlight! Though he would be a little like Percy in the sense that he doesn't get much to do until his arc happens.

"Money, Money, Money!" every time he throws coins to attack, the loaded dice (in character, not at the table?) and the card throws would make him so stylish in a D&D setting I'll be surprised if somebody hasn't done it already.

* Ashley as Relm Arrowny: She takes forever to join because of her constantly being away for filming, but once she's here? HOO BOY, does the fun keep coming! Her paintings coming alive and helping them fight? Her giving Sam shit for Edgar's love life? "Fuddy-Duddy!" becoming A Thing? All of those moments would be hilarious... But probably her most notorious moment comes when they find her a year later, serving a posessed brush, telling her to paint, paint, paint under the Magic House... "Keep painting until I'm complete..." The party snaps her out of it before she finishes the greatest painting she's ever done, her Magnum Opus, and then the painting coming alive prematurely in order to force her to finish... To give her form. And then the Lakshmi boss fight happens... Matt: And with the last of her strength gone, the banshee-like apparition dissipates into mist, and before any of you can react, Relm's magic brush begins to glow, like it had when you first came in here. The glow slowly creeps off the hairs and darts! Off towards the mistified form of it's mistress, enveloping itself into a thicc layer on top of the mist, swirling around... and around and around.

Ashley: Oh god, now what?

Matt: The colors dissipate, and Lakshmi unleashes a terrible wail! *DM monster noises* As it is now joined with this colorful cloud... And it compresses, smaller and smaller... And more solid until it's not mist anymore.

Marisha: *Gets it* ¡WAIT A MINUTE!

Travis: *Exited* ¡OH SHIT, HOLD ON!

Matt: The fog dissipates... And the calm returns to Relm's senses. Ashley you are now holding an innert, ordinary paint brush. However! Floating in the air, you see a crystal with a small glowing core, the particular essence of Life embeded in the middle, Terra you *points at Marisha* feel this and recognize it instantly, as it falls to the ground, and bounces a couple times... A brand new shard of Magicite.

Party: *FERAL LOOTING*

"Lakshmi" becomes the most PAINFUL fanart to make, and it's ALWAYS the one that's valued the most among the fandom.

The rest of the Party (Strago, Umaro, Mog, Cyan, Gau and GoGo) can be the guests that come over every once in a while (I particualrly see Wil Wheaton as Strago Magus, Mary McGlynn as GoGo and Will Friedle as Clyde "Shadow" Arrowny) with Shadow coming and going with the excuse that "His contract is up" (and let's face it, after surviving/witnessing the Phantom Train? My contract would be up too...) and coming back whenever his schedule/the plot allows. Eventually, everyone comes together for one last session and the battle with God Kefka. Setting their affairs in order, the reveal of who Shadow really is during a lone chat with Strago shakes the Critters to their core. Everything makes sense! Why Interceptor went straight to Relm when they met... Why his nightmares kept showing a village of magic users, yet they never mention Shadow in Thamasa! The group is RATTLED and wether or not he survives at the end becomes a HEATED argument between everyone at the table. Only Strago knows the truth...

The sendoff on The Falcon with everyone saying goodbye and seeing what the World will bring next is regarded as one of the most emotional scenes in "Critical Role" history... But the most completely DESTRUCTIVE force in this entire cast is Matt Mercer as Kefka Palazzo:

The personality... the narrative... The absolute slime in his voice when he poisons Doma. When he kills Leo and brings forth the Light of Judgement. Matt definitely has his moments playing Ultros. He's fun! And Emperor Ghestal was more of a political "Darth Sidious" villain. But Kefka? OH, LORD. NOBODY was ready for Kefka. "Enjoy the barbicue!" gets memed to no end, while also sending a horrible shiver down people's spine whenever somebody brings it up. Truly, the villain to end all villains. I can see it happen so vividly... If anybody wants to talk about this more, PLEASE hit me up! This just feels too good! Until off course the party moves on to their next Campaign in the setting for "Final Fantasy 5" but that's a whole OTHER can of worms!

[mellow-em]

Bedlam (Sam Drake)

PROLOGUE: ALL GONE 

The life she had built in only a year had disintegrated, and she was set on her stubborn mindset of finding her purpose away from Jackson. 

I DO NOT OWN ANY TLOU OR UNCHARTED CHARACTERS! ALL RIGHTS GO TO NAUGHTY DOG!

(This is a tlou x uncharted crossover. It’s set in tlou universe, but its a fic between an oc of mine, and Sam! I’m not sure how this is gonna turn out so please bear with me)

Chapter 1

_________________________________

Jackson, Wyoming

______________________

His face was illegible beyond compare, signifying my speculations were true. My recollection of the previous year had felt feverish now, as if I couldn’t graze my fingers on the memories we held between each of us.

“You’re fucking lying.”

Denial.

He lowers his head, only showing the textured black hair, that glistened with flecks of grey and white. His shameful stature made my fists clench beside me. If I didn’t know any better, I would collide them with his face; a face that held floods of imperfections already.

The pitiful man that stood before me couldn’t even relay a word out into the open. He remained mute, and shook his head at the ground.

I hadn’t realised my breath was held at my throat, creating a hoarse sensation that began choking me. I was drowning in the searing atmosphere around the both of us, as it was anything but tranquil.

Regardless of my state of pure vexation though, I took it upon myself to suck in a breath of dry air, only to release it in a huff. I mirror his actions as well, bowing my head to take in the details of my shoes.

We had found these a few months back, along with some for Ellie. Her harsh aura had been flipped as soon as I presented her with the idea that we would have matching pairs of sneakers. It was the smallest of gestures, but it was done at a time of hope.

This version of hope so happened to be revived ten times greater than before, when we finally reached our goal given to us a year prior. But now, I finally realize that it was false hope.

With my reclaimed memories flooding back, a final statement replayed in my mind: If the fate of Ellie and I had looked like this before, I would have turned my back on the journey immediately.

“After everything we’ve done,” I felt the salt-tasting droplets of tears fall from my eyes, and down my reddened cheeks as I looked up at the selfish bastard I thought I knew, “after everything Ellie’s gone through, she-” I quickly lowered my head again, suffocating from my own words.

I sat myself down on the steps of his home. It had become habitual for me to reside at his place ever since we made it back to Jackson. Sitting on his porch, with a plate of food in our laps as we talked endlessly began to give me a form of peace after our horrific adventures across the country.

Now, it felt like I was stuck in a sustained deception of what I thought was a simmering hush from reality.  

With my head in my hands I let out a soft stifle of a cry, as I sat there in complete disbelief.

Then my heartbeat fastened, and my rapid movements from my anxieties stopped as I realised something.

“Ellie doesn’t know… does she?” my voice was delicate, but it still  held every sparing trace of anger sternly.

The silence continued to speak the answers for him, giving my hunch an even bigger victory. I truly didn’t want to believe this.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” I groaned in agony as I stumble off the steps, feeling the sheer pain overwhelming me.

I clutched my chest as I felt it ring itself out, creating a boulder of tension within my entire body. I stood in the middle of his lawn, hyperventilating from the truth bearing its sharp daggers deep into my frame. The world around me was spiraling out of control, causing my balance to falter slightly.

This resulted in him rushing to my aid, but we damn well knew I didn’t want it. As soon as his hand grazed my arm, I swatted it away harshly, and twisted my body to face his worrisome one.

The developing resentment I had for him was far from dwindled, staying true within my eyes as I bored my stare into his. As I looked into his hazel ones, I could see each memory through them; the good and bad.

Floods pricked at my waterline again as I stared him down. Keeping myself contained from lashing out was becoming harder with each passing minute.

That was when one final memory was displayed through his dilated pupils.

The words replayed within my head.

“Swear to the both of us that everything you said about the fireflies is true.”

“I swear.”

Actuality set in again as I felt his hands gently caress my shoulders. The touch created fumes of heat that set themselves off completely, and my exasperation manipulated my system. I hadn’t realized I had my hands clenched in tight fists again until one finally met his face. Maybe I didn’t know any better.

He stumbled back slightly, his hand jerking its way to hold his pained cheek. He now had a wave of anger across his features, with his hardened attitude spiraling as much as mine.

Only my excuse wasn’t as far fetched as his must have been.

I tried to keep a firm stance, even with the overwhelming feeling of unconsciousness threatening the adrenaline and I. 

I still kept my fists clenched at my sides, with my knuckles fading into a white color,“You’re fucking selfish, and I hope you fucking know that.”

He mimicked my demeanor, as he stepped over to me. The closer he got, his frame began to tower over me. Though if his plan was to intimidate, he should know by now that it doesn’t work on me anymore.

“I did what I needed, to save you both.” His venomous, southern tone reverberated down to me, while his words contradicted it.

“Save us? “I laughed sarcastically, with a malicious hue coating me. I began to pace back and forth in front of him as I spoke, “Is that what were calling mass murder of the innocent these days? I suppose that goes for lying and manipulation too?”

“Kate-”

“Joel.”

His name drenched my mouth in poison.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, from what seemed to be frustration, while I wiped my tear-stained face aggressively.

He brings his hand to his face once more, stroking his unkempt beard while looking away. I held my gaze on him however, draining every last second I needed to be around him for.

An uneasy feeling began to settle within the pit of my stomach; I knew exactly what it was about.

I couldn’t bear to stay here any longer. This truth made the relationship I had with him, and life in Jackson unsalvageable. There was something pulling on my arm, however.

It was the thought of abandoning Ellie, knowing damn well I couldn’t do such a thing to her without letting her know. It would haunt me.

But, I wasn’t going to sit here while people were perishing by the second. I wasn't going to pretend life could feel normal again, regardless of my urge to live in such a fantasy. It may be something I wanted, but not something I needed. 

I knew for a fact that Ellie would feel the same if she knew the truth, but for once, I wanted the kid to live in this unrealistic version of tranquility; she needed to try an experience of what her teenage years could be like, even if it’s fucked up to extremes.

It wasn’t long before my contemplative thoughts were put to rest as Joel’s voice rang in my ear. I sigh, transferring my focus onto him. I knew what needed to be done.

“Kate, listen I-”

“Ellie,” I gulp down the saliva building up in my mouth, “I need you to take care of her.”

His face was glistening with confusion now.

“And tell Tommy and Maria I said thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Kate what the hell are you on abo-”

“I’m leaving,” I direct my eyes to the mountains beyond the borders of Jackson, crossing my arms in front of me, “I should be gone long before sunrise, so.”

I glance at Joel without moving my head, and see his face noticeably falling as the words fell from my lips. Silence tore a hole within us for a short time, only for Joel to be the first to speak.

“Do I need to remind you what is out there?”

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, Joel, I can take care of myself just fine.”

I begin to walk past him fixing my attention to gathering my shit, and getting the hell out of here. Though, Joel’s hand firmly grabs at my wrist, halting my attentiveness to the steps of the house ahead of me.

I yank my arm back to its rightful place at my side, shooting him a final look.

“Goodbye, Miller. Don’t come looking for me.”

I then walk myself into the house, deserting the former smuggler out in his front yard.

____________________

The life within the town had lessened to the hidden infestations of crickets that were scattered throughout,  and the sounds of my converse crunching the textured, dirt paths of Jackson.

There was a slight alteration to the electrical systems around here, leaving the barbed wire on one section of the fence to loose its function; along with sneaking past guards, it was the perfect getaway without getting noticed. 

Before even reaching a few yards towards the fence, I remember something.  I still had one last thing I needed to do before returning to the life away from here.

I exhale a large puff of air in frustration, and turn back towards the direction I had come from. I reach into my jacket pocket, just to be sure I had what I needed.

My hands held a letter, along with a worn out, yet surprising functional cassette. As I ventured down the roads, the written prompts from the letter replay.

Ellie,

I wanted to give you a proper goodbye, but it just wasn’t possible.

I’m sure you’ll be wondering where I have run off to, and why I won’t be in bed when you go to rudely wake me up by jumping on me.

I’m leaving Jackson. I have some personal things that have been eating at me, and I need to sort them out myself.  I told Joel to watch over you, and make sure you live as much as possible.

I’m not just talking about breathing. I need you to live your life up in Jackson as much as you can.

You deserve more happiness than anyone on this earth, Els.

And speaking of, I know you loved the song I sang to you at the bonfire the first night we were here. I found this a long time ago even before I met you and Joel. Consider it a very early birthday gift from me.

I love you kiddo.

-Kit

I felt something wet trickling down my face, only for me to abruptly swipe them off my scar-stained complexion.

I soon made it back to square one, making sure I remained quiet so both Ellie and Joel continued to sleep. If it were other situations, I wouldn’t mind too much. But I couldn’t face either of them any longer, as cowardice as it is.

I twist the doorknob to Ellie’s place, begging for it to be unlocked. Luck was my side, with the handle gently twisting with my hand.

With a few swift motions, I sneak myself in, silently closing the door with delicacy so Ellie wouldn’t wake up.

Her room was just coming together from it’s appearance; her worn furniture had been disarray across the wooden floors, along with several new articles of clothing scattered throughout the room. 

My eyes wandered to the posters plastered across the walls, that I assume were freshly hung up. It was beginning to look like the small garage was home to Ellie, making my anxieties for her adjustments here less of an issue than before. 

My attention finally directed itself to her frail stature, cuddled in a bed much larger than her. If it was possible, she could get lost in a bed like that due to her small frame.

She had a quilted blanket lazily draped over her, and a wide range of pillows supporting her head. She had been facing away from me, but I knew she was sleeping with her mouth open, as I could here the loud sounds of her breathing.

I smiled, wishing I was able to stifle a laugh without releasing her from her slumber. She had always been one to leave her mouth hanging open as she slept. The result was constant bantering between me poking fun, and her becoming defensive. 

Our relationship had developed so well over time, and it had begun to feel like she was my daughter. My other half. 

My smile immediately dropped as I dragged myself back into reality, and the reason why I was even here in the first place. I needed to do this, for myself and for her. I shook my head from its thoughts, and started for the direction of Ellie. 

I made sure to walk to her bedside table as quietly as my frantic self could, hoping I didn’t disrupt her sound sleep. With each step closer to her, I held my breath, hesitant to even do this at this point. 

As soon as I make it to her, I took in the features grazed upon her round head; her large cheeks sat with a shade of pink coating them, along with her freckles overriding her paler skin. Her eyes were closed gently, with her brows flatlined.

She was so peaceful when she slept. 

I took out the letter and cassette from my pockets, gracefully placing them both on the table without a trace of a blare. 

I held my fingertips on the letter, as if I were glued to the rustic piece of paper. I was hesitating again, so it was time for a push. 

I released my hand from it, and turned to Ellie. Before I could even think, I leaned towards her, and kissed her temple weakly, and backed away. 

As I had done before I went to the door with as little sound following me as possible, and twisted the knob of the entryway. 

The door was open now, blowing the soft, night winds onto my face as if it were patches of silk. 

As a final goodbye, I mentally threw a farewell into the open, as I gazed at my surrogate daughter one final time. Before I could shed a singular tear, I rushed out of there as fast as I could, releasing the tension-building breath I had forgot to unleash before. 

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled, with my voice becoming fragile as I spoke two final words in Jackson. 

It was time to walk away. 

As I venture back towards the fence as stealthily as I could, another set of Joel’s wise words skipped on a countless loop in my thoughts.

“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.”

I needed to search for my own answers, whatever they were.

This was, and still is something to fight for. 

I’m sorry.

[hopelikethemoon]

Elena (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Elena  Rating: PG-13 Length: 2000 Warnings: Mild angst, pining, and allusions to sex.  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in 1989, directly after Old Parr. Javier POV. I would recommend re-reading Old Parr before reading this.  Summary: Javier spends the evening with his informant. 

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Javier tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling as he drew in a drag of smoke. He welcomed the way it burned at the back of his throat, filling his lungs, before he exhaled. He watched the hazy smoke as it billowed in front of him. In the haze of the smoke, it was easy to pretend that the woman laying beside him was someone else. 

He still remembered the first time he’d seen Elena at the brothel. One of his other informants — Freckles — had called him over with information. He walked through the backdoor of the house and saw her standing there talking to Freckles. He swore his heart stopped right then and there.

Sure, she wasn’t identical, but there were enough similarities between the two women that he still caught himself doing a double-take. There was something about Elena’s eyes — her smirk and the way she expressed herself. Little mannerisms that reminded him so intimately of her. But Elena’s hair was too dark and her voice was all wrong. 

But for an evening, Javier could pretend. 

“So,” Elena started, tucking a cigarette between her lips as she leaned forward to light it off of his. “Who is she?” She questioned, drawing in a breath of smoke before exhaling as she laid down on the bed beside him.

“What?” 

“I’m not offended, Javi.” She said lightly with a grin, exhaling another breath of smoke as she tilted her head to look at him. “I’m quite comfortable with being a… Oh, what is it called? Ah. A proxy.”

Javier huffed, clenching his cigarette between his lips as he spoke around it. “There isn’t…”

Elena laughed, “Hmm. Well, you certainly said someone’s name.”

His heart clenched in his chest and he looked away from her, his eyes drawn towards the window. “I came here for information. What do you know about the cartel?” He questioned, scratching at the back of his neck. 

“So there is someone.” Elena sat up then, tucking her legs beneath her as she turned to face him. 

Javier shot her a look, “It’s not like that.” Javier insisted, leaning over to the nightstand to sit his cigarette in the ashtray. He scrubbed his hands over his face, sinking back onto the mattress. 

He had almost made a mistake tonight. For a few minutes he’d actually considered it. If Steve hadn’t been there — if things had been just a little different. He would’ve gone home with her. He would’ve happily been her rebound. But Javier knew better than falling into that shit. 

How was he supposed to roll into work Monday after that? 

“I don’t shit where I eat.” Javier said dryly, his eyes flickering towards Elena as he tucked an arm under his head. 

A grin spread over her lips as her brows rose upwards with amusement, “Is Javier Peña in love with his coworker?” She teased as she took another drag from her cigarette. 

“No.”

“It’s okay to admit that you’re deluding yourself, Javi.” Elena told him as she exhaled, “It’s not as though I’m going to tell her.” She leaned forward, draping her bare body across him as she reached to put her smoldering cigarette beside his in the ashtray. 

Javier groaned quietly, scrubbing his hands over his face as she pulled back. “I care about her, alright? But it’s not like that for her.” He rocked his jaw slowly, grinding his teeth together. “She just got out of a year-long relationship with this CIA guy we’d all been working with.”

“So she has no problem shitting where she eats?” Elena retorted with a smirk. “Sounds promising.” 

Javier shook his head, “Nah. It’s not like that.” It wasn’t. “It’s been two years since she started working with us. She’s a good fucking agent. Better than Murphy and I combined.” 

“I’m sure that’s easy enough.” Elena teased lightly. 

“Don’t.” Javier warned, shaking his head. He couldn’t do the teasing — that was too much like her. The way she’d gently barb him and Steve. He loved that about her. Shit. 

Elena sighed and nodded, “Alright.” She reached out and rested her hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his skin lightly. “So why can’t you be with this co-worker of yours?”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, “She’s too good for me.” He admitted, looking away again. “You should’ve seen this asshole she was with for a year. He was a real straight-laced, pretty boy. He had that southern charm. He fucking hiked!” 

“But she’s not with him anymore.” Elena pointed out. “Who broke up with who?”

He hesitated, “She broke up with him.” 

“So clearly that wasn’t what she wanted.” She stretched out on the bed beside him, propping her chin up on his shoulder. “Javier, what do you have to lose? If you care about her—”

He cut her off, “It’s not like that. Alright? I work with her. Every goddamn day.” Javier set his jaw hard. “I’d rather be her friend. I’m not gonna lose that just cause I want to fuck her.” He rested his hand over Elena’s, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “It’s not worth it.” 

Elena hummed softly, “Sounds like she means a lot to you.” 

He nodded slowly, dragging his teeth over the inside of his bottom lip. “She’s something else. It’s fucking hilarious too — when they told us this new agent was joining the team, I was fucking pissed. Steve and I had this good thing going, we didn’t need someone cramping our style.” Javier sank back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “But that first day, she just really proved herself. She was fucking remarkable.” 

“So these feelings aren’t new?” 

“No,” He turned his head to look at Elena, his brows drawn together. “Truth be told, I don’t know what I feel. I just know I care about her.” 

“You care about her enough to say her name during sex, Javi”

Javier dragged his hand over his face, sighing heavily as he felt his cheeks burn in response to her words. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He conceded, “But in my defense you…”

“What?” Elena arched a brow, “What about me?”

“You look like her.” He admitted.

“Excuse me?” She let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re joking, Javi.” 

He pinched at the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “It’s not a perfect match, but…” Javier lifted her hand off his chest, moving to get out of the bed and find his jeans where they were discarded on the floor.

“You’re going to quickly become my favorite client, Javier.” Elena teased. “This is fascinating.” 

Javier snorted, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Happy to entertain, Elena.” He rolled his eyes as he turned his attention back to his jeans, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket. “This is what she looks like.” He told her, passing her the picture he kept folded into his wallet.

Elena’s brows drew together as she took the picture from him. “Holy shit.” 

“Do you see it?”

She laughed, “Yeah, I see you keep a picture of her in your wallet!” She lifted her gaze to meet his, “She’s pretty.” 

A faint smile spread over his lips. “Yeah, she is.” The picture had been taken about six months after she’d started working with them. They’d wasted the last picture on the roll just to grab a shot of the three of them on their stakeout. She had her arm slung around his shoulders, leaning into his side while Steve fussed with jumping into the frame before the timer on the camera went off. 

Elena held the photo up beside her face, trying to match the expression in the shot. “Well?”

Javier nodded slowly, looking between the two. “It’s not exact, but…” He shrugged his shoulders, reaching out to take the picture back from Elena. He stared down at it, brushing his thumb over her image. “I should’ve told you.” 

“I’m not naive, Javier. I don’t believe that anyone fucks me for me.” She gave him an unamused look, before she moved to drape her arms over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re one of my better clients, as it is.” 

He chuckled quietly, curling his fingers around her arms and rubbing his thumbs over her skin. “Still.” Maybe he was old fashioned, but it felt wrong. “You’re sweet, Elena.” 

She rested her chin on his shoulder, playing her fingers through his hair. “You’re quite sweet yourself, Javier.” Elena told him. “I’m a little jealous this partner of yours has all you wrapped around her finger and doesn’t even know.” 

Javier snorted. “Like I said. I’m not fucking it up with her.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Elena’s cheek. “And on that note, perhaps we should discuss what you know…” 

Elena pulled away from him. She repositioned herself on the bed, fluffing her hair so it fanned out neatly beneath her as she sank back onto the pillow. She bit down on her bottom lip, humming thoughtfully. “Trading information is a rather dangerous business, Javi… I might need a little more convincing.” 

He smirked, “Name your price.” 

She ran her thumb over her bottom lip, “Tell me more about this partner of yours.”

“Elena.”

“Who else are you going to talk to about this?” She questioned, batting her lashes at him. “I don’t mind if you pretend I’m her.”

“I’m not going to.” Javier said firmly. “It was a mistake to come here tonight. I almost—“ He hung his head. “I could’ve gone home with her tonight. But I don’t wanna be rebound.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “It would’ve felt predatory. She’s pretending she’s not sad over him, but if you’d seen her… I wasn’t going to take advantage.”

“You’re a good man, Javier.”

“I’m not.”

“If you don’t want to be her rebound, what do you want to be?”

Javier stared at her, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “I just wanna be there for her.”

“Even as just a friend?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I meant what I said. I’m not fucking this up.” As much as he wanted her, he knew better than to pursue something. He wasn’t wired for what she deserved. He’d already prepared himself for her to inevitably end up with Lance for the long run, but… clearly he’d misjudged that. 

“She’s lucky to have you then.” Elena said softly. “I hope she realizes how lucky she is.”

“I don’t need her to.” Javier shook his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’ll get over it. Whatever this bullshit I feel is.”

“You don’t just get over love, Javier.”

“Yeah, I know.”

And she didn’t feel like the kind of person he could just get over, either. Not when she took up so much space in his brain. Two years and he already defaulted to thinking about conversations he wanted to have with her. What stupid telenovela he’d caught last night. 

He’d missed all of that, while Lance had taken up residency in her life. It was a small victory that he’d have more of her back. God, he was a greedy fuck. 

Here he was, fucking a hooker because she looked like her, all the whole feeling pride over the fact that she’d dumped her boyfriend. 

That alone was why she deserved better than him. 

Javier really hoped, whoever she went home with tonight, realized just how lucky he was.