#more tags that should be added will be here

[dearlenore]

THE FIRST, FIRST LOVE COMPLEX • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: after revealing the shocking truth of Spencer Reid’s first, first love, the team does as the unsub instructs, retracing his steps all the way to Las Vegas.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: reader is a cutie pie, reader wears sun dresses and bikinis, reader is flirty bombshell, mentions of eating disorder, mentions of death, stalking, etc

a/n: i finally wrote part two please don’t hurt me

w/c: 4.8K

PT1

TAGLIST: @miyah-kaulitz @celestial-dome @lqu91s @ningeology @anthropsych @kore-of-the-underworld (sorry if I couldn’t tag u angels🥹💋)

The BAU’s jet touched down in New York just past noon, the sky a dull, unbroken sheet of grey. Heavy clouds clung to the tips of the city’s steel giants, muting the sunlight and casting a somber haze over the skyline. The low hum of the engines faded, but Spencer’s mind continued to race — fast and relentless — like a needle skipping on a broken record.

He sat rigid in his seat, shoulders tight and posture stiff. While the others moved with calm efficiency, gathering their bags and briefing one another quietly, Spencer remained frozen. His fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against his knee, each tap betraying the nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin.

She’s out there somewhere.

The thought looped through his mind like a mantra — or a curse. Every worst-case scenario unraveled in his head, each one more suffocating than the last. His last memory of you played over and over, taunting him. Your bright smile had been framed by golden sunlight, hair tousled by a lazy breeze as you lounged on a park bench with a book balanced in your lap. He remembered the way you’d tucked your hair behind your ear without looking up, too engrossed in the pages to notice him watching.

She’s safe like this, he had thought at the time. Happy. Warm. Free.

But now? Now you were somewhere in the heart of a city too vast, too unpredictable — a place that swallowed people whole. And Spencer had no idea where you were or what the unsub’s next move would be. That uncertainty clawed at him, tightening his chest until breathing felt like a conscious effort.

“Reid.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts — calm yet commanding. Spencer blinked, suddenly aware that the others were standing near the exit, waiting for him.

“JJ and I will handle this,” Hotch said firmly. “You stay here and go through the evidence again.”

“I should be there,” Spencer shot back, his voice too sharp, too fast. His breath hitched. “If he contacts her, if there’s a pattern I missed—”

“You’re too close to this,” Hotch interrupted, tone steady but unyielding. “We need her calm when we find her, not terrified because you’re pacing like you are now.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. Hotch was right — Spencer knew that — yet the logic did nothing to quiet the gnawing panic threatening to consume him. His mind refused to slow down, cycling through probabilities and variables, imagining scenarios he couldn’t control.

“We’ll bring her back safe,” JJ added softly. Her hand squeezed his arm — brief, warm, and grounding. “I promise.”

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded, but the tension coiling in his chest refused to loosen. As Hotch and JJ disembarked, Spencer stayed behind, staring blankly at the clutter of files spread across the table.

His gaze fell to the photograph at the top of the stack — your face, mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with warmth. The memory of that moment blurred with his anxiety, twisting the image in his mind. What if this unsub had already—

No.

Spencer inhaled deeply, shakily, and forced himself to refocus. He grabbed a pen, determined to find something — anything — that could lead them to you before it was too late.

The law firm’s reception area was sleek and imposing — marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, towering glass walls that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, and a front desk staffed by a sharp-looking receptionist whose tailored blazer was as precise as her clipped tone. She barely flicked her gaze up when Hotch and JJ approached.

“We’re here to see Y/N L/N,” Hotch said firmly, flashing his badge with practiced ease.

The receptionist’s eyes barely lifted from her computer screen. “She’s assisting Mr. Connelly in a meeting,” she replied flatly. “I can leave her a message.”

“It’s urgent,” JJ pressed, her voice calm yet underscored with quiet insistence. “It’s a matter of her safety.”

The receptionist’s cool façade faltered, her gaze flicking from JJ to Hotch and back again. For a moment, she hesitated, clearly debating whether to push back or comply. Finally, her professional demeanor gave way to uncertainty. “I… let me get her.”

Moments later, you appeared from the hallway — heels clicking crisply on the marble, posture sharp and poised. A sleek blazer framed your figure, lending you an air of effortless confidence. Yet despite your composed appearance, warmth still lingered in your eyes — a warmth that flickered brighter the moment you recognized JJ. She was Spencer’s co worker, the one you were convinced he would be with once you were gone.

“JJ?” you greeted, surprise softening your features. “What are you doing here?”

JJ’s smile was brief, weighed down by something heavier. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

The concern in her voice dimmed your initial excitement, and you nodded, gesturing for them to follow you into a quiet office down the hall. The room was simple — modern furnishings, a tidy desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. As soon as the door clicked shut, JJ’s warm expression shifted to something more serious.

“We believe someone’s been following you,” Hotch said, his voice low and firm. “We have reason to believe your life is in danger.”

Your smile faltered, confusion knitting your brows. “What? Why?”

“We think it’s connected to Spencer,” JJ added gently. “He didn’t want to scare you, but… we need to get you somewhere safe.”

“Spencer?” His name felt foreign on your tongue — distant yet familiar all at once. Your expression softened for a brief moment before unease crept in. “I haven’t seen him in… God, years.” You paused, your mind scrambling to piece things together. “Wait… is this about those weird letters I’ve been getting?”

JJ’s gaze sharpened. “Letters?”

You nodded, moving to your desk and retrieving your purse. “I thought they were just from some weird admirer, but… yeah. They’d show up in my mailbox — poems, quotes about angels and music. It was sweet at first, but then they started mentioning things about my past.” Your fingers drifted to the delicate chain around your neck, absently toying with the pendant — a nervous habit you hadn’t shaken. “I figured it was just someone from high school who remembered me.”

Hotch’s expression darkened. He exchanged a grim look with JJ, and the silent weight of their concern settled over you like a cold shadow.

“Those letters are likely from the person targeting you,” Hotch said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blinked, the air suddenly feeling too thin. “This has something to do with Spencer?”

“We believe the unsub’s fixation started with him,” JJ explained carefully. “But somewhere along the way, they became obsessed with you.”

The weight of her words pressed heavily on your chest. Memories of Spencer stirred — late-night conversations whispered across shared coffees, the warmth of his hand on yours when he thought no one was looking, the way his gaze softened when you laughed. He had always been cautious with you — overly protective in a way you didn’t fully understand at the time.

Maybe now you did.

“I need to get my things,” you said quietly, your voice thinner than you intended. You reached for your purse, suddenly aware of how exposed you felt — the glass walls, the polished floors, the endless corridors all seemed too open, too vulnerable.

“We’ll walk you out,” Hotch said firmly, his stance shifting slightly as if preparing for the worst.

JJ offered you a small smile — one meant to reassure — but there was no hiding the tension that hung in the air.

The moment you stepped back into the reception area, the city’s distant noise seemed louder — sirens wailing faintly in the background, muffled conversations humming just outside the glass walls. As you walked between Hotch and JJ, their presence was comforting yet unsettling — a constant reminder that someone, somewhere, was watching.

And you had no idea what they were planning next.

Spencer barely looked up when Hotch and JJ returned to the station with you. He was pacing near Garcia’s workstation, phone in hand, scrolling through messages for any missed calls. His fingers trembled slightly against the device, his mind spinning in frantic loops.

When he finally noticed you walking in, relief flooded his face — but the tension in his body didn’t ease. His anxiety kept him rooted in place, shoulders rigid and breath uneven.

“Spencer…” Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, yet it broke through the buzzing noise in his head.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, his voice tight. “Thank God.”

You crossed the room quietly, your steps measured. Your hand found his arm — gentle, barely a touch — yet steady enough to pull him from his spiral.

“I didn’t know what was happening,” you said softly, your fingers curling slightly against his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, his eyes flicking between yours like he was trying to memorize your face all over again. “I should’ve told you sooner — I should’ve kept in touch. I—”

“You’re here now,” you interrupted quietly, your voice steady but tender. “That’s enough.”

Before Spencer could say more, Penelope’s voice broke the moment.

“Spence… you need to see this.”

Her fingers hovered above her keyboard, her usual brightness dimmed beneath a layer of unease. The screen displayed a new email — subject line: “For My Angel.”

With shaky hands, Spencer clicked the message open.

The letter was written in the same looping script as the others:

She saved my life once, your angel did.

Her music was like light — soft and warm — and she never knew I was listening.

She’s everything pure in this world, and you’re tainting her.

I’ll take her away, away from you, and give her the peace she deserves.

She won’t need to suffer anymore.

Attached were two video files. Spencer clicked the first.The screen filled with a sunlit beach — the camera shaky and handheld. You stood near the water’s edge, the breeze teasing strands of your hair loose from their pins. The fabric of your bikini clung to you as you laughed, warm and carefree, before playfully splashing Spencer.

“I’m serious!” Spencer’s voice laughed from behind the camera. “You’re gonna get cold.”

“The water is nice, come on!,” you teased, your smile softer than your words. The sound of your voice — light and fond — was enough to hollow out Spencer’s chest.

The video cut off.

The second file played — a dimly lit restaurant this time. You sat across from Spencer, your fingers slowly tracing the rim of your cocktail glass. Your gaze flicked downward as you stirred the straw absentmindedly, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured without lifting your eyes.“Like what?” Spencer’s voice countered.

“Like you’re profiling me,” you said quietly, finally glancing up.

“I can’t help it,” Spencer’s voice returned, quiet and certain. The look on his face — the love in his eyes — was undeniable.

The video ended.

“That’s enough,” Spencer muttered, stepping back from the screen. His chest felt painfully tight, like he couldn’t draw in a full breath.

“Why would they send this?” you asked softly. Your voice didn’t tremble — it barely rose above a whisper — but the unease was clear in your eyes.

“He’s fixated,” JJ said carefully. “Not just on Spencer — on you. He’s convinced that somehow… you saved him.”

“Saved him?” you repeated, your brows knitting together.

“In high school,” Spencer murmured, piecing it together. “The music, the kindness — you must’ve done something that he clung to.”

You lowered your gaze to your hands, your fingers loosely fidgeting with the chain of your necklace. “I used to play my flute in the park,” you said quietly. “There was this boy… I didn’t know his name, but he was always sitting alone. I played because… I don’t know, I thought maybe it’d help.”

“That’s it,” Hotch said grimly. “You gave him something to hold onto.”

“And now,” JJ added, “he thinks he’s saving you in return.”

For a long moment, you were silent — your fingers still absently twisting the necklace chain.

“We need to find him before he gets that chance,” Spencer said firmly. His voice was low, but the urgency behind it was unmistakable.

You gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the delicate chain. The air in the room felt heavier than before — thick with unspoken fear — but when Spencer’s hand found yours, you let him hold on.

Quietly, you let yourself believe that somehow, despite everything, you’d be safe.

The morning air was cold — the kind that clung to your skin and sank into your bones — and it carried with it a weight that pressed heavily on Spencer’s chest. He stood beside Hotch and JJ, his fingers twitching restlessly against his side, the unease winding tighter with every breath.

The plan had seemed secure — two officers stationed with you, experienced and reliable. Spencer had reviewed their backgrounds twice, grilling Hotch on their credentials as if he could force some kind of guarantee. But it hadn’t been enough to quiet the gnawing panic in his chest.

He’d argued. Begged, even.

“She should stay here,” Spencer had insisted, voice rising despite himself. “Or— or somewhere safer. A hotel, one with security, or maybe—”

“I just want to go home,” you’d interrupted, your voice quiet but unwavering. “I can’t breathe in here. I need to feel normal again.”

Spencer’s protests had faltered. He’d hated that he understood.

He knew that suffocating feeling — that desperate need to reclaim some semblance of control after fear had robbed you of it. He knew what it felt like to want your space back, to convince yourself that normalcy could be enough to keep you safe.

So he’d let you go — but not without hesitation.

He remembered standing by the station doors, fingers clenched at his sides, feeling like there was something more he should’ve said — something that might’ve changed your mind. When you turned back for him, your gaze softened, and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself back.

He’d closed the distance in an instant, arms wrapping tightly around you. His fingers curled into the fabric of your coat like he could anchor you there with him.

“Please be safe,” he whispered into your hair. His voice had wavered, barely audible even to himself.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” you promised, voice soft yet certain. “Bright and early.”

But Spencer had held on just a little longer, as if he knew that promise might be one you wouldn’t get the chance to keep.

The apartment felt foreign — like someone else’s home disguised in your own familiar comforts. The faint scent of lavender still clung to the air, and the pastel throw blankets you’d folded just the night before lay neatly across the armchair. Yet none of it felt real. It was like you were standing in a stage set, where everything looked familiar but nothing felt safe.

You’d brewed a cup of tea — something warm and calming — but your fingers barely touched the mug. It sat untouched on the counter, steam curling lazily upward.

Detective Alvarez and Officer Greene moved with quiet diligence, checking the locks for the fifth time that morning. Their presence should have been reassuring, but instead, it only deepened the unease gnawing at your chest.

“We’ve got this,” Alvarez said, flashing you a confident smile. “No one’s getting in.”

You tried to smile back, but it felt thin, forced. The words didn’t stick.

Your gaze kept drifting to the windows. Each shadow seemed to stretch too far, each silhouette in the corner of your eye felt like someone lurking just out of sight.

You turned on the TV, letting the dull hum of the morning news fill the silence. The voices blurred together — static, muffled — but you kept the volume high, hoping to drown out the noise in your head.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Miss L/N?” Greene’s voice called. “It’s me.”

You frowned, setting your tea down. “Didn’t you just check in?”

“Just want to update you,” he answered. “Everything’s clear outside.”

Something felt off — the words too casual, too light. You hesitated, fingers curling around the door handle. Still, you turned the lock and opened the door just a crack — enough to see Greene’s face.

He smiled, but something was wrong. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes — too tight, too forced.

And then you saw it — the smear of blood just beneath his collar.

Your breath caught.

Before you could react, he shoved the door open. The impact sent you sprawling backward, your shoulder striking the wall and your head slamming against the sharp corner of your bookshelf.

“W-What…?” Your voice barely broke the air, slurred and thin as dizziness clouded your vision. The room spun, shadows warping and shifting.

The man standing above you wasn’t Greene. His uniform hung loose on his frame, and the dark glint in his eyes twisted your stomach with dread.

“Im sorry it had to be this way,” he murmured, voice low and venomous.

The street was a blur of flashing lights and frantic voices when the BAU arrived. Spencer shoved past the officers crowding the sidewalk, ignoring the calls for him to slow down. His breath hitched when he reached the threshold of the building.

Two bodies.

Detective Alvarez lay crumpled in the stairwell, his chest dark with blood. Officer Greene’s body was slumped near the front door — his badge still clutched tightly in his hand. Blood smeared the floor like a cruel map of what had unfolded, but none of it mattered.

You weren’t there.

“She’s gone,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely holding together. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. “He took her…”

“We’ll find her,” Hotch said firmly, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.

“He has her right now!” Spencer snapped, his voice breaking as he turned sharply toward him. His breath stuttered again — this time more ragged, more desperate. “Right now…”

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was softer as she approached. “We found something inside.”

Spencer barely heard her. His gaze remained fixed on the bloodstains, the smeared footprints leading away from the doorway. His mind kept looping back to the last thing you’d said to him.

“You’ll see me tomorrow. Bright and early.”

But tomorrow had arrived — and you were nowhere to be found.

The living room was a wreck — papers strewn across the floor, cushions gutted and tossed aside, the coffee table shoved halfway across the room. The scent of overturned candles and stale air clung to the space. Yet none of it mattered — not the mess, not the chaos.

What stole Spencer’s breath was the envelope on the coffee table.

His name was scrawled across the front in jagged, uneven letters — the ink pressed so hard into the paper it had nearly torn through. His fingers trembled as he reached for it, dread coiling tightly in his chest.

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was soft, but it barely registered.

With shaky hands, he tore the envelope open. The paper inside was rough beneath his fingertips — thin and cheap, like something torn from a notebook.

“I trusted you to keep her safe. How could you let her suffer like this?

She’s perfect — but she’s broken.

You never even noticed. While you smiled and held her hand, she was starving herself just to stay small enough for you to love her.

She’s an angel… my angel.

I’ll fix her now. I’ll save her from you.”

Spencer’s breath faltered, his fingers tightening around the paper until it crumpled in his grip. His vision blurred as the words seared themselves into his mind.

“What… what does he mean?” Spencer rasped, his voice thin and uneven.

JJ stepped closer, her expression carefully composed yet unmistakably concerned. “Spencer… did she ever mention struggling with food?”

“Yes.” His voice broke on the word. “She’s… she’s always smiling, always full of life…she got better…”

But even as the words left his mouth, memories began to surface — disjointed and sharp.

The quiet way you’d push food around your plate, always insisting you weren’t that hungry.

The faint tremor in your fingers when you were tired — or when you thought no one was looking.

The way your dresses sometimes seemed a little too loose, like they didn’t quite fit the way they once had.

Moments he’d brushed off as nothing — little things that felt insignificant at the time but now twisted painfully in his mind.

You were hurting… and he hadn’t seen it.

“Oh God…” Spencer’s breath hitched, and his knees buckled. He sank onto the edge of the couch, the crumpled letter still clenched in his fist. “I didn’t see it.” His voice broke, raw and strained.

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch said firmly, stepping into his line of sight. “This unsub is projecting his own obsession — twisting it to blame you.”

“No,” Spencer choked out, shaking his head. His voice faltered, barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve known… I should’ve noticed.”

JJ knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. “Spence… you love her. That’s what matters right now.”

But Spencer barely heard her. His mind spiraled, looping back to the last time he’d seen you — the softness in your smile when you’d promised him “bright and early.”

He thought about the way you’d hugged him a little longer than usual — how fragile you’d felt in his arms.

You needed him… and he hadn’t seen it.

“I can’t lose her,” Spencer whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t…”

“We’re going to find her,” Hotch said firmly. “But we need you with us — thinking clearly.”

Spencer forced a shaky breath and wiped a trembling hand across his face. He clung to the only thing that mattered now — the promise he silently made to himself as he stared at the crumpled letter in his hand.

He would find you.

He wouldn’t fail you again.

The room was silent except for the furious rhythm of Garcia’s fingers flying across her keyboard. Spencer hovered beside her, too restless to sit. His breath came in shallow bursts, his mind cycling through worst-case scenarios on a relentless loop.

“Come on…” Garcia muttered. “Come on, you sick freak… give me something…”

The seconds dragged painfully on — each one tightening the coil of panic in Spencer’s chest.

Then — ping.

“Got him!” Garcia cried. “A security camera caught him heading toward an abandoned warehouse five miles outside the city.”

Hotch was already barking orders, agents scrambling for their gear. Spencer didn’t wait — he was out the door, heart racing.

The warehouse reeked of mold and rust, the air heavy with dust that clung to Spencer’s throat. The floorboards groaned beneath his steps, each creak splintering the silence. His pulse pounded in his ears — too loud, too fast.

Then he heard it.

A faint sound — soft, stifled sobs.

His chest tightened.

“Y/N…”

He followed the sound, moving faster now. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you — slumped against a metal pole, wrists raw and bruised from the rope that bit into your skin. Your hair clung to your face, damp with sweat, and your breathing was shallow.

“Y/N…” Spencer’s voice broke on your name.

Your head lifted weakly. “Spence…”

Before he could reach you, a figure emerged from the shadows.

The unsub.

He was wiry, face gaunt and eyes wild. The knife in his hand gleamed under the dim light.

“You didn’t deserve her,” the man spat, his voice shaking with rage. His glare locked onto Spencer, burning with venom. “You let her suffer, and you didn’t even notice.”

“Please…” Spencer raised his hands, voice tight but steady. “You don’t have to hurt her.”

“I would never! She’s not safe with you,” the man snapped. “She’s too kind — too good — and you didn’t even see how much she was hurting.” His voice wavered. “But I did.”

Spencer’s heart twisted painfully. “I know you believe that,” he said carefully. “But you’re not helping her this way.”

“I can fix her!” the man barked, his hand tightening around the blade.

“By starving her?” Spencer’s voice rose, breaking with emotion. “By scaring her like this?”

The unsub flinched as if Spencer’s words had struck him. His grip faltered, the knife dipping slightly.

“I wouldn’t starve her! I- I’m not like you.” The unsub held his head with his free hand, waving the knife about. It went quiet for a moment.

Then your voice broke the silence.

“Hey…”

Both men froze as you lifted your head. Your voice was soft — weak yet unwavering.

“Hey,” you tried again, a little stronger this time — gentle, soothing, like you were speaking to a frightened child.

The unsub’s gaze flicked to you. His face twisted with confusion. “You… you don’t have to be scared,” he stammered. “I’m saving you.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know you think you are.”

Spencer’s breath caught. He wanted to move — to reach you — but he knew better than to push.

“I remember you,” you said, your voice steady. “From high school… you used to sit on the far bench by the fountain.”

The unsub blinked rapidly. “You remember?”

“Of course I do,” you said with a faint smile. “I used to play my flute there… and you’d always listen.”

“You… you played beautifully,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t know what that meant to me. I was… I was going to kill myself that day. But then I heard you playing, and I thought… maybe there’s still something good in the world. You were that something.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I’m so glad you didn’t,” you said softly. “You deserved to find peace… to heal. But this isn’t the way.”

The knife wavered in his hand.

“I know you think I’m broken,” you continued gently. “But I promise… I’m okay now. I’m trying to be.”

The unsub shook his head fiercely. “No, no… you’re not okay. I saw you — barely eating, wasting away. He let you hurt yourself.” His eyes flicked back to Spencer, sharp with blame.

“I know,” you said carefully. “But that wasn’t his fault.”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“I was sick,” you explained gently. “The weight loss… it wasn’t my eating disorder. It was my medication.” Your gaze shifted to Spencer, soft and unwavering. “He’s always been there for me. And right now… I need him.”

The unsub’s face crumbled. His fingers slackened around the knife.

“You’ve been carrying this pain for so long,” you said softly. “But you don’t have to anymore. Let me help you now, the way you once helped me.”

The blade clattered to the floor.

“I just wanted to protect you,” the man whispered brokenly.

“I know,” you murmured, eyes kind. “But it’s over now. You protected me.”

The team rushed in, Morgan and Hotch seizing the unsub before he could react. The man barely resisted — his gaze stayed locked on you, his expression crumpling as tears streaked down his face.

“You saved me,” he mumbled as they dragged him away. “You saved me back then… and you saved me now…”

“And you saved me,” you responded.

Later, after you’d been checked over by paramedics, you found Spencer sitting quietly outside the ambulance. His head hung low, wrists encircled by handcuffs — protocol after crossing into the scene without waiting for backup. His fingers twisted anxiously, his breathing uneven.

“Hey…”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. When he looked up and saw you standing there — bruised but smiling — his chest caved with relief.

“You’re okay…” His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly.

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Thanks to you.”

“I… I should’ve known,” Spencer stammered. “About the medication… about everything. He was right — I didn’t see it.”

“You couldn’t have,” you soothed. “But you’ve always been there when it mattered.”

Spencer swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

“You don’t have to think about that.” Gently, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

Spencer exhaled shakily, eyes flicking downward.

“Do you remember…” You paused, smiling softly. “When I used to play for you?”

His gaze lifted, brow furrowing slightly.

“I’d still play for you someday,” you offered. “If you want.”

Spencer let out a breath — a faint, tired laugh — and nodded.

“I’d like that.”

[paucubarsisimp]

HEYY! Could you make a fic where Pau Cubarsi starts liking Hansi Flick's daughter, who is the same age as him? At first Pau was afraid to approach the girl because he was scared of Hansi's reaction, but eventually they become friends until they both start to like each other. Idk how else to describe it haha, just something cute and fluffy please 🥰🧡

coach’s daughter

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

summary: in which pau falls for his coach’s daughter

warnings: none

a/n: this was such a good idea 🥹! lmk if i should do a part 2 with hansi finding out!

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist

it was a cloudy morning when your father first walked through the doors of the barcelona training facility as their new manager. you had seen the excitement in his eyes, that familiar fire that burned when he stepped into a new chapter of his career. but for you, things were different. you had always been a shadow behind him, following his success, his every move. but now? now, you were part of the club, even if you hadn’t officially started anything. the pressure was suffocating.

you weren’t exactly involved in the club’s operations, not the way he was. still, the fact that you were there—sitting in the stands during every practice, standing by when your father needed to make a decision—it made you feel like you were just as much a part of it all as the players themselves. and that’s when you first saw him.

pau cubarsi.

at first, it was hard to focus on him in the sea of players running drills. you were used to watching professional athletes, to the smoothness of their movements and the precision in their steps. but something about him caught your eye. maybe it was the way he held himself—shy, yet determined. maybe it was how his hair always fell over his forehead in a messy, but somehow charming way, or how his greenish-blue eyes looked like they were always searching for something, someone.

he was only 18, but there was something about his presence that felt different. not like the others. more… vulnerable. like he was carrying the weight of something bigger than himself. it wasn’t just the training that wore him down. it was the weight of expectation, the desire to prove himself under your father’s watchful eye.

you saw him during breaks, always off to the side, quietly observing. he would often steal glances at you, like he wasn’t sure if he should look or if he was imagining it. when his eyes met yours, it wasn’t awkward. it was almost like he was trying to figure you out.

you tried not to pay too much attention to it. you were here for your father, to support him as he made his mark at barcelona. still, the way he looked at you… it left a strange feeling in your chest. like he was scared, but not in the way you’d expect from someone younger or less experienced. it was more like he was afraid of getting it wrong, of disappointing someone.

it wasn’t until the next practice that you found yourself sitting alone in the stands, watching the players run through drills again. most of the team was there, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. pau was standing on the far side, focused but quiet, always a few steps removed from the rest of the group. he didn’t speak much, didn’t seem to laugh or joke around like the others did. he was just there, working.

that’s when your father came up behind you.

“you’re watching cubarsi, aren’t you?”

you blinked, surprised that he’d noticed.

“yeah. he’s different, isn’t he?” you said, glancing at your dad.

your father nodded, eyes never leaving the field. “he’s got potential. he’s just young. and he’s still trying to find his place here.”

you could tell your father respected him—there was a quiet kind of admiration in his voice. “does he talk to anyone?” you asked, half-joking. you had rarely seen pau interact with the others. he always seemed… apart.

“he’s shy,” your father said simply. “but he’s also determined. i’m hoping he’ll come out of his shell soon enough.”

the idea of pau being shy surprised you. most professional players had an air of confidence about them, or at least, that was the image they portrayed. but pau was different. there was a quiet intensity about him, something raw and unpolished.

“he’s not like the others,” you murmured, more to yourself than to your father.

“no,” your father agreed, “but that could be a good thing.”

days passed, and as your father settled into his role at barcelona, you found yourself at the training facility more often. you’d attend the sessions, watching the players and occasionally offering a word of encouragement to some of them. but mostly, you kept to yourself. it was easy to get lost in the routine.

but then there were those moments when your eyes would inevitably drift to pau. you couldn’t help it. there was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet determination he had. and though he rarely spoke to anyone, when you two made eye contact, it was always a different kind of moment. almost like there was a quiet understanding there.

it wasn’t until a week after you first really noticed him that you got a chance to talk to him.

after one particularly brutal practice, most of the team had already left. you were walking toward the exit when you saw pau sitting on one of the benches near the field, his shoulders slumped, a towel draped over his neck. he didn’t look exhausted—he looked… thoughtful.

without thinking much about it, you walked over to him.

“hey,” you said, softly, not wanting to startle him.

he looked up, his greenish-blue eyes wide, almost surprised, like he hadn’t expected anyone to approach him. “oh. hi.”

you offered a small smile, taking a seat next to him on the bench. “how’s it going?” you asked, hoping to start a casual conversation.

“uh, good,” he said slowly. “i think. just… a lot to process, you know?”

you nodded, understanding completely. “yeah. it can be overwhelming at first. i’ve seen it with my dad so many times. the pressure, the expectations.”

“your dad…” he trailed off, glancing at you. there was something almost shy about the way he spoke your father’s name, like he was still getting used to the idea of being coached by someone so accomplished. “he’s… he’s tough.”

“yeah,” you said with a quiet laugh. “he is. but he’s fair. if you put in the work, he’ll notice.”

pau nodded, his fingers playing with the edge of the towel around his neck. “i just don’t want to mess up. i don’t want to be the guy who lets everyone down.”

you could hear the weight in his voice. it wasn’t just about the game for him. it was about proving himself, not just to your dad, but to everyone around him.

“you won’t,” you said quietly. “you’ve got talent, pau. just trust yourself. no one expects perfection right away.”

his eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was silence. the kind of silence that felt charged, like something was about to shift between you two. and when he looked away, it felt almost like a weight had lifted, though neither of you had said anything that would explain it.

“thanks,” he said, offering a small, uncertain smile. “i… i appreciate it.”

it was a small moment, but it lingered.

as the weeks passed, you found yourself talking to pau more often. it started with simple exchanges after training, but then, those moments became more comfortable. there was a quiet ease to your conversations. he began to relax around you, and you found yourself looking forward to those little moments when you could catch a glimpse of him, or maybe even share a few words.

he didn’t talk about himself much, but little by little, you learned things about him. he came from a small town, his family had sacrificed a lot for him to get this far. he was quiet, introverted, and seemed to have a deep passion for the game. but there was more to it than that. it wasn’t just about playing for the love of football. it was about a personal drive, something that pushed him to constantly work harder, to never settle.

and you couldn’t help but admire that.

one afternoon, after a particularly tough training session, you were walking toward the exit when you saw him again, sitting on the same bench. this time, he wasn’t alone. some of the other players were there too, chatting and laughing, but pau sat slightly apart from them, his eyes fixed on the ground.

you approached, and he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with that same hint of uncertainty.

“hey,” you said, offering a warm smile.

“oh, hey,” he replied, his voice a little shy, but warmer than before.

you sat down next to him. “how’s it going? still processing?”

he smiled faintly. “yeah. but it’s getting easier.”

the conversation felt easy, comfortable. and even though you hadn’t admitted it yet, there was something growing between the two of you. something unspoken.

as the days turned into weeks, you both began to realize that maybe… just maybe, this was the beginning of something more.

it had been a few weeks since you and pau had started talking regularly, and already, you could feel the difference. the tension that had existed between you—mostly because of your father’s position, and the fact that you had to maintain a certain distance from the players—had started to fade. with every quiet conversation and every shared glance, you felt a shift. you were beginning to see pau differently, and he, it seemed, was starting to see you in a different light as well.

it was a friday afternoon when the team had their last training session of the week. the sun was lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field. the mood was more relaxed than usual. the pressure of a mid-week match had passed, and now, it was all about fine-tuning.

you found yourself sitting in the stands, like you always did, watching the drills unfold below. your father was in the middle of a tactical discussion with a few of the senior players, and you could hear the occasional bursts of laughter from the rest of the squad as they ran through a scrimmage.

but you weren’t really paying attention to that. no, your eyes kept drifting to one person: pau.

he was on the far side of the field, quietly running through his exercises. his hair was slightly messy, as usual, and his bright greenish-blue eyes were locked on the ball at his feet, as though it held the secret to everything he needed to do. he had always been so focused, even in the little things. it was something you admired, but it also made you wonder if he ever allowed himself to relax.

as if sensing your gaze, pau looked up. his eyes met yours for a split second, and there was that familiar feeling again—a kind of unspoken understanding between the two of you. his mouth twitched into a small smile, and you couldn’t help but return it.

the moment was fleeting, but it felt like something more than just a glance.

after practice ended, as the players began to disperse, you stood and made your way toward the locker room. your thoughts kept drifting back to pau, to the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t looking. there was something there, but neither of you had dared to say it out loud.

just as you reached the door to the locker room, you heard someone call your name.

“hey, wait up.”

you turned to see pau jogging toward you, his strides quick but careful. there was a slight hesitation in his steps as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was about to say.

“hey,” he said, breathless from the run. “you heading out already?”

you nodded, offering a smile. “yeah, just thought i’d grab some air before heading back to the office. you finished for the day?”

“yeah, just… stretching a little,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “i usually stay after practice to work on a few things.”

you raised an eyebrow. “like what?”

he glanced down at his feet, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “you know, just… some drills. trying to improve my footwork. i feel like it’s one of the things i can control the most, but… i’m still not quite where i want to be.”

you tilted your head, considering his words. pau was always trying to improve himself, always trying to become better. but it was clear that his drive came from a place of insecurity, not arrogance. it was a part of him that you hadn’t seen before, and it made you admire him even more.

“don’t be too hard on yourself,” you said gently. “you’ve got the talent, pau. you just need to trust it.”

he met your gaze, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something more, but he hesitated. instead, he gave you a small smile.

“thanks,” he said, his voice quiet. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

there was a long pause, an awkward silence hanging in the air between you. and then, as if to break it, he stepped forward slightly, the uncertainty clear on his face.

“do you… want to hang out for a bit?” he asked, the question coming out slowly, almost nervously. “i mean, it’s just… after a day like today, i figured maybe it’d be nice to have someone to talk to.”

you felt a warm flutter in your chest, surprised by his invitation but also flattered. you had spent so much time watching him, observing his quiet intensity, but you hadn’t considered that he might want to spend time with you too.

“yeah,” you said, smiling. “i’d like that.”

the two of you made your way to a nearby café, a small, cozy spot a few blocks from the training ground. it wasn’t much—just a quiet place with warm lighting and the smell of fresh pastries in the air. you sat at a small table near the window, sipping on your drinks and talking about everything and nothing.

at first, the conversation was light—talking about training, small observations about the players, and the general chaos of your father’s schedule. but as time went on, the conversation deepened. pau started to open up more, sharing things he hadn’t said before. he told you about his life growing up, the pressure he felt to make it big in football, the sacrifices his family had made to support him. he talked about how hard it was to be seen, to feel like he was good enough, even though he was always told he had potential.

and as he spoke, you listened. really listened. you could see the weight he carried, the vulnerability he hid behind his quiet demeanor. there was a quiet pain there, but also a fire that burned, one that pushed him forward despite all the doubts he had about himself.

when he finally paused, looking down at his drink, you couldn’t help but ask the question that had been on your mind.

“you don’t have to be so hard on yourself, you know?” you said gently. “i mean, you’re doing great. you’re already here, at one of the biggest clubs in the world. that says something.”

pau glanced up at you, his greenish-blue eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. “i just… i don’t want to let anyone down. especially not your dad.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words. you knew what he meant. your father’s expectations were sky-high, and pau knew it. he didn’t want to fail in front of someone who was already so accomplished.

“he won’t let you fail,” you said softly. “he sees your potential, pau. and so do i.”

the words left your lips before you could stop them, and for a moment, the air between you felt thick, charged. pau’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked away, clearing his throat.

“thanks,” he said, his voice a little rough. “that means a lot. really.”

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. there was something in the way he spoke to you, something that made you feel seen, too. not just as your father’s daughter, but as you—someone he was starting to trust.

and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just watching the world from the sidelines. you were a part of it. and so was pau.

after that evening at the café, something shifted. it wasn’t immediate, but gradually, the little moments between you and pau grew more natural. it started with small interactions: a quick smile across the field, a casual hello when passing each other in the halls. but those small moments began to build into something more.

every time you saw pau, you noticed how he seemed to open up a little more. he wasn’t as shy around you anymore. he’d hang back a little after practice, waiting for you to join him, and when you did, the two of you would talk about everything—football, life, and sometimes just random, silly things that made the hours fly by.

and you found yourself looking forward to those moments. they were always simple, but something about being with him made everything feel more… alive. it wasn’t like he was trying to impress you. he didn’t need to. the quiet sincerity in his words, his unspoken vulnerability, was enough.

it was after one particularly intense training session that you found yourself walking to the locker room, ready to head out for the day. you’d been sitting in the stands, watching the team run through drills, when pau’s eyes had caught yours again. this time, though, you didn’t look away. you held his gaze, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar, shy smile. you smiled back.

as usual, he waited for you by the exit. when you saw him standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, looking more comfortable than usual, your heart did that little flutter it always did now.

“hey,” you greeted him, approaching with a smile.

“hey,” pau responded, his voice warm. “you heading out?”

“yeah,” you said, falling into step with him as the two of you started walking towards the café. “feels like it’s been a long week.”

“tell me about it,” he replied with a small laugh. “but at least it’s friday, right?”

you nodded, glancing over at him. “yeah, at least there’s that.”

the conversation was light, just two people sharing the casual rhythm of a Friday afternoon, but something was different about it. maybe it was the way pau wasn’t as hesitant anymore. maybe it was the way you both felt comfortable in the silence, the occasional chuckle breaking the stillness.

as you approached the café, pau turned to you with an almost uncertain look in his eyes. “i, uh… i was thinking about something,” he said, voice a little quieter than usual.

“what’s up?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his words. “well, i’ve been… kind of thinking about how much time we spend talking about football and all that,” he said, his hands fidgeting. “but i want to know more about you. like, outside of your dad’s job and the team. what do you like to do? i mean… i know you probably have your own life, too, right?”

the question caught you off guard, but in the best way. it felt different, more personal than anything he had asked you before. you thought about it for a moment, then smiled.

“yeah, i do,” you said, your voice soft. “i’m actually really into art. i sketch a lot. when i have the time, i mean. but mostly, i like to just… go out and explore the city. see new places.”

pau seemed to brighten at that, his interest piqued. “art? that’s cool. i didn’t know that.”

you shrugged, feeling a little shy at the attention. “it’s just something i’ve always done. i guess it’s my way of… getting away from everything. it helps me clear my mind.”

“that’s really cool,” pau said, sounding genuinely interested. “maybe you can show me some of your sketches sometime.”

the invitation was light, but you could hear the sincerity in his voice. and you found yourself feeling a little warmer, a little more at ease with the idea of sharing that part of you with him.

“maybe,” you replied with a smile. “i think you’d like them. but no promises—they’re pretty rough.”

“rough is good,” he grinned. “rough means it’s real, right?”

you chuckled, and the two of you settled into the café, each of you feeling a little more comfortable in the quiet space. as the days passed, you found yourselves hanging out more often, even outside of the café. sometimes it was walking through the city, other times it was grabbing lunch together, but the more you spent time with pau, the more you realized how much you liked him. not just as a player, not just as someone you shared casual conversations with, but as a person.

and it wasn’t just the way he made you laugh or the way he seemed to understand your silences. it was the way he paid attention. the way he saw things about you that others didn’t. he saw the little things—your half-smile when you were nervous, the way you tugged at your sleeves when you were deep in thought. he noticed how you’d take a deep breath before speaking, like you were trying to find the right words, the right moment. and he didn’t rush you.

it was small, but it was everything.

one afternoon, as you and pau sat on a bench overlooking the city from a high point in the park, there was a shift. something unspoken lingered between you two, heavier than before.

pau had been quiet for a while, staring out at the horizon as the golden light from the setting sun bathed the city in a warm glow. you’d been talking about football, about how the team had been preparing for an upcoming match, when the silence fell.

finally, pau turned to you, his expression serious, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes that took you by surprise.

“can i ask you something?” he said, his voice low.

“of course,” you said, looking at him.

he paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. “do you ever feel like… like you’re just a part of someone else’s story?” he asked, his voice unsure.

you blinked, taken aback by the question. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he said, his gaze shifting downward, “with your dad being who he is, and everything… do you ever feel like people see you as just ‘the manager’s daughter’ or like you’re only important because of that?”

the question hit a little too close to home, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. but you took a deep breath, glancing down at your hands, trying to find the right words.

“sometimes, yeah,” you said quietly. “it’s hard to not feel like that when everyone expects so much from him, and by extension, from me. it’s like… i’m always just trying to fit into the world they’ve built around him.”

pau looked at you with an understanding that made something inside of you shift. “i get that,” he said softly. “i know i’m just starting out here, and everyone’s watching me, waiting for me to be this big thing. sometimes i wonder if i’m good enough to be part of this.”

the words felt like a confession, and it made you realize that pau’s vulnerability was much more than just insecurity—it was a window into his true self. someone who was trying to carve out a space in a world that had already decided who he was supposed to be.

“you’re good enough, pau,” you said, your voice firm. “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. especially not me. you’re already more than enough.”

he looked at you, his eyes soft, and for a moment, there was no pressure, no expectation—just the two of you, sitting side by side, quietly understanding each other.

the shift was subtle, but undeniable. there was something there now. something more than just friendship.

the days after that afternoon in the park felt like they were suspended in time. everything around you seemed to continue at its usual pace, but there was a growing awareness between you and pau, something that wasn’t there before. it was subtle—his lingering glances, the way his smile held a little more warmth, the way he was a little more open with his thoughts. and with each passing moment, you felt a connection that was becoming harder to ignore.

it wasn’t just about the quiet walks or the café visits anymore. it wasn’t even about the conversations that started light but ended with something deeper, more intimate. no, it was something else. it was the way your heart would race whenever he was close, the way your stomach would flutter when he said your name with that softness in his voice.

you couldn’t deny it. you were falling for him.

but you also couldn’t ignore the fact that you were starting to sense something in him, too. it wasn’t just your imagination. there was a shift in the way he looked at you—his eyes held more meaning, and he seemed to notice the smallest things about you. when you were tired, he could see it even before you said anything. when you were happy, it showed in the way you smiled, and he’d smile back, like it was a secret only the two of you shared.

you tried to keep things casual, but it was becoming harder.

it was a rainy evening, and after a long day of training, you found yourself sitting in the stands, waiting for the last few players to finish up. the rain had started to fall in soft sheets, and the cold breeze made you pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders. most of the team had already cleared out, but you didn’t mind the quiet. it gave you time to think.

the only thing you didn’t expect was pau.

he appeared out of nowhere, emerging from the locker room door with his hoodie pulled over his head, looking like he was going to head out—but then he saw you. he hesitated for a moment, then jogged toward you.

“hey,” he greeted, his voice a little breathless, like he hadn’t quite expected to find you here. “what are you doing out in the rain?”

you shrugged, trying to make light of it. “just thinking. didn’t expect the rain, honestly.”

“yeah, it’s been like that all day,” he said, settling down beside you. “you want me to walk you to the car? it’s not a good idea to stay out here alone, especially when it’s this cold.”

you smiled at the thoughtfulness behind his words. “you don’t have to do that. i’m fine.”

“i know i don’t have to,” he said, his eyes locking with yours for a moment. “but i want to.”

your heart skipped a beat. it was a simple sentence, but the way he said it—so casually, yet with so much sincerity—made your chest tighten. you felt like there was something he wasn’t saying. something just under the surface.

“alright,” you agreed softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “thanks.”

as you stood up, pau moved a little closer, falling into step beside you as you both made your way toward the parking lot. the rain was still falling, but it wasn’t as heavy as before. the sound of the droplets hitting the ground was oddly calming, the rhythm of it matching the steady beat of your heart.

the walk was quiet at first, but then, pau spoke again, his voice hesitant, like he was testing the waters.

“do you ever wonder…” he began, and you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“wonder what?”

he paused, a small frown crossing his face. “i don’t know. i guess i just wonder if things are going to stay the way they are. i mean, with us. i don’t want to mess it up, you know? everything feels so… natural when we talk. but i don’t want you to think i’m just some guy who doesn’t get it.”

you could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and it made your chest tighten. he was scared. scared of crossing that line between friendship and something more. scared of ruining what you had.

you stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him. the rain had slowed down to a drizzle, and the streetlights cast a soft glow across the wet pavement. you looked into his eyes, those greenish-blue depths that always made you feel like you were seen, really seen.

“pau,” you said softly, your heart racing. “you don’t have to worry about messing anything up. i’m not going anywhere. and neither are you, are you?”

his eyes softened, and for a brief moment, you saw something vulnerable flash across his face. it was as if he was waiting for you to tell him that it was okay, that it was safe to admit what had been building between the two of you.

and you did.

“i… i like you, pau,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “i really do.”

the air between you two seemed to stop for a moment. everything else faded into the background—the rain, the noise of the world, the people rushing around. it was just the two of you, standing there in that small space, with everything hanging between you like a secret neither of you had dared to say out loud before.

pau’s breath caught, his eyes searching yours for any hint that you didn’t mean it. but there was no doubt in your voice, no hesitation in your gaze.

“you like me?” he asked, his voice almost incredulous. “really?”

you nodded, smiling shyly. “yeah. i do.”

it was then that you saw him let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. a relieved smile spread across his face, and for the first time, you saw him look at you like you were the only person in the world. his gaze softened, and without another word, he stepped forward, his hand gently brushing against yours.

“i like you too,” pau admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the confession was something fragile, something he was only just now allowing himself to believe.

the air around you two seemed to shift in that moment. the world was quieter, the rain falling around you both almost like it was a backdrop to this newfound understanding. there was no turning back now—no pretending this connection wasn’t there.

his fingers brushed against yours again, this time intertwining, and you felt a warmth spread through you at the simple touch. it was a promise, an acknowledgment that this was real.

you looked up at him again, your heart in your throat, your pulse quickening as he gazed back at you. and then, slowly, ever so gently, he leaned in. the space between you closed as his lips hovered just above yours, waiting for you to meet him halfway.

and you did.

the kiss was soft at first, tentative, like neither of you wanted to rush this moment. but as you deepened it, you felt the tension, the weight of the last few months, melt away. everything felt right. the rain falling around you felt like it was a world all its own, a perfect backdrop to this moment that you would never forget.

pau’s hands moved to cup your face gently, pulling you closer, his lips pressing against yours with more intensity, as though he was finally allowing himself to feel what had been building between the two of you for so long. the kiss was everything—gentle and urgent all at once. and as the rain soaked through your clothes, it didn’t matter.

you pulled away slowly, breathless, your forehead resting against his, both of you trying to catch your breath in the silence that followed.

“wow,” pau whispered, his voice a little hoarse. “that… that was perfect.”

you smiled, still a little dazed, and brushed the wet hair from your face. “yeah,” you agreed softly. “perfect.”

you stayed there for a moment, just holding each other, letting the rain wash over you both, the world outside fading into nothing.

and for the first time, you felt like this was only the beginning.

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[bullet-prooflove]

Masochist: Jack Abbott x Reader (The Pitt)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty

Jack’s not suicidal, not really.

It may look like that when he’s standing on the edge of the building staring down at the sidewalk but the truth is he’s just trying to get himself to feel something. Anything.

Fear, anger, joy.

He’d welcome any of them after a night in The Pitt. He’s worked hard to compartmentalise, to shut down his emotions so he can do the gruelling shit that needs to be done. The problem with that is regulation because turning them back on…

Well, he hasn’t figured that part out yet.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He curses as a sharp pinch on his ass stabs through the numbness. He turns to see you standing there on the opposite side of the guard rail ready to do it again before he slaps your hand away.

“I’m good! I’m good!” He snaps at you, climbing back over to the safe side of the railing.

“You are now.” You say with a smirk that should piss him off, instead it lightens him because you’ve just brought him back from the brink. Again.

A little snap of pain like that, it’s enough to jumpstart his synapses, get him functioning. He used to do it himself with a rubber band but then he got used to it. Now you surprise him with it, a little pinch on his ass whenever he loses himself to the grind.

He’s a masochist at heart, he told you when you first met. He hasn’t disproven it yet.

“If you weren’t so fucking beautiful…” He mutters, his arm wrapping around your waist he draws you to him. The scent of your perfume floods his system, something light and floral, reminding him of the first bursts of daffodils in the spring. He buries his face into the curve of your throat, drinking it in as he holds you close, savouring the softness of your curves. “Tell me you’re getting off shift so I can take you home and fuck you in our bed.”

This is the other thing that happens when you pinch him, that surge of adrenaline, it gets him hard, makes him wanting and after twelve hours in this hell hole, he’s very wanting.

“Two more hours.” You tell him and he huffs against your throat in displeasure. Your hand winds through his hair, grasping at the roots, tugging as you tilt his head back to meet your gaze. He hisses at the sensation, every single nerve ending in his body lighting up like the Fourth of July. He wasn’t kidding about the masochist thing, he’s always needed a little pain to get him off. “Go home, take a shower and be in bed by the time I get back. I’ll ravage you then.”

“Christ.” He whines, his hands squeezing your hips as you release your grip on his hair. “Why will you never let me fuck you on the roof?”

The sound of helicopter blades sounds in the distance and you both glance up to see the red and white chopper making it’s way towards the helipad you’re standing on.

“That.” You say, pointing at the rescue vehicle. “That is why I don’t let you fuck me on the roof.”

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[darlingdaisyfarm]

⸝⸝ american dream ˚.

he says he's a businessman, but his pockets are full of fake cash

author note: i actually started writing this as a one-shot fic and wanted to end it in filthy smut, but i got a little bit inspired during the process....... now honestly, i love the idea. it’s not that canon-compliant, but who cares?? also, i’m not from america, so sorry if anything here sounds dumb aghgh :( i dont really know if i should develop it into smth serious or just leave it like that, so idk if it's chapter one or just one shot but im anyways leaving tags for the whole idea i have in mind. i would be glad to see ur opinions on this

tags for the whole fic: Stan Pines x reader (Steve Pinington because he's hot), conman Stanley Pines, enemies to forced travel companions, enemies to lovers, comedy i guess?, supposed to be slow burn but im bad at writing it, gritty realism, homelessness and survival, lots of crime, sexual tension, eventual smut, dirty talk, mutual destruction, partners in crime, morally questionable characters, fake identities and passports, au i guess? because Stan’s stanmobile is broken

All that was left in his palms was next to nothing, a couple of crumpled bills and loose change rattling with every movement. His hands were dirty, rough, calloused from heavy bags, cracked from the cold, knuckles rubbed raw from arguments he lost. And that damn bruise under his eye was still warm and throbbing, reminding of how easy it is to fuck up your last dollar if you say the wrong thing.

The storm hadn’t let up, and he had no choice. Up ahead, a neon sign flickered in the darkness, seconds away from burning out. “low prices, lower standards!” if he had a choice, he would've kept walking, but Stanley never had choices.

The door let out an obnoxious creak when he pushed it open. Behind the counter sat some guy in a wrinkled tank top and, hearing someone step in, he lazily lifted his gaze, looked at the person in front of him up and down, dirty, drenched, exhausted, before sluggishly sliding a key across the counter.

“Fifteen bucks.”

Stan didn’t even bother arguing, he already knew the room would be awful. Could tell by the smell in the lobby, the peeling paint on the walls and the stains nobody had even tried to scrub out. So he dumped the money on the counter, swiped the key, and moved down the hall, careful not to touch the walls.

The room was worse than he expected. Long, packed with metal beds, at least ten of them, maybe more. The mattresses all varying levels of fucked-up, one even had a spring jutting out like a rusty knife. In the corner, a bathroom, if you could even call it that. The faucet leaked constantly, and the toilet. . . yeah, best not to think about the smell coming from there.

But Stanley wasn’t the type to be picky. He’d been through too much to start acting delicate now.

He dropped his suitcase beside one of the beds and, sitting down, rubbed his tired face with both hands. Accidentally, his fingers brushed against the bruise, sending a sharp pang of pain through his skin. He hissed. It hurt, but in a way, it felt good. At least it meant he could still feel something.

The storm outside picked up even harder.

Stanley knew all he had to do was make it through the night. Just one more night in a long string of nights he wouldn't remember. If sleep came, it would be short and restless. His stomach grumbled, but he’d long since learned to ignore hunger.

And yet, there was something ironic about all this. Here he was, Stanley Pines, the free spirit, a boy with attitude, as his mother used to say. Once a promising athlete, as that one family friend had called him, ruffling his brown hair. And now he was just a washed-up liar, spending his last few bucks on a bed in a room where someone had probably died. Fate had one hell of a sense of humor.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in the next room, a tv blared some ad promising happiness a better life in three easy steps.

Yeah, if only life was that easy.

But Stan had stopped believing in easy a long time ago. He didn’t believe in simple ways out. All he had were his fists, wits, and his ability to get back up every time life knocked him down.

And he'd get up after this night too.

Tomorrow he’d hit the streets again, try to scrounge up some cash, tell himself that tomorrow would be easier.

He already knew it was a lie.

But sometimes, a lie is the only thing that keeps you moving.

In his dreams, Stanley was happy. No debts, no street fights, no counting pennies, no that one goddamn night when dad threw him out like some unwanted troublemaking mutt. Just him and a giant, disgustingly delicious burger. Meat dripping with fat, cheese stretching in long strings, sauce dripping onto his fingers. Stan tore into it, starving. Oh, god, ohh fuck. The best burger of his life. And bacon. Crispy, salty bacon.

Stan remembers bacon and coffee in the mornings, remembers a warm kitchen, the smell of fresh bread. And toffee peanuts, sticky and sweet, caramel-flavored, tasting like childhood.

Somewhere something clattered. Close enough that it shouldn't have been here.

Stan jolted awake so fast he almost rolled off the shitty, creaky bed. His heart hammered against his ribs and his mind latched onto one thought. Cops, fucking cops. He barely had time to say his mental goodbyes, to his brother, his mother, and—

In the doorway stood someone drenched, exhausted, with an oversized duffel slung over one shoulder. Dirty rainwater dripped from their boots and ran in slow rivulets down their face.

“Oh, shit, sorry. Didn’t know someone else was in this piece of— uh, shitty place.”

Stanley blinked. Looked around, still trying to process what the hell was happening. He had just been in heaven, his greasy, cholesterol-filled heaven, and now—

Now some random stranger from the streets had just stumbled right into his shitty motel room.

“I just closed my eyes!” Stan mumbled.

You threw your bag on the floor and scoffed, shaking the rain off your sleeves. “right, sorry for disturbing your precious sleep, your highness.”

“Oh, you better be sorry! I was dreamin’ about a burger. The juiciest, fattest, most delicious burger. And bacon. Bacon, man! Do you even know how long it’s been since i had bacon? And toffee peanuts! goddamn caramel melting in my mouth like—”

“Jeez, calm down, okay? man, you need therapy.”

“I need a damn burger!”

You smirked, shrugging off your soaked jacket. Water dripped onto the wooden floor, which was already sticky from years, no, decades, of dirt.

“Well, i don’t have a burger. But i do have a half-eaten snickers somewhere in my bag. Interested?”

Stanley looked at you like you had just offered him a brick instead of food.

“You think a snickers can replace bacon?”

“No? But it’s got peanuts. That’s protein. Protein is good for you.”

“You don’t get it, do you? It’s not just food, it’s nostalgia! It’s my damn childhood! It's waking up to the smell of bacon in the kitchen, my mom humming some old tune, me stealing a piece before my brother—“ he cut himself off, grimaced, and flopped back onto the bed. “forget it.”

You finally looked at him properly and only now noticed that he looked like he’d been through hell. “Rough night?”

“Rough life.”

You both went quiet. The storm outside raged on, shaking the flimsy motel walls under the force of the wind.

“So,” you finally said, rolling your shoulders, “we’re roommates now?”

Stanley snorted. “Seems like it. Welcome to hell, buddy.”

You flopped onto one of the empty beds, and the moment you did, the loudest creak imaginable ripped through the room, making both you and Stan clap your hands over your ears. Using your foot, you pulled your heavy-ass duffel bag closer, which created yet another horrible sound. You rolled your eyes and started wringing out your sleeves, water trickling in thin streams down onto the ancient, mildew-scented carpet.

“Jesus, what the hell is this weather? it’s like god himself wants me to suffer.”

Stanley, still grimacing, lazily turned toward you. “tell me about it. This place ain’t much better either. I think the walls are moldy.”

You eyed the peeling wallpaper, noticing the unsettling dark substance oozing out of the corner. God, you didn’t even wanna know what the hell that was.

“Yeah, well. Beats sleeping outside.” you said nervously.

Stan chuckled but didn’t argue. He watched as you fussed with your wet clothes for a few seconds before finally speaking up again, in the most pathetic tone imaginable. “Uh, so. . . you said somethin’ about a snickers?”

You looked up, and your heart almost burst, because this grown-ass man with a black eye and a permanent scowl was looking at you with the saddest, most puppy-eyed expression known to mankind. You felt like you had personally caused every single one of his problems. What a goddamn actor.

“Oh my god,” you pressed a hand to your forehead. “Fine. Knock yourself out. Bag’s on the floor.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Practically leaping off the bed, he snatched up your bag and started digging through it, clearly on the hunt for the promised candy bar.

“Jesus, what do you even keep in here? bricks? dead bodies?”

“Yeah, first one to ask gets to be the next one in there.”

Stan snickered but kept rummaging. Finally, he pulled out the snickers, unwrapped it, and—

“Oh—oh my godd—” your eyes widened at the unexpected, borderline obscene sounds.

He literally moaned when the chocolate hit his tongue, tilting his head back, eyes shut in pure bliss. You stared at him in absolute disgust.

“Dude. Ew.”

“You don’t get it,” he groaned, taking another bite. “it’s been weeks since i had chocolate. Weeks! I was startin’ to forget what joy tasted like!”

“Yeah, that was a good one. I wanted to steal a twix too, but almost got caught.”

Stan froze mid-bite, eyebrows shooting up in pleasant surprise. “Wait. You’re tellin’ me, you steal too?”

You smirked, holding out your hands. “Duh. What, you think i have money for this crap?”

“Holy shit. We’re like, the same.” he shook his head, still in shock. “man. all this time i thought i was some kind of lone wolf, strugglin’ through life, hustlin’ my way through this shitty world. Turns out i got a partner in crime?”

“Ehh, sorry to break it to ya, but you ain't that special.”

Stan scoffed, finishing the candy bar. Although he clearly remembered when he kept rummaging through your bag, his hand suddenly stilled and he found something. Something that made his eyebrows climb higher and higher. He didn’t say anything. And neither did you. Stanley was good at pretending everything was okay.

You kept wringing out your soaked clothes, searching your bag for something dry, while Stanley swallowed the last bite of his snickers like it was the last chocolate bar he’d ever eat in his life. And, honestly, judging by the way he looked, that might just be true.

He was watching you until finally, his curiosity got the better of him. “So. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

You didn’t even look up, still rummaging through your things.

“Somebody who gave you food.”

Your answer made his mouth twitch into a grin, and he nodded. “Yeah, well, that’s a good start. Sharin’ food is a sacred bond, y’know.”

“Uh-huh. Sacred.”

“But seriously,” he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, “you steal, you crash in shitty motels, you carry. . . whatever the hell that was in your bag, what’s your deal?”

You shrugged lazily. “No deal. Just life.”

Truthfully, your head was killing you, and all you wanted was for him to shut up. But he clearly wasn’t planning on it. You winced, rubbing your temples. “jesus, you talk a lot.”

“Aaand yet, you answer everythin’. Means you don’t mind.”

You squinted at him. “No, i’m just too tired to tell you to shut up.”

He snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep tellin’ yourself that, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, peeled off another layer of your damp clothes, and hung it over the back of the bed. Then, without stopping your rummaging, you nodded toward his face.

“What’s with the bruise?”

He immediately pulled a smug expression. “you should see the other guy.”

You kept digging through your stuff, barely paying attention to his cheap bravado. Yeah, yeah. Seen it, heard it, met plenty like that.

“Hmm. And the truth?”

Stan scoffed, but when he realised you hadn’t even acknowledged his first joke, he made a deeply offended face. “Wow. You weren’t even listenin’ to me?”

“Nope.”

He huffed and waved a hand. “Eh, whatever. Owed some guy money, didn’t have it, got this instead.”

“Fair trade.”

“You’d think, huh? So where you from, anyway?”

You kept rifling through your things, but your voice turned colder. “Not from any state.”

Stan raised a brow. “Oh. so you’re not even from the U.S.?”

“Documents, visas, all that crap. Long story.” you nodded.

He dragged out a slow “huh.” and fell quiet for a moment. Then, as if he suddenly remembered that conversations were supposed to go both ways, he said, “new jersey.”

“Huh?” you squinted.

“Where i’m from. new jersey.”

You made a mental note. Oh, great. An american. Then you glanced at him again. . . Grimy, exhausted, full of problems, broke as hell. The perfect representation of the american dream. . .?

You had no energy left for this conversation. You’d had your fill of socializing for today, just like you’d had your fill of adventures. That snickers bar had cost you enough. So you decided not to reply, just shrugged and turned away.

Your wet shirt was clinging to your skin, and it was getting unbearable. So you started taking it off, not particularly caring that someone else was in the room. There were bigger concerns.

You turned your back to Stanley as the fabric hit the floor with a soft thud, exposing your spine.

Stan froze, just staring. his gaze dragged down your back, and then he just kept staring.

Directly. At. You.

You felt it prickling at the back of your neck.

Silence. Way too long of a silence. Long enough to make you frown as you slowly turned your head.

“Dude.”

He immediately looked away.

“What? i ain’t lookin’.”

“Bullshit. You were literally staring.”

He grimaced, turning away harder. “Yeah, well. Not my fault. You’re the one strippin’ in the middle of the damn room.”

You rolled your eyes. “Gosh, it’s a back. Grow up.”

Stan muttered something under his breath, yanked his blanket higher, and grumbled, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just warn a guy next time.”

You finally pulled on a dry shirt and flopped back onto the cot, exhaling. The rain was still hammering against the window, the wind howled, and the ceiling creaked ominously.

You glanced over at Stan, who was already curling up, about to knock out. “Wait.”

He cracked one eye open, barely awake. “hm?”

“Never asked. What’s your name?”

That made him blink. And immediately Stan started thinking. Of course, he should lie. He always lied. Threw out fake names like poker cards. Steve Pinington. Stetson Pinefield. Hell, maybe John from Alaska? No, Stan, that's too dumb.

He squinted at you through the dark room, until he finally said. “Call me Steve.”

“Steve?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Steve.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. And i’m the queen of england.”

“Holy shit. Pleasure to meetcha, your majesty.” Stan stuck out a hand like he was about to shake yours.

But you swatted it away. “Okay, Steve. Whatever.” then you gave him your name.

“Well,” Stan tested your name on his tongue, stretching, folding his arms behind his head, “This been a real thrill, but i’d really like to—“

“Is that your car outside?”

He froze. “What?”

“The shitty, beat-up thing that looks like it’s been in five accidents and somehow survived.”

He pushed himself up on an elbow. “Hey! That’s my baby you’re talkin’ about.”

“Why didn’t you just stay there, then?”

He groaned dramatically and flopped back down. “Ugh. Somethin’s busted. Gotta fix it. But i need a real good mechanic, and guess what? I got no money.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that thing is just. . . sitting there, useless?”

He sighed. “Not useless. just— okay, yeah, maybe a little useless. but it’ll run! probably. Just needs a little love. and, y’know. Not to blow up in the process.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “so you’re afraid your car might explode.”

“Eh. Fifty-fifty chance.”

you nodded again. “Solid odds.”

“Right?”

You both finally settled in, pulling the blankets higher, and before long, you were both out cold.

But you weren’t given much time to sleep. A sharp, hysterical scream shook the motel walls, and you flinched, jerking from the suddenness of it.

“Where is he?!” the door burst open with a crash, and a man stormed into the room. The same guy who took the payment for the room. What the fuck? You hadn’t even processed what was happening before he jabbed a finger at you.

“WHERE IS HE, BITCH?!”

You panicked, looking around. And only then did you notice. Steve was gone. That fucking bastard just. . . disappeared.

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry, trying to wrap your head around it, and just as you were about to ask what the hell was going on, the man took a step toward you, his face twisting with rage.

“YOU FUCKERS SCAMMED ME!!”

“Huh?”

“HE PAID ME WITH COUNTERFEIT MONEY, THAT LYING PIECE OF SHIT!!!”

You didn’t even have time to react before he grabbed your arm, squeezing so hard it hurt.

“AND YOU, BITCH, YOU’RE IN ON IT TOO, HUH?!!

Counterfeit money? That dumbass gave him counterfeit money?

“I’ve never even seen him before in my life!”

“DON’T LIE TO ME, WHORE!!!” he shook you.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck!

“L-listen, man, i have nothing to do with this, okay? i didn’t even know he—“

“SHUT UP!!!” he raised his hand, and you realized he was actually about to hit you. And this shit, this fucking bullshit, was not even your fault. All you could do was grab your bag, sending a snickers wrapper tumbling to the floor, and bolt for the window like crazy.

“STOP, YOU BITCH!!”

However you were already climbing over the windowsill, jumping, falling, crashing into the mud. Pain shot up your ankle, but you couldn’t stop.

His voice roared behind you, “I’LL FIND YOU!!!”

But you were already sprinting down the wet road with that disgusting cold rain slamming into your face, mud clinging to your boots.

You were fucked. You were alone. On the street. In a foreign country. With no money.

And all thanks to that fucking bastard.

That’s how you end up on the street again, with a fucking bag, dirty boots, and realisation that the world is just a giant piece of shit you’re now neck-deep in. Rain’s pouring down and you can’t even remember what it feels like to be dry. Your hair’s soaked, clothes clinging to your skin, and your stomach is damn empty, a hollow ache that’s turned into this dull, throbbing pain gnawing at your insides. And the funniest fucking part? None of this is your fault. But does that matter? No. The guy at the motel is probably already calling the cops, waving around those fake bills, and now you’re not just homeless, you’re probably a wanted criminal.

Fantastic.

No money, no food, no Steve, no fucking anything. But no time for existential bullshit, you gotta get the fuck out of here, and quick. But how the fuck are you supposed to leave when you’re broke as shit? Bus tickets cost money. Taxis cost money. Even hitchhiking isn’t an option unless you wanna roll the dice on getting murdered in some psycho’s trunk.

You walk. And walk. And fucking walk.

And it’s humiliating, the way your stomach growls loud enough for people to hear, the way your soaked clothes cling to you, the way you have to press yourself against buildings just to shield from the wind. Your last meal was half a snickers bar and now even that feels like some luxurious memory from a past life.

You need money. And fast.

So you do what desperate people do, you start looking for work. Not a real one, obviously, because legally, you don’t even exist. So you walk into the first rundown diner you see, a place so grimy it’s a miracle the health inspectors haven’t shut it down yet. The guy behind the counter, fat, greasy, way too friendly with hamburgers, doesn’t ask questions. Just tosses you a filthy apron and says your shift starts now.

You carry plates and wipe sticky tables. Put up with customers who act like you’re not even a person, just part of the furniture. Some leave tips and others leave disgusting looks, but you pretend none of it matters.

Until you spill a drink on some guy, who said very nasty and dirty things to you and the manager, who’s been drinking all day in his office, just decides he doesn’t like you. Either way, you’re out on the street before you can even say “go fuck yourself.”

Fine. Fuck them.

Next, you try cleaning. Sounds easy enough, right? Just wipe shit, take out trash, don’t ask questions. But the people. Oh god, the people.

One guy stares too long. Another asks if you “do more than just clean.” You hear something in the next room that sounds exactly like a body being dragged across the floor, and before they can assign you your first shift, you’re already bolting out the backdoor, deciding you’d rather starve than end up as another missing poster.

So you adapt and start lying. The first lie is awkward, stumbling, barely convincing.

You become a lost tourist, a poor, helpless tourist with tears in their eyes. “i need to get home, but i got robbed, could you please help?” some people believe you, some don’t, but sometimes a few bucks land in your palm.

Actually pretending to be a lost tourist works. Not always, not on everyone, but enough to get you through a night. Enough to buy something cheap from a gas station. Enough to keep you from completely breaking.

But you’re still homeless, from time to time sleeping under bridges, curled up in your too-thin jacket, cursing Steve every time you hear a car pass because he’s probably in his fucking shitty car right now, dry and warm, while you’re here turning into a human popsicle.

Every night, you promise yourself if you ever see him again, you’re gonna punch him. Right in the jaw.

But then one day, you watch some lady on the street doing tarot readings. Honestly, she's dramatic as hell, but you see the way people eat it up. How badly they want to believe the bullshit she’s spinning.

And that’s when it hits you. You don’t need luck to survive. You just need a better lie.

So you become a psychic, not a real one, obviously. But you pick up quick because you watch, listen and learn.

You sit out on the street, put on a knowing expression, grab the hand of the first idiot who stops, and start spewing bullshit about “long fate lines,” “hidden symbols,” and “a rich soulmate just around the corner.” And people eat it up.

God, they’ll believe anything if it means hearing their future is bright. And you don’t blame them because you wish you could believe it too.

“Oh, i see a great love in your future!”

“Yes, you’ll be rich one day, just wait!”

“Your life is about to change in a big way!”

So the money starts coming in. Not much, but more than before. More than the waitress job and more than begging. For the first time in forever, you don’t feel like you’re at rock bottom.

And soon you’ve got enough to get the hell out of this cursed city.

Here you are, trying to catch a bus, because if you stay here even one more day, you’re either gonna get arrested for illegal stay, or get eaten alive by the homeless, or worst of all found by the people who were supposed to make sure you never crossed the border in the first place. Okay, last chance, last hope. Standing on the roadside, you're scanning the cars, forcing a practiced smile, as if you’re not freezing your ass off and your legs aren’t burning from exhaustion.

The bus finally arrives, late as always, Because yeah, why would anything ever be convenient for you? The city is already deep asleep, leaving the streets empty, and that silence unsettles you. You’ve always hated silence. Especially this one that makes you glance over your shoulder and wonder if you should even get on this bus at all. But you don’t have a choice so you throw the money at the driver before he can say anything, drag yourself to the back, where you can sprawl out by the window and maybe catch a few minutes of sleep. You’re already hauling your heavy-ass bag, dreaming about collapsing into a seat, when you see—

WHAT

That bastard, slouched in the corner, legs widely spread, brown hair is even messier than before, his gaze lazy, but the second he spots you, his eyes widen just a little.

You stop and stare. So does he.

“You. fucking. asshole.” you throw your bag onto the seat beside him, the sound echoing through the empty bus, but you don’t give a single shit.

“Hey, what the fuck, lady?” Steve or whatever the hell his name was raises his hands, as if he has no idea what’s happening, as if he’s genuinely fucking clueless about why you’re yelling at him.

“Oh, don’t you fucking “lady” me. You left me, you piece of shit.”

“Listen, doll, it's not like I—“

“Oh my fucking god, don’t ”doll” me either, you goddamn motherfucker.”

You hate the fact that he acts like this is funny. But he's not dumb, he knows you’re ready to kill him.

“I did what I had to do, you know! you should be grateful I didn’t wake you up.”

“Grateful?” you laugh, because at this point, it’s not even anger, it’s pure, unhinged hysteria. Grateful? Fucking seriously? “that motel guy was about to fucking kill me!”

“Well, did he?”

“No? but that’s NOT the point!”

Stan rolls his eyes. You can literally see him gearing up for some dumbass excuse.

“Ohh, come on, sweetheart, i knew you’d make it. You don’t look like someone who’d die that easily!”

You feel your face burning with rage. “Oh, oh, fuck you. Fuck you so much. you know what? I should've stolen your damn car.”

“Oh, you should've?” he smirks. “please, id love to see you try.”

You narrow your eyes. “next time I will.”

“Sure, good luck with that.”

You're aware that he looks you up and down, soaked, pissed off, hair a mess, but alive. And the bastard has the audacity to look. . . pleased?

“Anyway. nice seeing you again. Name’s Bill, by the way.”

You snap your head up. “wasn’t you Steve?”

He freezes. Then grimaces because he just realized he played himself. “. . .Yeah, well. i have many names.

He leans back against the seat, already bored of this conversation.

“And no brain cells. But oh my fucking god. Was that even your real name?”

“Who even gives a shit about real names, huh? names are just a concept.”

“A concept?”

“Yeah, you know, just labels people put on you. But they don’t mean shit. you can be whoever the fuck you want. Today I’m Bill. Yesterday I was Steve. Who knows what I'll be tomorrow?”

You press a hand to your forehead. “You are literally the dumbest person I have ever met in my life. I can't believe i—“

“Aww, thank you.” Stan interrupts you.

“That wasn’t a fucking compliment.”

“I’ll take it anyway.”

You exhale. No, seriously, you’re too fucking tired for this.

“You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore. I’m sitting here, and if you open your mouth again, I swear I’ll strangle you.”

You're so cute when mad. That makes Stan grin. “ohhh, so we’re traveling together now?”

“No.” you're wrinkling your forehead.

“Sounds like we are!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The bus rattles down the highway, lights flashing past the windows, and you're doing your best to ignore the fact that you’re stuck in the same goddamn vehicle as this absolute idiot. Unfortunately, he’s here, sitting right next to you, breathing the same air, and worst of all, he’s enjoying it. It's obvious by the way he smirks and sits all sprawled out like this is his personal limousine and you’re just some random hitchhiker who happened to stumble into his kingdom.

You take a deep breath. You need to calm down. Just count to ten, breathe and—

“Man, you are so mad. I literally feel the steam coming out of your ears. Are you always like this, or is it just me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “it’s just you.”

“Oh, I feel so special now.”

You clench your fists. God, he’s such a dick. But something about his words sticks with you, that moment when you mentioned his car, and then the question pops into your head.

“Wait a second. Didn’t you have a car?”

Stan blinks, then makes the most pitiful face you’ve ever seen. “Oh, my baby. . .“

“Your what?” you immediately frown.

“My car! My precious, my one and only. . .”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his chest looking like he's talking about a dead relative. “I had to sell her.”

“What?”

Stan nods, staring out the window like some tragic movie character. Oh shit here we go, you think.

“Yeah. . . she’s gone now. Sold her to some guy named Bud.”

“You sold your damn car?”

“Had no choice, sweetheart.”

You stare at him, unable to process this information. “and what the hell did you do to end up in a situation where you had to sell your fucking car?”

He shrugs, way too casual about the whole thing. “oh, you know. fucked up. I'm a screw up after all.”

You stare at him, waiting for an actual explanation, but he just keeps grinning that lazy grin like this whole conversation is just a fun little game for him. And that pisses you off even more.

“You are literally the worst person I’ve ever met.”

Stan snorts. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you’re sad about it. Or what, were you hoping to move in? live in MY car?”

“NO, you idiot! but I was hoping you’d stay the fuck away from me instead of sitting here, ruining my life even more!”

He leans too close, invading your personal space, grinning. “Bold of you to assume I would even let you touch my baby.”

“Are you kidding me, you idi—“

Stan throws his head back, laughing loudly, and it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. “Oh man, you are so easy to piss off. I love it.”

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I know. And no, i wont.”

You roll your eyes, turning away, deciding you’re done wasting your energy on this asshole. But your stomach has other plans as it growls too loudly, and suddenly you remember that the last time you had a proper meal was. . . well. Way too long ago. You dig through your bag and pull out real food. Warm, actual food. Not a goddamn snickers like last time, but something that smells so good your mouth starts watering.

You still remember the motel. You remember this asshole munching on YOUR snickers and moaning like he was in heaven, knowing damn well you had nothing to eat.

You pick up a piece, put it in your mouth, close your eyes and—

“Mmmhmm.”

Stan’s head snaps toward you immediately.

“What the hell are you doing.”

You open your eyes, smirking, and take another bite. “just enjoying my food.”

He squints at you. “you’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” you close your eyes again, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Mmhh. God, this is so good.”

“Okay, stop.”

“Stop what? enjoying my food? Oh, no, no, no. I should savor it.” you take another bite, chewing as slowly as possible, staring right at him.

He’s getting nervous. And his stomach starts growling too.

“So what, not even gonna share?” Stan looks at you, demonstrating you his puppy brown eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, you put another piece in your mouth, chewing as slow as humanly possible.

“Why the fuck would I share with the person who got me almost killed?”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you just stabbed him. “oh, please! it’s not like I ever needed your help!”

And with that, he yanks open his suitcase, clearly expecting something great, warm, tasty and instead. . .

Nothing. Well, except for some sad, rip-off band-aids.

He stares at them, slowly closing the suitcase. “man, life sucks.”

Finally, the bus screeches to a stop, tires rattling against the old asphalt, and you’re not even sure whether to be relieved or not. Sure, you got out of that place, the one you definitely shouldn’t have stayed in, but now you’re here, some other godforsaken place you don’t even know what to do with. But that’s not a problem anymore. At least you know what comes next. Unlike some people with fake names.

You stand, grab your heavy duffel bag, and Stan does the same with his suitcase. The entire ride, he didn’t shut up for even a second, but now that you’re outside, he’s way too quiet.

You steal a glance at him, he's standing there, gripping his suitcase like a little lost child, brushing his thick fingers over his mustache, scanning the darkness as if he's looking for something.

And it bothers you a little. Not because you worry about him. Just because Steve never gets this quiet for no reason. But you don’t care.

Honestly, it’s even better this way.

You adjust the strap of your bag and start walking. Slow, but determined. You don’t need this idiot. You don’t trust him, not after what he did, and not after he screwed you over. Yeah, maybe you’re no saint, but at least you never betrayed him the way he betrayed you.

And now, when he’s in even deeper shit than you are, why the hell should you stay?

But of course, he just has to open his damn mouth.

“So what? You just leave?”

You stop, exhaling sharply. “um, what do you expect me to do? take your hand and lead you like a lost puppy?”

“I mean, that would be nice.” he smiles awkwardly.

You roll your eyes and turn, meeting his sad gaze. “look, Steve if that's even your name, you got me in enough shit already. The last thing i need is you making it worse.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes right back at you.

“Oh please. Don’t act like you weren’t already knee-deep in trouble before me.”

“Yeah, but at least i was handling it! Unlike some people.”

Stan narrows his eyes at your answer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, at least i still have my business. I still got people to scam. What do you have? Failed cons and a car you had to sell to some guy named Bud?” you smirk, shaking your head.

His face twists in mock offense. “Hey, Bud was a great guy! very talkative! he even gave me some advice—“

“I do not care.”

“Man, you’re so heartless.” Stan sighs.

“And you’re a liability.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but then he just stops. You see it hit him, even if he tries to play it off. Stan hates losing, hates to realise that someone else is better than him at at least one thing he thought he was good at, scamming. And right now you’re doing better.

He could say it’s not a competition, but for him, it always is. And that feeling, that he’s falling behind, pisses him off more than anything.

But when Stan blinks, shaking the thought off, he notices he’s standing alone.

You’re already gone and that makes him curse under his breath, glancing around, but you’re nowhere in sight.

“Well, shit.” he stands there, alone in the dark, and for the first time in a long time, he has no idea what to do.

But he has money. Shit, at least he has that. Thanks, Bud.

Stan glances around, thinking this place feels too dark and too empty so it makes him uncomfortable. He needs to get somewhere with people. Somewhere with a motel or at least a spot to crash for the night.

He walks, humming under his breath. Whatever, he doesn't need you, he doesn't need anyone. He's free spirited Stanley damn Pines, right, ma?

He turns the corner and something heavy slams against his head. Stanley doesn’t even get the chance to curse before he stumbles forward, collapsing onto the pavement with a dull thud and everything goes black.

[sulkingheichou012]

Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Future Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 13

As Jinwoo walked away from the ruins of the battlefield, he felt something strange. Soft. Warm.

He stopped, looking at his hand.

A single, faint ember of light hovered there. Not shadow. Not darkness.

But her light.

He closed his fingers around it. His heart, which had been hollow since she vanished, stirred.

“You’re still out there,” he whispered.

But

It had been months since the war ended. Since the portals sealed. Since she disappeared.

Jinwoo stood alone beneath a gray sky, the world he fought so hard to protect now quiet. Too quiet.

The people were rebuilding. Hunters had returned to their guilds. Even the Shadow Legion stood at ease in the world’s newfound peace. But for Jinwoo, there was no peace.

He hadn’t smiled in weeks. Maybe months. He wasn’t counting anymore.

That night, sleep came fitfully. When it did, he found himself back in the dungeon. The first one. Where it all began.

The air was cold, damp. The faint glow of torches flickered against ancient stone walls. And there she was.

Y/N. Standing there in the center of the chamber, looking around in confusion, as if she had just woken up from a long, strange sleep.

Who, by the looks of it, seemed oddly unprepared for a dungeon—was staring at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open. She was dressed in a loose satin top and mini shorts, similar to what his sister, Jinah, wore when lounging at home. It wasn’t exactly combat-ready attire.

A slow, nervous grin spread across her face. "Uh... hi?"

Jinwoo noticed that she suddenly took a deep breath, her expression shifting into something almost… dreamy… like before..

She carefully walked straight up to him. No hesitation. No fear.

Before he could even breathe, she collided into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him, holding on like he was the only thing keeping her together. Her face buried against his neck, and he felt it—

And then she did it. The thing that always made his heartbeat stumble.

She sniffed him. Just like before.

Y/N, completely oblivious, sighed dreamily. "Ahhh~ this is amazing. Jinwoo, you're so handsome…" She gave him a little squeeze. "And your body! So firm! Wow, I can really feel it now that I’m up close!" Y/N added, taking a long, dramatic sniff. "And you smell so good,"

His hands trembled, hovering at her waist, afraid to touch her. Afraid she might vanish if he held her too tight.

But then his heart surged. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his hand in her hair, breathing her in like he was starving. “You’re here,” he whispered. “I found you.”

Relief, thick and overwhelming, flooded his chest. His throat tightened as he pulled her impossibly closer. He could feel her heartbeat pounding wildly against his.

But then— She flickered. Like ash caught on the wind.

“Y/N?” His grip tightened. “No. No—stay with me.”

She smiled softly against his chest. And when she looked up at him, it was with a tenderness that shattered him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her hand caressed his cheek, thumb wiping away a tear he didn’t realize had fallen. “You always were my home.”

Her body dissolved into stardust between his fingers. Weightless. Gone.

He shouted her name, reaching through the empty air— But she was already fading.

Jinwoo woke with a ragged gasp. His chest heaved as he sat up, drenched in sweat, his fingers clutching the empty air where she’d been. His breath hitched— And something hot slid down his cheek. He wiped it away absently, only to find more falling.

A quiet knock came at his door. “Oppa?” It was Jinah. Her voice small, uncertain. “I… I made you something. You should eat.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t trust himself to speak.

Jinah stood silently outside his door. She heard the stifled sounds through the wall. Her brother, the strongest hunter in the world, crying quietly where he thought no one could hear him.

She rested her hand on the door, her forehead pressing gently to the cold wood. She closed her eyes, letting her own tears fall without shame. “I miss her too, Oppa,” she whispered. But the words didn’t reach him.

Later that night, when Jinwoo finally emerged, pale and empty, his mother was waiting for him in the living room. She smiled gently, like mothers do when they’re holding the whole sky on their back so their children can breathe.

She pulled him in without a word, his tall frame folding into her embrace. He stiffened at first— Then broke.

Like a dam bursting behind his ribs. His face buried against his mother’s shoulder, his hands gripping her like she was the only thing anchoring him left in this world. The house that once was filled with light and laughter now hung heavy with grief.

“She’s not coming back,” Jinwoo rasped, his voice cracked and hollow. “I promised… I promised to protect her.”

His mother stroked his back gently, soothing him like she had when he was a boy.

“Maybe you just need time.” she whispered.

The city stretched out beneath him. Lit windows. Neon signs. Life. From this rooftop, it all looked peaceful.

Children’s laughter echoed faintly from a nearby park. Couples strolled beneath warm lamplight, arms linked, their laughter soft and easy. Music drifted from a distant street corner where performers played for coins and applause. It was… idyllic.

And Jinwoo hated it.

His hands remained buried in the pockets of his coat, clenched into white-knuckled fists. A slow exhale left his lips, but it didn’t ease the tension grinding his teeth together.

They laughed. They smiled. They held each other like they hadn’t lost a damn thing.

And why shouldn’t they? They didn’t remember the price. The world had moved on. The world always moved on.

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

A faint glint of shadow shimmered in his dark eyes. Not the controlled, loyal power of his shadows… Something deeper. Older.

Resentment coiled like smoke in his chest. Why them? Why did they get to be happy? When he had given up everything? When he had watched her disappear in his arms, like dust on the wind?

His grip tightened, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly. He hadn’t realized his shadows were bleeding out of him until they slithered at his feet, writhing like restless serpents.

And for a moment, he wanted them to know. He wanted them to see. What it cost to give them this peace.

“Are you going to curse the world you protected?”

The voice was low, but not harsh. Bellion.

He stopped before him and knelt. His massive wings tucked close, head bowed low.

Jinwoo didn’t turn right away. Instead, he stared down at the people walking below like they were nothing more than ants in a well-lit terrarium. Trapped in their blissful ignorance.

“…No,” Jinwoo answered after a moment. But it was a lie. Or maybe a wish.

Bellion stepped closer, his armor whispering with each movement. “You saved them. You saved all of us.”

Jinwoo gave a bitter laugh, almost soundless. “No. She did.”

He finally turned. His dark eyes met Bellion’s steady gaze. And Bellion understood. Of course he did. He’d been there. He’d watched it happen.

“My King,” Bellion rumbled. “I have found it.”

Jinwoo’s gaze sharpened. “What did you say?”

Bellion lifted his head, and for the first time since Y/N disappeared, there was a light in their King’s eyes. “I have found the door… to Monarch of Origins’ Domain”

The words hung in the air like a crack of thunder. Beru let out a rasping gasp. Igris’ head tilted, his crimson gaze brightening.

Jinwoo’s pulse pounding. “Where?”

Bellion held out a fragment of what looked like crystallized shadow—a key, gleaming faintly in the gloom. “It is beyond the old veil. Past the remnants of the dead stars. It is not a place for the living.” He hesitated. “But you are not just living.”

Jinwoo’s fingers curled around the key. It was warm. Familiar. It hummed, and his Shadow Monarch instincts stirred at its touch.

Bellion watched him carefully. “My King,” he said quietly. “I must warn you. Raizel’s domain is not kind. It tests those who enter. And Raizel… he has not forgotten your refusal to give him the Balance Keeper.”

Jinwoo’s eyes darkened. He remembered Raizel. The ancient Monarch of Origin. The one who once offered an alliance, a bargain: hand over Y/N, and he would have answers, power, and safety. Jinwoo refused. He always would.

And now Raizel was waiting.

Bellion lowered his head again. “He still desires her, My King. He believes she belongs to him… that she is the key to restoring his dominion.” A pause. “If you fail in this… he will not wait. He will claim her.”

Jinwoo’s grip on the key tightened. No. Not while he was still breathing.

As the key’s glow pulsed, a System Alert chimed in Jinwoo’s mind.

[System Alert]

[You have acquired the “Key of Origins.”]

Quest Line Unlocked: “The Well of Beginnings”

The path to reclaim what was lost has opened.

Warning: Success is uncertain. Sacrifice is inevitable.

Objective: – Enter the Well of Beginnings. – Locate and retrieve the lost essence of the Balance Keeper. – Choose: Restore Balance or Restore Life. Reward: Unknown.

Jinwoo stared at the text until it faded. Then at his own hands. Hands that had failed to hold her when it mattered.

He tucked the key Bellion handed him into his palm. It pulsed faintly with energy—cold and ancient.

Jinwoo turned back toward the edge of the rooftop. The world below glowed with life. Unaware. Unafraid.

And in his heart, there was a hunger. Not the kind Raizel or Antares had. But something raw. Desperate.

He would burn through Raizel’s domain. He would tear down the walls of eternity itself if it meant bringing her back. No matter the cost.

No matter who stood in his way.

“Prepare the army,” Jinwoo said coldly. Bellion’s wings spread wide in answer. “It’s already done, my King.”

Jinwoo’s lips curved into something that was not a smile. “I’m going to bring her home.”

And this time, he wouldn’t be too late.

<< Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 >>

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974; @moonlightsof;

[loverindeepspace]

You Drive Me Insane // Xavier x Reader

God someone put me down please. I need to go touch some grass. Please don’t even perceive me. This is my first time writing smut, so hopefully it’s okay

This is pure smut, no plot in sight. Pure filth. Be warned. Minors DNI! Concept: Sexy times with Xavier Tags: Smut, Plot? What plot?, Oral (F! Receiving), riding, biting, fingering, creampie (wrap it before you tap it), rough sex, praise, fem! Reader Word Count: 1605 Masterlist

His lips lapped at your core like a man starved, like you were his favourite liquor, his last meal. Moans and whimpers escape your lips, your fingers tightening in his already tousled hair as his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you spread open on his mouth. You feel a groan rumble from his chest at the feeling, resonating against your clit, adding and adding to the pleasure coursing through you. The tight coil in your abdomen wound tighter and tighter, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. His long fingers slid in and out, in and out of you, stretching and caressing as far as they could reach, your juices spilling out with every move, adding to the puddle that has formed under you. Not a single thought echoed through your mind apart from his name, the lustful haze clouding everything else. 

Xavier’s dark gaze caught yours, his pupils blown wide, as if he was drunk off of you, his own eyes distorted with pure want. You could feel yourself clench around him, another wanton moan escaping you. The desire built within you with every skillful swipe of his tongue, with every suck and every thrust of his fingers. His arms pulled you even closer, until he reached the spot that made your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

The heat built, built, built, his unforgiving pace not giving you a chance to catch your breath. It was unbearable, unimaginable to be able to feel this much all at once, and yet here you were, wanting to escape but never wanting this to end at the same time.

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as your thighs trembled, trying to close but restrained by his strong grip, a grip that promised to leave bruises.

He kept up the pace, his fingers curling into that spot within you, his tongue licking up all the juices spilled, until your pleasure peaked, that coil snapping with a cry. Your muscles seize up as you throw your head back, bucking your hips against him. 

He didn’t let up, letting your orgasm ride out wave after wave after wave. The obscene sounds from where he was connected to you filled your ears as the overstimulation took hold, and all of a sudden it was too much. Tears trailed across your cheeks, as you fell slack against the bed, the aftershocks making you whimper as he pulled himself away, just far enough to leave a trail of soft kisses against your inner thigh. 

“Good girl. You did so good for me.” Soft praises left his mouth, as he slowly crawled up above you, leaving small kisses wherever he could reach, until his lips met yours, in a slow sensual kiss. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, wiping away the stray tears with his thumb. 

“You okay sweetheart?” Xavier’s voice is soothing, bringing you slowly back to your senses, as you lock eyes with him. 

“Yeah, more than okay.” You breathe, a small smile appearing on your face as he gives you another soft kiss. His eyes are still blown out, still dark with a hunger that’s yet to be satisfied. Against your hip, you can still feel his erection, hard and hot, precum dripping and spreading against your skin. 

You keep your eyes locked with his, a mischievous glint echoing through your gaze, as you reach down, your hand grasping where he needs you most. He gives a sharp hiss, eyes closing at the sensation, before grasping your wrist, stopping your ministrations.

“F-fuck. You sure you want to continue?” The darkness swimming across his eyes should make you nervous, should make you shy away, but instead it pulls you in, makes you want to bring this man to ruin. 

You pull your hand up gently, before pushing him over, switching your positions until he is beneath you. His eyes widen at the sudden movement, his hands landing on your waist, holding you steady as you straddle his lap. 

“It’s my turn to take care of you.” You whisper into his ear, punctuating your statement with a bite to his earlobe. Your fingers run from his cheek, to his neck, to his chest. Lower and lower, the trail of your touch followed with your lips, nips and kisses decorating his pale skin. He’s so sensitive. He’s squirming beneath your touch, fighting the urge to roll you over and take the control back. His breathing quickens, his chest heaving as you switch to small bites across his neck, decorating it with red marks, a reminder of tonight just for him. Your hands trail lower, teasing touches on his thighs, tracing his abs and v-line. So close yet so far.

“Darling, stop with the teasing. Please.” His voice is rough, punched out, teeth gritted together as he tries to maintain even an ounce of composure.

“Shhh, you’re doing so well. I’ll give you what you want soon enough baby.” You bite your lip to hide your grin. God you loved the effect you had on him, the calm attitude crumbling beneath your fingers, red staining his cheeks. The grip on your waist is firm, nearly painfully so, as his eyes scrunch closed. 

Finally, you decided to have some mercy on him, your touch trailing down to his dick. You thumb at the head, precum already coating your hand and the sound that comes out of him is something you’d like to hear for the rest of your life. You need to hear that sound again. You move your hand, twisting and pumping just like you know he likes it, but much slower than he wants. Your thighs protest as you reposition yourself, still trembling, so pleasantly sore. You guide his cock to rub against you as you grind down, covering him with the wetness dripping from your hole, a moan escaping both of you as his head catches your clit. His hands guide you down to grind on him again and again and again. You steady yourself with a hand on his chest, calling his name until his eyes open and land on you. His pupils are blown wide, his silver hair disheveled and redness spread further across his face. He looks divine. What a sight he is, underneath you, looking so fucked out already. 

You bite your lip as you guide him against you, maintaining eye contact as you sink down on his cock. Bit by bit, you take him slowly, a strangled whine leaving both of you.

“Feels so good- so tight.” He sounds breathless as he grinds his hips up into you, bottoming out. 

You have to take a second to breathe, adjusting to his size. You feel so full it’s almost overwhelming. You can feel every vein pulsing deep inside you, the stretch around him adding the sweetest ache to the many sensations coursing through your body. 

A moment passes before you’re rising up until just the tip remains inside you, before grinding back down, setting a brutal pace. His breathing is shallow and rough as his hips snap up, keeping up with the tempo you set, hitting deeper and deeper and deeper inside of you. Hitting that sweet spot that has you faltering your movements for just a second. His grip around your hips guides you along, his eyes falling to your chest as you move one of his hands to your breast. He kneads it desperately as you lean down to spread an array of kisses and bites across his neck. Sweat drips down both of you, adding a deliciously salty taste to your kisses. 

You swipe along his neck, swirling your tongue around his Adam's apple before biting down on it. His hips stagger in response to the sting and you soothe the ache with a soft kiss. The pressure builds within you, your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire with every thrust, with every touch. 

“Gods Xavier, s-so good for me.” The words leave your mouth with a desperate tone as static fills your mind. The sounds leaving him are music to your ears as you swivel your hips, feeling him twitch inside you, delirious kisses being left across your shoulder. 

“‘m close, so close.” His words spur you as you slam your hips down, going even faster. 

“Fill me up Xavier.” You bite his ear as the pressure in your core unravels once more, your muscles spasming as you squeeze around him.

“Fuck I-” He doesn’t finish his sentence as the rhythm between you falters. You feel warmth fill you, painting your insides, dripping beneath you. You ride out your orgasms together, panting, desperately trying to catch your breaths. You lean up, your lips meeting his as you come down from your high together. You pull away just far enough to meet his eyes, gently brushing the hair from his forehead. A gentle smile braces his lips, his hands massaging your aching thighs.

“God, you drive me insane.” His voice is breathless, exhaustion evident on his features.

“Good, I’m doing my job well then.” You give him a soft, teasing grin.

“I love you sweetheart.” 

“I love you too baby. Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?” You exchange a few slow, lazy kisses before you lift yourself off of him with a soft groan. You feel the wetness drip down your thigh as you attempt to stand, but your legs betray you with their shakiness and you have to brace yourself on the bed. You hear a tired chuckle before Xavier stands up beside you, lifting you into his arms before carrying you to the bathroom.

[angelluv16]

Rumor Has it⁶

✩: Kaia Jenner, the youngest Kardashian-Jenner, is an up-and-coming actress. When F1 driver Charles Leclerc casually calls her his favorite actress, the internet goes crazy. What starts as rumors turns into a whirlwind of drama, chemistry, and public scrutiny.

Part 6

faceclaim: Cindy Kimberly, girls from Pinterest

Want to be added to my taglist?: Click here

pairing: Charles Leclerc x Jenner!reader

request: no!!

warnings: Hate, fluff, Angst, Language,

previous part | Main Masterlist | next part

f1wagsgossip

liked by flavybarla, kellypiquet, kyliejenner, username19, iamrebeccad and 12,829 others

f1wagsgossip: Charles Leclerc's rumored gf Kaia Jenner was seen entering the Las Vegas Poddock and walking into the Ferrari garage, especially a particular Monégasque driver's garage.

tagged: @charlesleclerc @kaiajenner

comments are turned off

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Las Vegas. Bright lights, flashing cameras, and the kind of energy that makes everything feel ten times more dramatic than it actually is.

Kaia had been to Vegas plenty of times before mostly for work, sometimes for fun but never like this. Never as a guest at a Grand Prix. Never with him as the reason she was here.

Her heels click against the pavement as she steps into the paddock, sunglasses shielding her eyes from both the sun and the dozen cameras snapping photos of her arrival. She knew this would happen. The internet had been going crazy ever since people started speculating she’d show up. She ignored most of it because, honestly, it was none of their business.

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Charles: Didn’t know Vegas had a new main attraction this weekend.

She scoffs, shaking her head as she types back.

Kaia: Aww, you noticed? Thought you’d be too busy being a very serious racing driver.

Charles: I am. But I’m also very good at multitasking.

The smirk tugging at her lips is impossible to fight. It’s been like this for weeks now—conversations that toe the line between friendly and something else. She still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

A paddock worker gestures toward the Ferrari garage, leading her inside before she can overthink it too much. The energy shifts the moment she steps in—loud chatter, mechanics moving around in a perfectly organized chaos, the smell of burning rubber lingering in the air.

And then there’s him.

Charles is leaning back in a chair, still in his Ferrari team kit, hair slightly messy from taking his cap off. His eyes flick up the moment she steps in, and for a split second, he looks surprised. But then, his lips curl into a smirk.

“So you made it.”

Kaia shrugs, slipping off her sunglasses. “Figured I’d see what all the hype was about.”

Charles chuckles, standing up and running a hand through his hair. “And? Impressed yet?”

She tilts her head. “Meh. I don’t see what’s so hard about driving in circles.”

His jaw drops slightly, and then he’s shaking his head with a laugh. “You didn’t just say that.”

“I did.” She grins. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Charles squints at her like he’s actually considering his options. “I could put you in the car and show you how difficult it is.”

Kaia holds up her hands. “Oh, no. I think I’ll stick to watching.”

A mechanic calls his name from across the garage, and he glances over before looking back at her. “I should go. But—” He hesitates for a beat, then reaches for something on the table behind him. When he turns back around, he’s holding out a Ferrari team cap. “Figured you should have this.”

She stares at it for a second before taking it from him. Their fingers brush, just barely, and she ignores the way her heart stutters at the contact.

“You just want me to wear this so the whole world knows I’m in the Ferrari garage, don’t you?” she teases.

Charles grins, unbothered. “Maybe.”

She rolls her eyes but still pulls it on, adjusting it over her hair. “Happy?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering over her face before landing on the logo now sitting on her forehead. “Very.”

She huffs, but she’s smiling as she turns away, walking toward the exit.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

kaia.jenner posted on her story

{caption 1: I like to see cars go in circles}

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by charlesleclerc, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, kyliejenner and 12m others

kaia.jenner: What happens in Vegas... Stays in vegas

tagged: @scuderiaferrari @charlesleclerc @carlossainz55

view all comments

username37: KAIA IN THE FERRARI GARAGE??? WE WON TODAY!!!

username38: At this point, Kaia is the team principal

username39: Vegas GP? No. This is Kaia Jenner’s weekend featuring Ferrari

kyliejenner: Vegas looks GOOD on you, babe!

charlesleclerc: you should wear red more often

username40: Not her looking like the main event of the Vegas GP

username41: nother celeb using F1 for clout

username42: Ma’am, did you go to watch the race or to distract Charles? Be honest

username43: She went to Vegas and left with Ferrari’s entire fanbase

username44: Kaia at a Grand Prix while I struggle to afford F1 TV. Life is not fair

scuderiaferrari: one down, rest of Charles career to go

username45: Kaia in the Ferrari garage? Meanwhile, my team can’t even give me a free sticker.

redbullracing: Come to us next

scuderiaferrari: HAHAHA no back off🤺🤺🤺

mclaren: WE WANT HER

williamsracing: We win we have lily and Rebbeca

kaia.jenner: Guys guys I will come to everyone ESPECIALLY to williams so I can see my girls

scuderiaferrari: but but we have roscoe and Leo

mclaren: and we have the other lily

redbullracing: We have a 4-time world champion 💅💅

username46: I did not expect to see 4 team admins fighting for kaia

redbullracing: She's just that girl

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The bass pulsed through the club, there was a steady vibration in Kaia’s chest as she moved to the music. The room was drenched in neon lights, casting blues and purples over the crowd. Charles was somewhere behind her, he had been watching her all night.

She knew it.

She felt his gaze every time she laughed too hard at someone else’s joke, every time a hand brushed against hers that wasn’t his. It wasn’t like they were anything there was no reason for him to act possessive but that didn’t stop the flash of something dark in his eyes when she flirted with the guy who had bought her a drink.

Kaia turned, and just as she expected, there he was. Leaning against the bar, jaw tight, eyes flickering between her and the guy standing a little too close.

He looked good. Too good. The dim lighting cast shadows over his sharp features, and the open collar of his black button-down did nothing to help her focus.

“Not having fun, Leclerc?” she teased as she finally made her way over to him, her lips curving into a smirk.

His eyes flicked down to hers, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Depends.”

“On?”

He leaned in, his voice low. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Kaia hummed, tilting her head. “I was…” She let the words hang, watching the way his fingers tightened around his glass. “Why?”

Charles exhaled a laugh, shaking his head, but she caught the way his jaw clenched. “No reason.”

“Sure,” she drawled, setting her to drink down and stepping even closer so close she could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something woody and warm. “You look a little jealous.”

His hand found her waist, fingers splayed against the silky material of her dress. He didn’t deny it.

“I don’t like watching you entertain other men,” he admitted, voice rough in her ear.

Kaia’s breath hitched. She wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the way his fingers pressed just slightly into her hip, but suddenly, the club felt too hot, too loud, too much.

She looked up at him, lips parting, ready to say something that would probably be a mistake

But then someone bumped into her, breaking the moment, and just like that, the tension shattered.

Kaia exhaled, shaking her head with a small laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Charles smirked. “And yet, you’re still here.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @Ale-522 @sarx164@gottalovesae@meadhbhcavanagh@fulla02@fanficfanatic77@ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3@golden-hoax @poolclaws @hadidsworld@perfectmenarefictional@lottalove4evelyn@edgyficuselastica@nebarious@mbioooo0000@fanny2811@greantii@norstappenvibes@mary-op81@jiggly-puff-12 @Karmahnicolas @ana-23-03 @nichmeddar @nebarious

[imogenkol]

— WIP WEDNESDAY

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @socially-awkward-skeleton @neonshrike @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @tommyarashikage @simonxriley @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @g0dspeeed @strangefable @statichvm @jacobseed @cptcassian @euryalex @auricfog @confidentandgood @e-the-village-cryptid @belladelamorte @minaharkers @elligatorrex

I physically cannot stop myself from writing about them even though I planned to take a break until s2 so here’s a lil bit of angst (warning for panic attack/ptsd)

For as cold as her hands always were, Bix found it refreshing when Imogen reached up and cupped her face. It felt like a splash of cool water that awakened her senses, which would have been jarring if not for the gentle fade into a comforting warmth that immediately followed and settled in her chest.

Imogen tenderly ran a thumb along the line of her jaw, curving around the shape of her chin and coming to rest on the other side so that she delicately held the mechanic’s jaw in one hand while the other pulled her in closer by her waist. Bix felt a flutter and leaned into the touch, shutting her eyes.

That was a mistake.

As soon as she did, she felt Imogen tighten her grip ever so slightly. Not enough pressure to be assertive—certainly not enough to hurt at all, but without any warning Bix saw a flash of Dedra Meero’s face. For the first time in months, she felt the ISB supervisor’s unyielding grip on her jaw, forcing her head up when Bix lacked the strength to meet her gaze as she interrogated her.

In an instant, the temperature in Bix’s body dropped. Her hands went numb. Her ears rang. The world lurched. Overwhelming panic caused her to flinch away from her lover and she instinctively shoved Imogen back because she could not bear any contact for a second longer.

“No!” Bix said in a voice so shrill that it hardly sounded like her own.

Imogen took a step towards her as she retreated, but Bix held a hand up and stammered before the bounty hunter got a word out.

“Don’t—don’t touch me, I—“ Bix struggled to form her thoughts as her heart thundered against her ribcage like it was trying to break free. Even through the abrupt hysteria, she saw the deeply concerned look on Imogen’s face and felt a flush of remorse on top of it all. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s not you, I just…”

“You should take a seat,” Imogen calmly suggested. “Breathe.”

Bix shook her hands in an effort to regain some feeling in them and took measured breaths that trembled in and out of her lungs. She did not want to sit. Or perhaps she did, but her body wouldn’t let her. Honestly, she didn’t know what she wanted or what she needed other than this feeling to stop.

Bix shut her eyes again and saw Doctor Gorst’s sickening smile.

The unrelenting wave crashed into her once more, threatening to knock Bix off her feet no matter what she thought she did or didn’t want. The mechanic groaned and began to pace in a small circle, mumbling a quiet mantra to herself as she fought against the tears constricting her throat and welling in her eyes. “I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m okay…”

Imogen stood still and patiently waited in silence for the moment to pass. Bix was grateful. As much as she wanted to be enveloped by her embrace or hear her voice, everything felt too paralyzing.

When the edges of her vision went black, Bix somehow found her way to the edge of a chair and fell into it. The metal legs scraped and squeaked against the floor, but she barely registered any other sound besides her own heartbeat. Bix focused on it, on the acute sensation of blood racing through her veins. She marked the path from her heart to the tips of her fingers until there was a tingle in her now clammy palms.

Gradually, her breaths grew steady and she felt cool. Not the uncomfortable coldness that felt like she plunged into a frozen lake, but the same kind of relaxed chill that came from her lover’s touch and grounded her. After another minute of breathing — or two or three, she couldn’t quite tell how much time passed — Bix felt her emotions level out into a much more stable state, allowing her muscles to finally release their relentless tension.

“Okay.” Bix nodded and released a sigh until every last bit of air had been pushed out of her lungs. Then she sat back in the chair and inhaled deeply, nodding again. “Okay.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Imogen asked.

Her lover’s voice snapped Bix back into focus. She glanced over and noted that Imogen remained a dutiful statue, not approaching nor making any sudden movements. The woman still wore a worried frown, gray eyes bright with anticipation as she waited for an order.

“No.”

“Do you need me to leave?”

The distinction was an important one, Bix realized, so she took a moment to think about it. Ultimately, as the storm passed, Bix felt empty – deprived, and found herself craving contact as if she were dying of thirst and being presented with a crystal clear river that flowed only for her.

Bix extended her hand and Imogen accepted the wordless invitation back into her space. However, even standing before her, the bounty hunter made no effort to reinitiate touch. Bix smiled warmly as she realized Imogen was following her lead.

With a hand that still had a slight tremble, Bix reached out and wrapped her fingers around Imogen’s wrist. Their eyes remained locked as Bix placed her lover’s palm on her flushed cheek and tilted her head into it until Imogen caressed her. To test herself, the mechanic closed her eyes. Her jaw tightened almost immediately as she felt the threat of panic trickle back in, but she focused on the soft brush of a familiar thumb against her skin. Reminded herself who it belonged to.

“You are safe,” Imogen murmured in a soothing tone as she continued to stroke her cheek.

Bix wanted to believe her more than anything. Maybe one day she would.

[sockatoothewafflebird]

AHEM AHEM SO i have been provoked. oh my god this got long. like. loooong. oh man i am SUCH a yapper. so like 60% of it is under the cut. oh also @robotgutzz you asked to be tagged in this so here ya go buddy

first things first my hatchling is named Elbaite. the best way to introduce them to people, in my opinion, is just: they're a slightly taller (and gabbs would say prettier if you managed to get it out of them somehow) feldspar with added geologist and linguist interests. basic info, ellie is a linguist first, geologist second, an an astronaut... well, for about seven hours (how long the loops last in their universe).

they're reckless. they put themself between danger and other people, which has gotten them plenty of scars and plenty of fun stories to tell hatchlings. (tephra is their favorite, the little troublemaker, but you didn't hear that from me!) they legit got a chunk of their ear taken off by an animal attacking their group on a camping trip. they fought it off while the others ran.

basically they're a mini feldspar, except they're a nerd as well as a hero. the people around them think of them as a hero, anyway. they,,,, uhm.. dont really have much respect for themself.. and they cope by having no self-preservation instincts and joking a lot and being a people pleaser..... yaaaayy (a sad little poof of confetti appears out of nowhere)

so, now, gabbro! putting the rest under the cut because i wanna explain how i characterize gabbro before i explain how they work together so. teehee this gonna get longggg

*ahem ahem* just saying this right now so it's blatantly clear: gabbro is autistic when i'm the one writing them. i autism-beamed them and now they're an artistic, autistic, astronaut. AAA if you will.

with that outta the way, gabbro is first and foremost an artist. in every sense of the word. they write more than they draw and they sculpt or carve more than they write but they Make Things. lots of things. that's why they were so excited about the statues- proof the nomai were the same as them, in a way. oh boy when they find the quantum trials they freak tf out because "OH MY STARS??? IM NOT CRAZY LETS GO"

and WHY do they think they're crazy. well. that's because everyone made them think that way! because their autism makes them Weird. they like to be alone, they enjoy their own company just as much as the company of others. and in a tight-knit communal society that values togetherness immensely, that just won't do! so as much as the others care about gabbro, they don't really understand what they need, and that leads to some interesting issues (that i plan to touch on eventually).

(AND. they're one of the only members of OWV that doesn't officially have a profession. gossan trains astronauts, slate is an engineer, hornfels is an educator and curator. riebeck has archaeology, chert has astronomy, even elbaite has linguistics and geology!)

they found it hard to make friends when they were younger. they tried, and failed, because they simply didn't get it. so they instead made friends with trees, bugs, rocks.

aaand this is where elbaite comes in. this is there the time buddies become buddies.

so, elbaite has a very strong sense of justice. everyone should be included, everyone's needs matter (except their own, in their opinion...) no matter what, and there should always be compromise. this leads tiny little hatchling elbaite to feel bad that hatchling gabbro is never included. so, a little eight-year-old hatchling with bandages all over their body from their escapades, approaches a twelve-year-old in an oversized sweater holding a bug in their hand, and says, "let's be friends."

gabbro is confused. "uh... why?" they say, because no one has ever asked to be their friend before. and they're like a lot younger than them. elbaite says, "because! i wanna!" thinking this plan will go perfectly, like half of their plans don't end in them getting hurt somehow. and somehow it does. and now gabbro's got a little buddy that drags them into games and activities, and they don't know what to do with that because half the time the social interaction ends up stressing them out (though they appreciate the effort ellie puts in. they appreciate that they try.)

gabbro does make other friends eventually. spinel and chert. and by association, halite, though hal has opinions on gabbro that they simply keep to themself. wahoo.

anyway, yeah, long story short they're buddies before they're time buddies. when people say things about gabbro behind their back, ellie is there to give them a death glare or flick them in the ear or however they decide to defend their buddy that day.

on with The Big Thing. this refers to gabbro's launch day. they graduated the program a lot later than most as previously mentioned. their disability paired with how others treated them made the last bit of training a lot harder for them, and they had to take a break from it.

long story short, a lot of STUFF happened right before they launched, so they left without any goodbyes. and then a year later, at 20 (they got their sapwine ceremony done early because they wanted to get it over with(and launch slightly early lmao)), elbaite launches.

(THIS IS WHERE I ACTUALLY GET TO THE POINT SMHHH WHY DID I DUMP SO HARD)

so then the loops start. and this is where my ramble actually gets to the point stars above this is wayyy too long--

ahem. ahem. so the loops start. and at first, elbaite is like, okay, this is something new i can do. i have a goal, a mystery to solve, so i'll be okay. i can figure this out, and i can get us out of it, and i'll be fine. we'll be fine! everything is fine. i am fine. (ellie is not, in fact, fine!!)

gabbro is kind of, well, stuck, so. they just chill. the wind threw a rock straight into their skull and knocked them out for a loop, once, but other than that they just chill on their island. they don't even know what's happening, just that chert says something about the sun over the radio every loop and hornfels doesn't remember that they lost their ship.

their mindset? eh, guess i'll die.

the first twenty-two loops ellie aboids giant's deel like the plague. eventually they get over themselves and the find gabbro. they talk, establish that yes we are still friends, have a couple insane revelations because holy shit i'm not alone in this? and decide to start traveling together.

here's the gist of it: elbaite always takes the brunt of the most brutal deaths. they keep shielding gabbro from space debris with their body and getting hit, or pushing them out of the hatch of the ship when the reactor explodes, or.. a lot of other things. elbaite is naturally inclined to put themself between gabbro and whatever danger is hurtling towards them. they cant handle when someone else suffers, if they could have helped it, or suffered in their place.

meanwhile, gabbro is just along for the ride. they adapt pretty quickly to the whole "death doesn't matter" thing and they often have to remind ellie that it's not the end of the world (figuratively, i feel like i should specify) if they run out of time. gabbro notices how hard ellie is overworking themself, and they know if they say "ellie you gotta take a break" they'll just brush it off, so... they use things like "ugh can we have a break loop? im starting to get a headache" or "ugh im soooo tired, i need a nap, buddy." as excuses and stuff. and of course because ellie cares about them they comply. teehee.

while gabbro naps (they do actually sleep a lot, true to their word, but if they didn't want ellie to take breaks gabbro would try to stay awake for them), ellie studies nomai text, and starts to teach themself how to write in nomaian. (which becomes very helpful in the au idea i have where they are able to travel with solanum due to funky quantum time business.)

they keep each other sane, unintentionally, and in the process they become ride-or-die besties. and they begin to appreciate each other more. and more. and become closer. and closer. until they start making flirty "jokes". and eventually neither of them know if they're joking anymore.

and then ellie has an "...oh... oh no" realization moment when they discover their feelings have, indeed, become romantic. and gabbro is like "...huh... hmm..." like they're just letting their emotions do their own thing. long story short they're both inexperienced but gabbro's mindset is "woahhh... feelings are weird..." and ellie's is "i CANNOT let this distract me from The Goal."

...im gonna end this here, probably make another whole post if i feel like it and people want it. if i do it'll mainly focus on the romantic parts of their relationship.

so.... toodles!!! time buddies for life!!! sorry for yapping so much lmfao i cannot believe how long this is and its so terribly organized.... i promise i'll flesh these dynamics out in fics soon enough!! pinky swear!!!!! i shall offer more snippets and yaps if provoked!

[felinisnoctis]

Petras Prime

Produced in collaboration with @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan and @sleepyfan-blog . Petras meets the chaos primaris trio. Much fun is had.

Warnings: Blood, combat, Petras being Petras

Tags @kit-williams  @sleepyfan-blog  @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @egrets-not-regrets @nightshade-victorian @legionsofthehungry

Chaos or not, Cedric needed to warn the newcomers of the danger they were in.  Fortunately, as an apothecary, it was easy enough for him to find a reason to visit.  Felix looked up at him as he entered.

“Hello there, apothecary I am not allowed to kidnap on pain of an angry death guard.  Are you here to check on your work?”

Cedric took a deep breath before delivering his message.  “There is a suspected Primaris Killer on Ancient Terra. He is a loyalist Black Templar Chaplain by the name of Petras. He is currently visiting this city with his warband. I don't know if the rest of his warband are potentially also murderous.  Also no, I have not told the firstborn marines. Why would they care?”

Felix thought this information over for a moment.  “Ah, so you brought it to someone with a mutual interest, instead. You're smart for a loyalist.”

Cedric narrows his eyes at the backhanded compliment.  “Your companions are injured. Petras is several hundred years old. I would advise caution.”

Felix smiled at him.  With his helmet off he looked pretty normal, other than the mark of Chaos Undivided neatly burned into his scalp.  “Duly noted, apothecary.”

Cedric nods, still tense “Those of us who have been on Ancient Terra have yet to confront him due to logistical issues.” Those primarily being his argument with Ramiel as to who should be bait. The young Justicar insisted it should be him, but Cedric strongly disagreed. Ramiel had been killed by the bastard once already, and he would rather not risk it. Ramiel had argued as he was Petras’s Apprentice- of which they have heard other Firstborn Black Templars talk about Petras talking about occasionally- that his reaction to Ramiel would not be able to be hidden.

“There are ways to conceal ourselves from his sight, should it be needed.”  Felix didn’t seem inclined to explain what those were.

“Among the Loyalist Primaris, we do not have the ability to do that. Not without possibly risking the life of the one who is bait. We've been arguing over who should be bait, as none of us wishes to risk the others.” Cedric answers earnestly. 

“Well, thank you for the warning, in any case, Apothecary Cedric.  Rest assured my companions and I will take due precautions around this individual.”  Felix looked almost shark-like in his response.

Cedric nods “Good. This is my vox-number, should you wish for my help, or would like to talk.” He offers the other a small piece of paper with his vox number on it. He has no love for Chaos of any kind, but Felix and his brothers are also Primaris… And if Petras is from when Cedric suspects he is… There is no way the bastard Chaplain wouldn't seek out Chaos Primaris to kill, rules and treaties be damned.

Felix took the vox number and nodded.  He voxed a quick message over <And this is mine if you wish to chat more.  I will ensure my brothers are suitably warned of the risks on Ancient Terra.>  Out loud he added “An extra bag or two of blood for our brother would help.  For the road.”

“Of course. I can get together a couple of extra blood bags,” Cedric says with a nod, sending a message to inventory. “Anything else?” Over text he wrote <I mean it. Getting kitted out on Ancient Terra can get complicated if you don't have a permanent base.>

A few minutes later Jophiel comes by with four bags of blood and a cheerful whistling tune, “Some of the bags of blood- still edible, but almost too old to be used for transfusion.”

He hands off the bags of blood to Cedric, glancing at Felix a little, his wings tucked against his back and only twitching a little as he sees the Chaos Marine- his scent, mutated by Chaos- but still Primaris, has his hearts plummeting to his stomach.

“Hello cousin,” Jophiel says, mahogany brown eyes flashing a little as he assesses the Primaris Marine, “Make sure to call us for trade- Ancient Terra is rather resource-starved without having allies in place. But- I’m a Loyalist- so who cares what I say, right? See you soon again. Dodge the hidden strike, Loud- but wily, age not yet dulled senses. Time’s flow ebbs in his hands.”

“.. What?” Cedric says to Jophiel confused. “Are you saying?”

“What?” Jophiel says in response, tilting his head a little.

“You just said some random nonsense at my patient Jophie,” Cedric says, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He loves his witch-y brothers but they can be very odd at times.

“I said something to him?” Jophiel says confused, “oooh. My head.”

“Did you hit it recently?” Cedric says dragging the younger Primaris Marine to somewhere to sit.

“No!”Jophiel protested, “I think I blabbered a vision thing, but I don’t remember what I said.”

“It was… not very clear.” Cedric says.

“When are you going to be done with Felix?” Jophiel asks.

“How do you know his name?” Cedric asks.

“I ‘unno,” Jophiel says with a shrug, “he looks like a Felix to me.”

“Why did you ask when I was going to be done with my patient?” Cedric asks.

“Oh- Claude is uh…” Jophiel looked at Felix and looked away, “Claude’s gotten hit by the Curse of the Bat again.”

“Ah,” Cedric swore in his head, “I’ll get to him in a minute or two.” The young apothecary swiftly finished his tasks before going off to tend to Claude.

The young Librarian had curled into a small, dark space, wedging himself tightly, and was mumbling quietly. The witch-fire is crackling in his eyes and he’s twitching a little bit some sparks twisting along his form a little bit.

All bad signs. Claude hadn't needed to hide while suffering from one of his visions in months, not after he'd been adopted by Anrir and was getting proper training in the witchy-ways of the Eighth by Karlslor. Claude startled at his approach, dark eyes unseeing the world around him.

“Easy, Claude. It's just me.” Cedric murmured soothingly as he waited for the other to respond.

“Ced… Cedric?” Claude called out, reaching towards him blindly.

“Yes, Claude, it's me, Cedric.” The young apothecary confirmed patiently. 

“Good. Here. Safe.” He sighed, stumbling over to Cedric and leaning into him.

Cedric wrapped his arms around Claude's more slender frame, supporting the swaying psyker. “Easy there. I'm going to bring you to Karlsor, alright? And he can help you sort through the vision, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.” Claude managed out weakly.

It did not take long for Cedric to find and carefully hand over Claude to his mentor on Ancient Terra, explaining the situation as best as he could.

He then returned to base, putting together several emergency kits. The young apothecary stashed them in secure hiding spots near areas of the city where Astartes liked to frequent. Cedric was unsure where the possible fight between The Bastard and the trio of Chaos Primaris was to take place, but hopefully, if they did get hurt, he would be able to respond in time.

Meanwhile, Felix had a whispered conversation with Batsy and Mic.  Batsy still needed to not stress his legs too much, but that shouldn’t be an issue with how he fought.  Mic was more injured, but he’d always been the best shot of the group anyway, especially with his augmetics.  And they’d need to make sure that Batsy was well topped off on blood so he could use his powers.

He also conveyed Jophiel’s strange words to Batsy.  The chaos psyker would almost certainly be the best to deal with his loyalist cousin’s vision. 

Petras had finished doing some Chaplain-specific duties at the local Imperial Fist and Salamander run Loyalist base near Gannet Point. He had informed his Crusade that he’d been gone for a few hours.

He had not quite been truthful about how long he’d be attending his Chaplain duties at the base, he also needed to get some more of the… Excessive Delights that the bastard of a Chaotic Slanneshi Emperor’s child made for him.

He had gotten his order of chocolates- and had ugh, been forced to talk to that damned annoying Apothecary Hura- who ran some tests on him- some blood tests and toxicology reports.

He was a bit short and irritable, but it made sense, damned Chaos Bastards thinking they were so high and mighty. Feh. He did their stupid little tests and did fill out the dumbfuck questionnaires that the Apothecary insisted that he fill out.

When he initially refused to do the questionnaires, Apothecary Hura smiled at him and told him that, until he got all of this busy work of medical stuff done, he won’t be able to get his Excessive chocolates until he does.

He begrudgingly filled it out. Some of the questions were behavioral in nature, others were utterly bizarre and quite frankly, almost insulting at the implications that he might be corrupting into being a Chaos marine. Which he isn’t. He’s a True Son of Dorn, a Loyalist. It’s just that one bruise isn’t healing as fast as he thinks it should, and it’s starting to darken in some parts, and take the shape of a plant, almost, a thorny, flowering plant. But that’s just ridiculous and he doesn’t write that down. As that is none of Hura’s business to know.

Petras pops one of the chocolates into his mouth and he sighs, the delicious bitter-sweet notes of the chocolate melt on his tongue as he tucks the rest of the bag of Excessive Delights into one of the tactical pouches on his armor he continues to walk on.

Sometime later, Petras spotted something in the distance - likely another abomination, from the way the bulky marine moved.  Alone, this time.  As he got closer he could see the chaos markings on the marine’s armor.  So one of the primaris had finally shown their true colors.  He prepared the attack, getting as close as he could to the apparently unaware abomination before charging in to attack.

Meanwhile, Batsy and Mic hid in the shadows, Batsy’s psychic powers keeping them hidden.  Of course it only worked so long as they held perfectly still and didn’t make a sound.  Which was very hard as the effort made his fangs ache with blood thirst.

“DISGUSTING ABOMINATION IN THE NAME OF THE GOD EMPEROR I SHALL CLEANSE YOU FROM HOLY TERRA!” Petras bellows at the Chaos Abomination, vindication fills him, seeing this one reveal his true, disgusting, putrid colors.

Felix drew the chainsword at his hip as Petras started yelling.  “Yes yes I'm an abomination, thank you for the compliment.”  Chainsword gears revved as he pulled a bolt pistol as well, leveling it at Petra's chest.

Petras flicks his wrist, using his off hand to activate his tempormortis. The bubble encapsulates all three of his foes- not that he knows about the other two yet. It makes their movements incredibly slow so he’s easily able to dodge both his sword and bolt pistol as he smirks at the Chaos Abomination.

From the shadows, behind Batsy’s psychic veil, Mic lined up a shot, various implants and secondary cogitators rapidly tracking and analyzing Petras’s movements.  He aims at the weak spot in the armor underneath Petras’s sword arm and fires a single bolt-carbine shell, hoping to catch the chaplain off guard and even the odds.  Just as his shot is about to strike, Batsy takes off into the air, shadows dropping away to the sound of opening wings.

Petras grunts at the pain and the feeling of a bullet piercing through his armor and he staggers and snarls, lashing out with his weapon and looking around, “What foul treachery is this?!”

Petras hooks his tempermortis to his belt and switches his sword to his other hand and vox calls his Crusade, “Foul Chaos Traitors are attacking me! Backup requested- I’m sending you my coordinates-!”

He fights Felix and dodges Batsy’s first couple of swooping attacks. It helps that Batsy gets hit by the effects of the Tempermortis. Petras is counting down the seconds until the time dilation field turns off.

Felix taunts him in response, although his words are slowed by the field.  “Vox is jammed, they can’t hear you.  You’ll have to deal with us abominations all by yourself.”  His chainsword slashed the air again, not so much trying to wound as attempting to fend Petras off.  He still suffers a nasty wound across his belly as Petras’s power claw bites through his armor.

“You damned heretical chaos witches!” He spits back enraged.

Petras focuses his attention on Felix and the bat-abomination and manages to use his electrified power claw to pierce through one of Batsy’s wings and grabs it and with a brutal flick of his wrist breaks one of his wings at the joint before trying to cut off his head. Batsy in turn ducks under the wrist as he lands, bringing a massive force axe up towards Petras’s body even as pain shoots through his injured leg.  The psy-weapon rings off his armor as Felix aims another series of bolt shells towards the back of Petras’s legs, hoping to take advantage of his inability to face both sides at once.

He swears and dodges, while his eyes scan both of his opponents as he also tries to seek out where the Sniper is as well. He avoids the disgusting pox-ridden Nurglite and the other chaos abomination, whose allegiance is less certain.

“Foul Abominations, Kneel and repent, and die for your sins,” Petras barks out, “And the God Emperor, will then Forgive you.”

“But Apothecary Hura says I’m not supposed to use my leg for a while!” Batsy whined back, favoring his leg and compensating for it with his uninjured wing.  More bolt shells sang by Petras’s head as Mic fired from his spot behind a large rock nearby.  Batsy swung his axe again and again, hoping to beat Petras back with the sheer force, while Felix sought a weak spot in his armor to plunge his chainsword into.

One of Petras’s eyes twitches, “Of course you abominations know that fucking pain in the ass blighted, grotesque Apothecary. Ugh. Fucking Chaos!”  Right as he was distracted he felt something smack into his hip and stick there.

He tries to pull it off and toss it at one of the Chaos Abominations, “Fuck off, and damnation to you all!”  It sticks to his fingers, costing him a precious few milliseconds.  Which was all the time the shaped charge needed to go off. “Damn you to the Eternal hellfire of the God Emperor!”

The explosion staggers Petras enough that he collapses. Between his armor and his own superhuman healing factor, he should recover.  Except the blows didn’t stop, smashing into his limbs to shatter them one by one, then shatter them again before moving into his chest.  Carefully avoiding any blow that would be immediately fatal.

“May you suffer a thousand times over!” Petras snarls, as he tries to fight- continue to attack them, but his limbs betray him, his flesh which sings of pain, refuses to move. His eyes glare at them with Fire of the God Emperor as he continues to spit insults at him until he passes out.

It’s a bitter mockery of the times when he’s beaten Primaris, until they have fallen, and then continued to keep striking them while they were down. No Mercy, No Fear, no quarter given. If he survives this… He will make sure they pay for this.

[glitch-but-ya]

If you are a Caleb girlie, or somebody who enjoys LADs works or my work in general, please hear me out!!

Not sure how many people this might reach I want to say it anyway. I hope this reaches your feed. I have a slight issue I want to resolve through a vote!

As I’ve announced before in a casual post, I’m writing an moderately long Caleb fic. So far, I’m at 15k words, and I’m only halfway through the whole plot (of course, it was supposed to be longer buuut that’d stretch the whole thing to like— 30k+ words.). But, my writing speed for this is great and I anticipate getting it done before the month ends!! After that, I’ll take a few days for editing and then I’ll be done. (If you’re new and curious about what the plot is, please stick around to the end).

But my concern is: As I was writing this fic, I encountered a problem— would people really be willing to read a random, humongous fic from a lesser-known writer? I know that larger fics have their own audience, and I was aiming towards that audience at first, but now, a second possibility surfaced in my mind.

If I were to break this fic down into parts and schedule publishing the next parts as a series, would it be better? As I’m initially writing this as one fic, the schedules will be consistent (one week apart) since I already have everything written down. There will be very few delays (unless I encounter a major flaw that I missed or a plot hole, there will be none) and this may be easier for you guys to read!!

However, there are some issues. This was written as one fic, so it may feel a little choppy if I break it up forcefully. And the word counts between each part may be fluctuating. I can make some refinements, but to what degree?

My initial idea was to release this as one long fic, and it remains. It will always be my first choice. But my main concern is my readers. So, if it were up to you, what would you decide?

PS: If anyone wants to be added to the tag list (series or not), lmk!!!

Thank you for sticking till the end! Here is the general lore:

DISCLAIMER: Despite Caleb being technically a yandere in this fic, this is not exactly romanticising such relationships. If you want to view it as a dark romance or dead dove content, feel free to do so. But my intentions as an author was to tell a gruelling story for the sake of it. Not to romanticise or normalise anything. Also, the reader is female.

A Yandere!Caleb x Psychotherapist!Reader fic where reader is determined to ‘fix’ him. But she knows how cunning and manipulative he truly is, so she cannot treat him like any other patient. It soon turns into a back-and-forth between the two as they try and gain control over each other. Reader uses her intellect in psychology to weave plans and set up situations that force Caleb into a tight situation. In return, Caleb retaliates with his own attempts at establishing control. This results in a back-and-forth silent mental battle between the two as they fight for dominion. Who will pull through and top the other?

I’ll probably delete this once the fic is released (or if the post remains abandoned)!!

[outofangband]

Angband Structure Headcanons

As I edit and revise some of my longer Angband world building posts I wanted to compile a collection of headcanons on the fortress itself; more can be found in my tag, in the iron hell

Angband lies in the frigid north of the Ered Engrin. It is a region of extremes. Smoking geysers, volcanic expanses and frozen taiga; ecosystems that should be incompatible but are distorted into a jagged, shifting region. The edges of its very being are frayed and there are dangers beyond the land or its occupants. The existence of the region is precarious and requires monumental power to maintain.

Most of Angband is subterranean, a combination of carved passages and alterations in the existing cave system and caverns. We know from The Children of Húrin that the mines of Angband extend far beyond the fortress. I speculate that some passages extend even beyond the Ered Engrin. These too are both natural passages and tunneled mines.

The Ered Engrin translates to iron mountains, and there are indeed deposits of iron, as well as other mineral ores in this region. Much of the thrall work in the mines of the fortress, involves collecting and working with the iron and other materials. The structure of the fortress is iron and stone, primarily basalt, onyx, marble, obsidian and granite. Its construction however did not follow the usual processes.

The fortress rose with the help of the Maiar who survived the siege upon Utumno and it rose with enchantment and song as much as thrall labor. It is constantly being added to and expanded upon, both the levels beneath the earth and jutting out from it.

At each level there are skeletons within the walls, the foundations. Some are accidental, others serve a more gruesome purpose. As I mentioned here, some of the caverns are natural though many are not. Tunnels and caves expand far beyond the area of the fortress and the plans for them are kept under extraordinary secrecy. Even many of the overseers in the mines have only a rudimentary understanding of their layout and usually only for their assigned area.

There are several underground rivers and streams, and a plethora of underground pools of varying temperatures.

Unsurprisingly there are lots of creatures that use bioluminescence. Salamanders (both earthly ones like olms or maybe even giant ones in the moist caverns and fire salamanders closer to the forges and the heart of the volcano) have lived here for ages, before the founding of the fortress.

Most creatures of these parts of Angband are non mammalian (certainly non Avian). They are adapted to life in harsh and severe environments, camouflaged, and require only small amounts of nutrients to survive. Many are in stasis for large parts of their lives. A variety of mollusks that live in the underground pools (all kinds of bivalves, gastropods, even cephalopods,)

I mentioned in my previous world building post as well as scattered throughout this blog, that the caves here are full of a variety of materials, both organic and inorganic, and some of the more accessible caverns are mined and foraged by slaves of the fortress.)

There are four upper levels in the main section and a number of smaller buildings, some of them connected to the main one via underground passages.

Very few denizens have a thorough understanding of the layout of the fortress and even fewer understand the complex ways the layout shifts and changes. Architecture and planning is one of the few areas thralls have little to no part in. Many efforts are taken to ensure the prisoners of Angband gain no understanding of the structure of the fortress, another way they are kept disoriented and suppressed, as I talked about on my time and routine post

Much of the upper levels are still built into the mountain itself but are mostly above ground. There is a throne room on the third level and a number of great halls though the Nethermost Hall where Morgoth sits and where his obsidian throne is built is underground

Temperature in the fortress varies greatly. Prisoners are often exposed to uncomfortable cold with little resources to cope with it, however the passages around the forges are the opposite. Extreme heat coupled with the prevalence of underground geysers, volcanic activity and mechanical heat is another cause of injury and discomfort to prisoners.

Anyways I left off here or I would have rambled on for far too long, I really enjoy Angband world building so please feel free to ask more!!

[johnnyshrine]

★ // New Update Time, wahoo!!

Fellas, I'm going to spoil one of the upcoming offerings, you ready? . • ☆ . ° . I am building a Discord server!

This server will have cool features such as: opt in for pings for new offerings right as they drop, access to a bunch of Johnny emotes, and potential WIPs of things I'm cooking.

While making a hub for my own work is nice, that isn't my main purpose here.

A big reason why I started this shrine was because I had a newfound obsession in JoJo and I needed to express it in some way, or else I would explode. Sharing the art I make has been great! But admittingly, Tumblr is not very intuitive when it comes to holding conversations or making friends with similar interests, which is something I know I'd like more of; maybe others feel the same way?

I'd love to carve out a place where creatives in the JJBA community could come together and just chill, talk about our interests, share their work, gush about ships, and just have fun. There'll probably be an emphasis on Johnny, Gyjo, and Steel Ball Run as topics in the server because of myself and the audience I've attracted, but other JoJo parts and discussions are welcome!

I will be making the server 18+ only. Nothing against minors, but I'm an old man who should be making friends with other adults.

I don't have an exact date for the launch, but the server will be launching sometime before April so that we can all come together and discuss JOJO Day, which is fast approaching!! So keep your eyes peeled, and feel free to let me know your thoughts about the server in the replies! I value any input and suggestions.

★ Spring Cleaning

// Additionally, I've been doing a bit of upkeep to spruce up the shrine. Please check out the new blog layout and updated pinned post! Here are the patch notes if you're curious:

★ Patch Notes 03.20.25

// Tagging

★ Changed #shrineofferings tag to #offerings ★ Corrected every post that didn't have the proper tags. Everyone can now view all offerings and updates from newest to oldest on the blog using the tags.

// Pinned post (View here!)

★ Added a SBR spoiler content warning ★ Changed some of the verbiage and order on the pinned post so the text is less wordy and flows better ★ Added a link to my carrd for people to find me elsewhere ★ Made the pinned post look overall prettier aesthetically :)

// Theme (View on desktop!)

★ Fixed any broken links and buttons ★ Added a proper bio ★ Added some art to sidebar/explore panels ★ Added code to put 075's pixel sprite to the bottom right corner because I thought it was cute. :)

I plan on sprucing up the theme as time goes on by making specific graphics in the form of offerings, but I at least wanted everything functional!

That's it for now, thank you for reading! :D

[ghoulishhx]

𖹭 she plays bass 𖹭

✮⋆˙ CHAPTER TWO ˙⋆✮

I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

you can read chapter one here

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Frank Castle fem!reader

Warnings/tags: 18+, TW mentions of self loathing, self consciousness, suicidal thoughts. contains friends to lovers, slow burn, canon violence, fluff, angst, eventual smut (more tags may be added in the future!)

Specific Tags for this chapter: TW mentions of self consciousness, creepy drunk man, canon typical violence, fluff

Summary: you finally work up the courage to speak to the man at the bar, things start going south and he sticks up for you. But how will you ever repay him?

Word Count: 1338

(chapters in the future will be longer btw!!)

You inform Luka on your plans and she basically squeals in excitement, she's always saying how you should put yourself out there more. She hands you a glass with some dark liquid in the bottom. You raise the glass to your nose and the unmistakable scent of jager fills your nose. 

“Liquid courage.” She says with a wink. “You’re so stunning I wouldn't be surprised if he took you right now on the counter of the bar,” you shoot her a look, one of amusement but also doubt “Hey don’t look at me like that, I know you get in your head about your looks but believe me when I tell you you’re stunning. Now go, get your man!!”

She pushes you in the direction of him and the empty seat next to him, you’re grateful it’s unoccupied. You down your drink, take a deep breath and call out to Josie.

“I’ll have a Heineken, and whatever he’s having too.” You gesture to him and you meet his eyes. He raises his brows slightly as he clears his throat to speak.

“S’alright Josie, I’ll get it. Add both to my tab.” he grumbles, looking back to Josie then back to you. “You don't’ have to do that f’me sweetheart.”

Sweetheart

You do your best to conceal the blush creeping up your neck. He’s spoken two sentences to you and you’re already like putty in his hands.

“Oh.. uh thank you,” you say, pushing your hair back behind your ears. The shot already gave your head a light buzz. “I was trying to do something nice for my biggest fan.”

What the FUCK

Why did you say that oh my god you’re so fucking cringe it’s unbeli-

He breaks up your racing self conscious thoughts with a chuckle, he brings you back down to earth with his genuine laugh. You can’t help but smile and giggle too, bringing your hand to the top of your head as you sigh.

“Biggest fan huh?” he says, smiling at you genuinely.

“I don’t know why I said that, I just mean I see you here every week and I.. I don’t know. Can we start over?”

He laughs at that, shaking his head.

“Yeah okay,” he looks away, then looks back at you. “Hey, good shit tonight..” He places his hand in front of you gesturing for a handshake. He flashes you a mischievous smile as he begins to say “Oh and by the way, I’m your biggest fan.”

You roll your eyes and playfully push his arm as he laughs again. His laugh was like a drug, and if you making a complete ass of yourself allows you to hear it again and again then so be it.

Josie’s voice breaks up the giggles as she places your beers in front of you.

“Thanks Josie,” he says handing you your drink, you thank them both. “My name is uh Pete by the way.”

You tell him your name in return and you get back into conversation with him, drinking your beers together as you share stories, however you do most of the talking. You don't mind this, he seems to genuinely be listening which is a welcome change from the attractive men you've talked to in the past. 

“So Pete, what do you do for work?” you ask, trying to learn more about him

“I er, work in construction. Nothing fancy, gets the bills paid ‘n keeps my hands busy, what about you? Do you do music full time, or..”

“Oh god I wish. I work at the little coffee shop downtown, the one that opened up about 6 months ago on 4th? Nothing fancy. Gets the bills paid and keeps my hands busy.”

He offers a slight smirk at you for your playful mockery. Looking over your shoulder, he notices some drunkard making his way towards you both. He instantly stiffens, clearing his throat, knowing what comes next.

“Hey sweetheart, you were so.. So good tonight,” he starts slurring, placing a hand on your shoulder as his eyes wander down your shirt. “Fuck, why don’t you come back to my place and show me just how good you are with those fingers..” 

Pete instantly stands up by your side, towering over the creep. You’ve gone silent, unable to speak. God you hate men.

“She’s not interested.” He states through gritted teeth. His eyes locked on the guy, he looked like he was going to kill him right there and then.

You look at Pete, and then at the man and then back at Pete. Pete senses your discomfort and looks down at you and gives you a reassuring nod. He’s got this, and thank god he does.

“Need to hear it from her bud. Need that pretty little mouth of hers to tell me to stop.. But she likes it doesn’t she?” He grabs your chin, angling your head to look at him. His thumb strokes over your bottom lip and you go to pull away but he grips harder, you’re sure it’ll bruise.

Your eyes close as you try to take some deep breaths, next thing you hear is a body hitting the floor, your face is free from his grasp. You pry open your eyes to see Pete towering over him, bloody fist and he has this look in his eyes you’ve never seen before, black and voidless. You exhale a sigh of relief as you stand up to join him.

He instantly softens up as he feels you wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him close as you begin to sob into his chest. One of his hands rests on your lower back and the other on the back of your head.

“Grab your shit darlin’. Lemme take you home.”

You nod as he pulls you to his side, picking up your bass and slinging it over his free shoulder as you pick up your bag. You leave Josie’s shaken up but you feel safe with Pete. Safer than you’ve felt in a long time.

You climb into his truck and put your head in your hands as he climbs into the seat next to you. The drive is short and quiet, as you point out the way for him he notices a shake in your arm. As you place it back in your lap he puts his larger hand over yours and rubs small comforting circles with his thumb. You notice your breathing hitch in your throat and instantly you feel more at peace. Relaxed, almost forgetting what happened only 15 minutes prior.

You approach your apartment and Pete, being the gentleman he is, walks you to your door.

“Hey, thank you. For everything.. I don’t know what I would've done if you weren’t there..”

You trail off and he places a hand on your shoulder. You glance at his bloody fist, you instinctively grab his large hand in your smaller ones and a look of concern rushes over your face. 

“Oh god Pete, this looks like it hurts like shit.. I’m so sorry for putting you through that.”

“S’alright sweetheart, t’was nothin’, promise.” he pulls away and places a small kiss on your cheek “I’ll get out ya hair doll, can imagine you’d want some time to y’self…” he says going to walk away.

“No Pete, please.. Stay. I don’t want to be alone right now, and I kinda interrupted your night with all that shit, and your hand needs to be cleaned up,” you grab his hand as he begins to walk back to his truck, he turns his head to meet your eyes. God he never noticed how genuinely gorgeous they were until now, under the porch light, your face was illuminated and he would’ve been happy just standing there studying the rest of your features until the day he died. “I have beer!” You state, trying all you can to get him to stay. “C’mon, have a couple drinks with me.. Please?” 

“If you insist doll. I’d like that very much.”

𖹭

a/n i know this is so short but i promise you, they will be longer going on from here. im still SO new to this so bear with me :3

[infectiouspiss]

hey ice cold take here but

this option, should show reblogs with added content, not reblogs with tags, i want to see what people are adding to my posts not their tags. there's room for one more option in that list, maybe for once we could get a good update and be able to interact with each other better... maybe

[gilgamish]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by: @dirty-bosmer and @kookaburra1701 (Thank you both <3)

tagging: @saltymaplesyrup , @throughtrialbyfire, and @moriche <3

In which, Felix gaslights and guilt trips an actual gatekeeper. Kaidan plays along so they can get into Helgen and (hopefully) buy some supplies. This can only go incredibly well!!

"Alright now, you’ll just need to… stand there and be your tall, dark, and gruesome self.” At that description, Kaidan couldn’t help but frown slightly. Felix snapped his fingers and went, “Perfect! Just like that! Hold that expression while I get us in.” He confidently marched up to the village gates, where two Legion soldiers were posted. Kaidan tensed to follow after but remained put. Never once in his life had Kaidan trusted Legion soldiers. Too many stories of them thinking themselves above the law and abusing the people here. Meanwhile, Felix was crafting up his own story. It was a sweeping, albeit tragic tale of how he’d been robbed and left for dead, how his stack of documents were taken from him, and how more than anything, he needed to write to his father, to arrange transport back home. Neglecting some details, the story was a hair-thin exchange between truth and fiction, and Kaidan was spectator to it, watching as the doubt in the soldiers’ eyes gave way to belief. Until they looked over in his direction. “Who’s your friend?” “’M a bounty hunter.” Pointing at Felix, Kaidan explained, “This one told me his father’ll have a sack of drakes for me, should I bring him home safe.” The soldiers looked Kaidan over, not dubious of the tale itself but suspicious for another reason. “Going to keep that blade of yours bound while you’re here?” one soldier said. “You have my word,” Kaidan answered. She added, “And you’ll keep that bow unstrung.”   “Aye.” With that said, the hard look on the woman’s face receded. “Forgive us, outsider. There’s a pack of bandits out in the woods, attacking people, ambushing our patrols…” “Got a bounty posted?” Kaidan asked, now curious himself. The soldier shook her head. “’Fraid not. They only seem to attack at night, and they don’t leave anything behind.” Strangely, it reminded Kaidan of what the hunter, Valdr, had told him about the lack of other hunters and trappers in the area. Before Kaidan could think on this more, the gates were opening. “You’d best get inside. Speak with our Felix, the clerk. Tell him what you told us, and he’ll arrange a courier for you.” As they entered the village of Helgen, Kaidan's Felix murmured, “They’ve got a clerk Felix. I’d bet you there’s also a watch captain Felix, a requisition officer Felix, and a score more of Felixs— Oh, I’ll fit right in. This is perfect.” “’Tis a common name, here” Kaidan muttered, distracted, as his gaze fell upon a black-gold robed figure in the courtyard before the tower.