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witherby · 1 month ago

Note

SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG EL forgeting about my last idea since its kind of generic (this one is also but whateverrrrrhahahsg)

so you know Starfire is an alien right?(tamaranean) how about something where reader is a sort of alien too? (x damian too bc im starting to hyper fixate on him) and like they meet as Damian does patrolling/a mission, kind of how Dick and Star met!!

ill leave if up to there and if you like it!! ANYWAY HI EL!!

—🦈

HI SHARKY.

I was gonna finish writing the vampire!Jason prompt but I saw this and immediately fell into a fugue state instead. When I came out, it was with this. I hope you like it 🩷

Flight of Fancy

Damian Wayne x Winged!Reader

Featuring: language barriers (gibberish), a shoulder wound, and a kiss.

It had started out as a routine track-and-report mission. Damian was supposed to investigate the suspicious cargo shipments in Gotham Harbor, try to figure out what was being delivered, and come back to the Cave with his findings.

Tim's bet was human trafficking. Dick's was illegal arms dealing. Jason's was drugs. Damian guessed poaching. Bruce wanted them to stop making bets about what horrible thing of the week was going on and please focus on getting the task done.

(Bruce was just upset that he wasn't allowed to bet anymore because he kept winning.)

As the night drags on and the boredom starts to creep in, Damian wonders if the ship sitting on the loading dock is actually conducting legal business for once. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, and it would mean less follow-up work to do.

"Red Robin," Damian mutters into his comm, "there's been no activity for three hours. I'm about to declare this endeavor a wasted one and return to base."

"Copy," Tim says in his ear. "There's no spooky stuff happening on the computer, either. Give it ten more minutes and then come back."

"Understood." Damian shifts on his perch — an unsurveilled roof of a tailoring shop — and casts his gaze along the area for the thousandth time that night.

Cold, choppy waters, devoid of any suspicious activity. Dock workers walking around and doing their jobs as they chatter and whistle amongst each other, devoid of any suspicious activity. The cargo ship that docked an hour ago, devoid of any suspicious —

Well. It wasn't suspicious until he realized that the distant ringing he's heard all night wasn't interference from the dinky, little radio one of the workers has been using to blast old, jazzy tunes, but a shrill crying noise coming from the ship. A normal person wouldn't even be able to detect it, but years of training with the League taught Damian to filter and identify any and all noises he picks up automatically.

"Red Robin. I've identified a potential trafficking situation. Stand by."

"Copy. Standing by," Tim says. "Ready to dispatch EMTs on your word and receive that fifty bucks when you get back."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, grappling down the building and taking cover in the shadows, maneuvering his way around the harbor men and onto the ship without a sound.

The closer he gets, the louder the crying becomes. He can tell it's just one person making the sound, and that they seem to be locked in one of the titanium crates on the back of the ship. It's child's play to locate the right one and pop the lock open with the small hand laser from his tool bag.

The second it's gone the lid flies open, and Damian gets knocked down by someone he can only describe as ethereal.

You are a collection of stand-out features. Glowing, bright eyes. A wild mane of hair. Well-tailored, form fitting robes. And a huge, breathtaking pair of white wings, that unfurl from your back and shake out into their full width with barely a whisper of sound.

You're bleeding, Damian realizes belatedly. You're bleeding gold. It drips from a wound in your shoulder, running down the sleeve of your robe and soaking the fabric. Small beads trail down your fingertips and stain his chest where you're using your weight to pin him to the ground.

"Whoa," he mutters, because that's the only thing in his mind. Just. Whoa.

You furrow your brow and glare at him, muttering something in a dialect he doesn't understand. The confusion on his face must be evident, because you quickly become frustrated.

"Ira neshmi le-hyr!" You demand, waving the wrist of your other hand in his face, which has a LexCorp-branded tracking bracelet on it. There are faint scratch marks around the skin where you obviously tried to pry the device off.

"Robin? What's the situation? Am I dispatching EMT?" Tim's voice sounds in his ear, startling Damian into taking full stock of the situation again. He blinks a few times, picking up on bootsteps approaching his location, your increasing franticness from where you're knelt above him, and the riskiness of what he's about to do.

"No EMTs," Damian says, reaching for the handheld laser again. He holds it up for you to see, then gestures to your wrist.

You hesitate for only a moment, then offer him your arm and watch him slice the bracelet off and pocket it. With a quick sleight of band, he presses a tracker of his own into the sleeve of your robes, then urges you to get off him.

"Bad people are coming," he says, gesturing to the shadows of figures he can see getting closer. "You should come with me. I can get you somewhere safe."

You stare at him like you don't understand what he's saying. He lets out a frustrated sigh. There's no time for this.

"Me. You. Come with me. That way." He gestures to you, then himself, then points in the direction of the Bat Cave with urgency.

Your eyes dart to where he points, then you nod. He's about to try to figure out how to pantomime you tucking your wings in so you can sneak around better, but you stride forward, wrap your arms around his waist, and use them to take off into the air. Damian clings to you and yelps, drawing the attention of the men on the ship. There's a cacophony of shouting down below that quickly grows faint the farther away you fly.

"The package is escaping!! Someone call the boss!"

"Do we shoot it down?"

"No, you idiot! We need it alive! We'll track it down —"

The rest of their words are lost to the wind. Damian holds onto you with white knuckles and refuses to look down. It's too dark and too smoggy in Gotham to look up at the stars, so the only other thing to observe is you.

If he thought you were stunning on the ground, you're something else in the air. The wind pushes your hair around and out of your face, revealing small markings around your cheeks and eyes. The light your wings catch makes them almost glitter with every beat as you propel the two of you onward. Briefly, you travel over a more illuminated section of the city, which make your eyes look like little constellations.

He's utterly captivated.

"Nirr'm? Luola stesh?" You try to ask him, directing your gaze to him. Damian has no idea how to answer a question he can't understand, so he just points to the ground.

You scan around for a secluded spot to land and gently coast to the ground, setting him down. Damian locks his knees to keep them from buckling and takes several slow, deep breaths.

"I can't understand you," he says after a moment. You furrow your brows again. "And based on your expression, it's vice-versa."

"Robin, come in!" Tim says in his ear, and, oh, he'd forgotten that he stopped responding for ten minutes. "I'm tracking your location and it says you're four miles away from the harbor? What's your status? Do I need to send Batman in for backup?"

"Negative, do not send backup. Don't send EMTs, either."

"You said there was a trafficking situation?"

"Yeah," Damian says, "metahuman trafficking. Don't send anyone until I can figure out how to communicate that they wouldn't be a threat."

"Communicate? What, they don't speak any of the thousand languages you know?"

Damian doesn't respond.

"Oh, shit. Okay. Standing by."

While he'd been talking to Tim, you had inched your way closer and closer to Damian. When he focuses on you again, he almost flinches back after finding you less than a foot away. You perk up when you notice him give you attention and lift your hands up, curling them around his shoulders.

"Um," he mutters, "what are you doing?"

"De-ad'nin," you say, leaning closer. Your eyes don't leave his. "Hmnik?"

"I don't...I can't understand you," he says again. You're waiting for him to do something, he can tell that much. He just doesn't know what you want.

You lean in even more, practically sharing breath. Damian can feel his cheeks warming, but curiosity overwhelms the impropriety, so he doesn't move away. You seem to take this as some sort of permission.

Closing the gap, you press your mouth to his, and Damian freezes.

Soft, he thinks. Your lips are soft. His hands twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to grab your waist, but you have no such reservations as you press yourself practically flush against him and prod at the seam of his mouth with your tongue. A frankly embarrassing whine leaves him, but Damian relents and starts kissing you back with the same level of enthusiasm you show him. Even though his gloves, he can tell that your hair is ridiculously soft as he runs his fingers through it. He's briefly lost in a flurry of sensations, overwhelmed by you, and just when blood starts redirecting itself to other places, you pull away again and clear your throat.

"You helped me," you murmur, slowly and steadily, like you're testing out the words as you say them. "You set me free. Thank you."

"...you're...welcome?" Damian pants, his mind still a little gooey. "Wait, that's English. You're — did you kiss me to learn English?"

"I did," you smile. "I needed to convey my gratitude in your common tongue. I hope I didn't offend you."

Offend was definitely not the word to use. He gently pulls his hands from your hair, but you make no move to separate, so he settles them on your waist instead.

"You're wounded," he says, tipping his head in the direction of your shoulder. The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. "Let me take you somewhere to get that wrapped."

"Take me where?" You ask. "Not back to the laboratory?"

"No." He doesn't know what lab you're talking about, but he knows he would never willingly put you back in Luthor's hands. "A cave. It has a medical ward where you can have that cut stitched closed."

You seem to give it some thought, idly playing with the hair at the nape of Damian's neck. It takes so much more effort than he anticipates not to melt into it. Your bare skin against his almost burns. You're exceptionally warm, near-feverish.

"Yes," you eventually agree. "You are..." You tilt your head as you search for the right words to use. "Trustworthy. I will go with you there."

Damian relaxes. He presses a finger to his comm.

"Red Robin, send the Batmobile to my location for extraction. I'm bringing the metahuman to the Batcave."

#el speaks #winged reader au #damian x reader #damian wayne x reader #🦈

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starcandybby · 5 months ago

Text

say don’t go | pjs

now playing: Say Don’t Go (Taylor’s Version) (From the Vault) by Taylor Swift

minors DNI - 18+ only

jay x reader, friends with benefits, angst, suggestive

summary: You want more, and Jay doesn't. It's as simple as that. Except, it's not so simple when your heart aches to be with him. When you decide to cut Jay off, he does not take kindly to your actions and a confrontation ensues.

warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive scenes, like they make out two times?!, reader is DOWN BAD, jay has commitment issues, swearing, they have an argument, jay is a dick. typos probably

wc: 3.7k

(a/n: jay’s part is here!! im pretty proud of this not gonna lie heheheh, reblog, likes and comments are always appreciated :p)

You always tell yourself that the last time will be the last time. Everytime Jay undos the undressing from a few hours before, disappointment weighs so heavy on your heart that it convinces you- it can never happen again.

But it always does.

One word, one call from him. And, you’re always saying yes. For some reason, the small flicker of hope in your chest never dies. It convinces you that one day, he will ask you to stay. That he’ll say, “Don’t go.”

You’re never surprised, but always disappointed.

Tonight is no different. Jay calls you up and asks if you can come over. You say, yes. You always do. Before you know it, you’ve left your apartment, enroute to Jay’s home.

All you’ve brought with you is your phone, wallet, keys, and water; adorned on your body is your comfiest clothes. You and Jay are long past trying to impress each other. You never stay the night so the least you can do for yourself is dress comfortably.

You’ve memorized the way to his house, from every time he’s called you over. You’ve never felt like a booty-call, not by the way he treats you after you knock on his front door. And, you never wondered why you don’t indulge each other in your own home. This is always how it’s been.

You climb up the familiar steps and lift your fist to knock on his door. You never hesitate, not once in all your late night rendezvous. Your heart seems to forget all the heartbreak Jay’s caused you and all the disappointment that fills you when you walk out the same door hours later.

The door swings open, and there is your Jay, dressed in perfect domesticity. “Finally, you’re here.” He sighs in relief and gently pulls you into his home. But, not without a peck to your forehead.

“You act like I kept you waiting for hours.” You roll your eyes playfully.

“Well it felt like hours.” Jay shot back, matching your energy.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” you quip. “It smells good in here.” Now that you’ve stepped into Jay’s home, you notice the aroma that fills the air- a mixture of seasonings- garlic and onion you’re sure. You smile to yourself. It’s one of the many things you admire about Jay, his love for cooking. And, he’s good at it. You’ve shared his meals countless times and they never disappoint. Excitement, mixed with hunger, brews in your stomach at the thought of eating some of Jay’s food.

“Thanks doll. Felt like cooking up something before you came over.” Jay replies. Placing a hand on your lower back, he guides you to the kitchen, as if this is your first time at his place. You bet you’ve memorized the steps to his kitchen and bedroom by now.

“What’d you make this time?” You question carries genuine curiosity, as Jay has cooked an array of dishes.

“Lemon pepper chicken with green beans and rice. I’ve been wanting to try this recipe for a while because I’ve never cooked with lemon pepper before and I thought why not…” Jay’s voice trails off. You don’t mean to tune Jay out- it only happened because you’re entirely focused on admiring Jay and how he floats around the kitchen so naturally, tending to the food on the stove. He owns the space; his confidence and naturalness only adds to your desire for him, to have him in every way.

You stop yourself before you spiral into a mood of longingness. You’re determined to not bring down the mood tonight, not until you and Jay have your usual…routine.

Once the food is ready, Jay prepares your plate for you, insisting it will taste better if he does it. Typical Jay, ever the gentleman. You chat through the meal, recapping your day and week, providing updates on your mutual friends, and everything in between. It feels so domestic, and right. It reminds you that you and Jay could have this. Home-cooked meals, the intimacy of sitting at the dining table, getting ready for bed together, and holding each other close when the day comes to a close.

At least, that’s what you imagine life with Jay would be like.

You help him clean the kitchen, dancing around each other in a perfect rhythm.

Once you finish drying the last dish, you turn around, only to find Jay had caged you between himself and the kitchen counter.

“Oh! You scared me.” You giggle, from both surprise and nervousness at Jay’s proximity.

He says nothing, only smirking and capturing your lips in a kiss. It stops time for you- whenever he kisses you, it always feels that way. It’s firm and slow- but that’s how Jay teases you. His patience is unmatched, opposing your urgency. Don’t misunderstand, Jay feels a similar urgency to have you, but he quite enjoys teasing you first.

You respond with such fervor, starting to feel desperate. Jay’s hands move from the counter to the waist and press you into him.

Right before you invite your tongue to tangle with Jay’s, he pulls back for a breath. He leans his forehead against yours and gasps for air. “Let’s move this to my room yeah?” He asks cooly, but you detect a hint of desperation in his voice. It makes you proud to know that he’s as desperate for you as you are for him.

You nod quickly and follow him to his bedroom. You know where the night is headed and the sadness you’ll feel when you leave Jay’s embrace is guaranteed. But, even though you want Jay in every way, only one way is enough for now.

You still feel warm from your high an hour ago. But, Jay always makes you feel that way. Your afterglow remains long after whenever you’re with him. You’re in the perfect position to fall asleep, head on Jay’s chest while his fingers trailing rhythmically up and down your bare back, relaxing you. But, you know you can’t fall asleep. In a few minutes, when Jay feels it’s socially acceptable to kick you out, you will get dressed and leave. You savor these moments while they’re here.

Time passes and you’re still here. Hope blooms in your chest; he’s never let you stay this long. It must be way past midnight at this point, usually you’re home by now. This hope encourages you to open your godforsaken mouth and rehash a conversation with Jay that you’ve had over and over.

A part of you knows that even if you bring up the topic again, nothing will change. But, damnnit, there’s hope!

You sit up and reach for your discarded shirt on the floor. Covering one part of your vulnerability will help unveil another.

Jay gives you a look that questions why you moved from such a comfortable position.

“Hey, Jay.” Your voice shakes ever so slightly, but you’re blaming it on your exertion from before, not on your nervousness.

The boy only hums in response, however it’s encouragement enough for you to continue.

“I was wondering if you thought any more about what I said all those months ago? About us? I just…I want more for us and I think we would be really good together. I really really like you. I want everything- all of it- with youl.” You spit out your words like they’re fire, rambling through your thoughts. You don’t even look Jay in the eye, too embarrassed that you’re clinging to the impossible.

There’s a moment of silence which allows you to bask in your humiliation. Then, a sigh from Jay.

“Do we really have to talk about this again? My answer is the same. I just can’t commit like that right now.” His voice is soft, but firm- as if he knows your fragility but needs to make his words heard.

Your frown deepens, and Jay unfortunately notices.

“Come here,” He pulls you back to him, “You know it’s not because of you, right? I really really like you too. But, I know you deserve more than I can give you right now.”

You nod, despite not understanding. You try to make sense of Jay’s words but they weren’t adding up at all.

You don’t understand- if he really really liked you, why couldn’t he commit? Why wouldn’t he take you out on a proper date? If he liked you, didn’t he want the same things you did?

Him making dinner, being obsessively caring during your intimate moments, and offering the best aftercare, it was all twisting the knife he had dug into your back.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t in your back, because you knew where this was going, or you should’ve known. This was no betrayal. It was all inevitable.

It doesn’t make the pain of him leaving you in the dark bleeding, hurt any less.

It’s time for you to go. You pushed his limits and now tension mixes with the smell of sex in the room. Despite Jay holding you close, you feel so far from him. So, you need to go before you say something stupid.

You sit up and try to muster up your most sheepish smile, trying to not give away any disappointment in Jay’s answer. You’ve shown enough vulnerability for one night.

“I think I’m going to go home for the night- I’ve got, you know, an early morning.” You lie through your teeth. It’s a Saturday night (or early Sunday morning at this point).

Jay nods slowly, as if he knows you’re lying (he does). He follows your movements, sitting up and searching the room for his disregarded clothes.

“I’ll walk you out.”

You only nod in response. Your voice seemed to die along with your hope. You lead yourself and Jay to his front door. Opening it, you turn to bid him goodbye.

You’re almost caught off guard by the look in Jay’s eyes. He looks disappointed- in who, you’re not sure. His eyes hold a hint of sadness too.

He leans forward, but you panic. Thinking on your feet, you go for the awkward side hug. You swear you can almost hear Jay grimace.

“Text me when you get home.”

“Sure, yeah. Goodnight Jay.”

With that, you walk out the door.

By the time you’re home, you have made a major decision.

Well, it feels major to you.

You decide you’re gonna distance yourself from Jay for a while. And this time, you’re serious about it. You need some time away from him. From the home-cooked meals. From the fluid conversation. From the softness.

You need to get your heart in order before you see him again. You predict you will either lose feelings for Jay, and continue your affair, or you’ll learn to live without him.

You’re not looking forward to either outcome, but it needs to happen. You can’t anticipate the same heartbreak every time you see him. The longing, the desperation, the hope. You can’t do it anymore.

Four days have passed since you saw Jay. Not seeing him in person over the week wasn’t out of the ordinary. You both have full-time jobs, so it’s normal to not see him until the weekend.

What was unusual was the lack of communication entirely. You and Jay wouldn’t go a day or two without texting each other, or having a quick phone call.

You were honestly proud of yourself for not contacting him. However, you feel a bit disappointed that he hasn't contacted you at all. You sound hypocritical- the way you want him to simultaneously let you be and pine after you. Feelings are confusing.

The first weekend without Jay is the worst. You take extra measures to avoid Jay- seeing him, confronting him, even thinking about him. Your phone is turned off and placed across the room where you can’t reach. Your best girlfriends come over for a movie night, providing some much needed girl time. By the time they leave, you have completely forgotten where your weekend usually leads you.

So, you busy yourself by cleaning the kitchen from earlier in the evening, disposing of popcorn bags and leftover candies.

For a second, your memory betrays you. You imagine a few months ago when Jay invited you over for a ‘movie’ night. Popcorn and snacks were prepared, but soon forgotten. You two didn’t even make it half through the movie before you were on top of each other. Jay had pulled you onto his lap as you started to make out, each kiss intensifying. Your bodies begin to move against each other on their own and before you know it-

You shake your head from the daydream. Jay does not deserve to take up that kind of space in your mind. You won’t allow him.

You continue to straighten up your apartment, before you retire to your bed. It’s almost like your body doesn’t know what to do with itself when you’re not in Jay’s apartment on a Saturday night. It’s sad, and it’s precisely why you need space from him. Your heart is growing too dependent on him.

Picking up your phone, you see a particular notification(s) that makes your sore heart stutter.

One missed call and four messages from Jay.

Jay <3: I called to see what you’re up to tonight. You can come over if you’re free.

Jay <3: I made kimchi jjigae. I think I finally got the recipe down.

Jay <3: Just realized it’s been a minute since we talked.

Jay <3: Missing you right now.

The last message was sent only 30 minutes ago. You glance at the clock, it’s only 11:30- not even that late. Jay is probably still up, and if you leave your apartment now you could probably make it before-

The better part of you stops yourself before you can impulsively see the one person you’re trying to avoid. That’s Jay though- so addicting it makes you go against your better judgment.

You sigh and turn your phone off. The determination for space is strong, motivated by the ache in your heart.

Jay feels like he’s going crazy. His 7 text messages and two missed calls have gone unanswered by you.

Why the hell were you ignoring him? Were you okay? If Jay hadn’t seen your activity on your socials, he would’ve thought you were dead. He’s not trying to be dramatic, he swears. But, during the months and months that you’ve known each other, you’ve never ghosted him.

Jay racks his brain for the reason you’re ignoring him right now.

It surely can’t be because of your last conversation right? You both have had that talk multiple times and it never resulted in completely ceased communication. So, Jay concludes that’s not it.

What if you met someone new? Surely you would have told Jay about them. And, why would you confess your feelings and then find someone new days later? Were you sick? Depressed? Maybe, you were out of town and forgot to mention.

Jay continues to spiral over throughout the week. He decides that, if by the weekend, you still haven’t responded, he’s going to take matters into his own hands.

You got through a second week without talking to Jay. It gets easier every day you think. Your heart still hurts to ignore his messages and calls- your feelings for him haven’t just disappeared. But, you have to cut him off completely or the heartache you feel will continue to crush you.

The weekend has come again, but this time you find yourself alone in your apartment. You hadn’t realized how much you needed a weekend to yourself. Spending time with yourself is a skill you’re learning to cultivate, especially now that you don’t have a weekend partner to rendezvous with anymore.

That doesn’t mean you don’t think about him. You think about Jay all the time, and it hurts that you won’t get the intimacy of his bedroom, cooking meals, and the domesticity with him anymore. But, it is still easier to cope without that than it was.

You’ve settled in the comfiest spot in your living room, book in hand and lights dimmed. A warm cup of tea close by, you’re looking forward to a peaceful night.

Not even two chapters in your book, you hear a knock at the door. You freeze for a moment, certainly startled as you weren’t expecting anyone tonight.

You don’t move, praying that whoever is at your door will just go away. It’s 10pm for god sake.

A knock echoes through your home again, but this time it’s followed by a voice you know all too well.

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Jay’s voice resonates through your apartment walls and through your heart. You try to keep your cool but your racing heart betrays you. It takes your entire willpower to stop your hands from shaking. You cannot let him see how much his mere presence affects you.

With a deep breath, you open the door and plaster on your most nonchalant expression.

“Oh hey! What’s up?”

Jay huffs and has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Oh good, you’re alive.”

His sarcasm is not lost on you as he pushes his way into your apartment, as if it’s his own. You can count on one hand how many times he’s invaded your space.

“What’s that supposed to-”

“Why haven’t you answered my texts, or called me back?” Jay cuts you off.

Adjusting to the shock of his arrival and looking at the man clearly now, you can see how upset he is. You’ve become an expert on his body language- furrowed eyebrows, tense shoulders, confused and pained look in his eyes- you could see it all.

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve been busy and I don’t know, I just…” You ramblings weren’t helping your case. In fact, you were sure they were only making things worse. You weren’t used to Jay being so straightforward. Usually, you felt like you were always the confrontational one in your dynamic.

“You were busy? Really?” Jay knew you too well to know your bullshit answer when he hears it.

“Yeah, well you know, life gets busy.”

Jay scoffs at your attitude. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t even send me a quick text to let me know what’s going on?”

You shake your head, “It must’ve slipped my mind.”

“This is such bullshit. You can’t just ghost me and then tell me it’s because you’re busy.”

“Actually I can.” You weren’t about to let Jay tell you what you can and can’t do. Especially when he continued to break your heart over the past few months. Though the past two weeks were hard, you believe the distance gave you a backbone of some sort.

“Grow up, I thought you were more mature than this. My god.” Jay snaps.

He didn’t mean to, but god he was so frustrated at the moment. His mind is clouded, failing to allow him to think clearly. Jay had never snapped at you that way before, ever.

This newfound behavior from the man dulled your senses for a moment.

Then, you found yourself growing angry. Angry at him, his hypocrisy, and the entire situation.

“I need to grow up? Seriously? You’re the one who needs to grow up. You’re the one who can’t commit. You’re the one who keeps leading me on.”

Jay’s bewildered expression makes you think your feelings are completely news to him.

“How am I leading you on? I’ve told you over and over again that I don’t want a relationship- I just want to fuck you!”

Jay’s crudeness was an absolute shock to you. Though you’ve never had such a heated confrontation with him before, you never imagined the thoughtful, deliberate man could say such a thing.

His words anger you even more. How could he not see how his actions were saying something completely different? He may have said he didn’t want a relationship, but all the moments he shared with you had you holding your breath just a little longer, waiting for him. You can’t believe you were so naive.

“That’s not fair. You did more than just fuck me. You cooked me dinners; we had movie nights; you text me and call me all the time. That’s the basics to being in a relationship, Jay. It twists the knife to do all those things with you and not be able to be with you.” Your monologue began at a raised voice and, to your dismay, ended with a whimper as you trailed off.

You tried to be strong, determined not to cry in front of Jay. But, the reality of the situation was setting in for you.

“It’s not my fault you took it the wrong way. I was trying to be nice. I would do it for any friend.” Jay snaps.

You try to look at Jay, but your tears cloud your vision. You don’t even know who the man standing in front of you is. How could he be so cruel? Why was he being so defensive? Though your vision was blurry, it became clear to you that Jay’s comments were intended to hurt you. Whether it was spur of the moment or out of rage, it did not matter. It hurts you either way.

“Get out.” Your stern, level voice sounded through your apartment.

“What?”

When Jay decided to confront you tonight, he never once thought it would end with him being kicked out of your apartment.

“Jay. Please leave.” You repeat, much softer than before. One could mistake it for a plea if they listen closely enough.

Jay’s shoulders drop. Gone is the anger in his body language, replaced by a defeated posture. He’s hesitant to leave; he knows you both should hash it out some more. Nothing was solved.

Nevertheless, he heads toward your front door. It’s a wonder he manages to make it through the thick tension in the air.

Jay looks back at you once more before opening your front door and stepping out of it. You don’t meet his gaze- you can’t. You’ll break and ask him to stay, to let him please you one last time. It would be the last time.

You were even holding out hope for Jay to turn around and ask you to let him stay, to not go.

But he didn’t.

There was no resounding knock on your front door. No Jay asking you to open the door. No confessions and pleads to stay. Just silence.

disclaimer: This is purely fiction- nothing in these works reflect real of these people. Additionally, I don't own any of the inspired songs.

#jay x reader #jay imagine #enhypen imagine #enhypen fanfic #enhypen angst #enhypen jay #jongseong x reader #park jongseong #jake x reader #heeseung x reader #jay angst #enhypen imagines #sunghoon x reader

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shizumi123yuki · 3 months ago

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“Oblivious”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon remains oblivious, thinking the gestures are just friendly. When you suggested spending time together outside of work, Simon misunderstands, leaving you frustrated.

(This is just a short story, idk if i’ll make a part two but just comment your ideas and i’ll make one and tag you❤️)

———

The dim lights of the bar flickered as the sounds of muted chatter and clinking glasses filled the air. New York’s night buzzed outside, but inside, it was a quiet retreat. You sat at the bar, nursing your drink, eyes darting toward the entrance whenever the door opened. It had been a month since you'd seen him—Simon. Ghost. It didn’t matter what name he went by, the effect he had on you was always the same; magnetic, mysterious, completely and utterly out of reach.

You hadn’t expected to see him tonight. Simon was the type to keep to himself, often burying his head in his work or disappearing for days on end. But here he was, standing in the doorway, scanning the room as if he'd just come in to escape the chaos of the outside world. He locked eyes with you from across the room, and for a split second, your heart skipped a beat.

He walked over, silent as always, his heavy boots making soft thuds on the hardwood floor. He pulled up a chair beside you and ordered his usual; whiskey, neat.

“Mind if I join?” His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of warmth beneath the cool tone. You’d come to know it well over the past few months—after missions, during downtime, in those rare, fleeting moments when you could just be two people, not soldiers.

“Not at all,” you said, your voice a little too quick. You cleared your throat, shifting your gaze to your drink. "Rough day?"

“You could say that,” Simon muttered, taking the glass of whiskey the bartender slid toward him. He didn’t drink like most people—he didn’t savor it, didn’t talk about it. He just drank, like it was something to numb the world around him.

You fiddled with the rim of your glass, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach. You had been trying to figure out when exactly it happened—when you’d started feeling this way about Simon. At first, it had been nothing more than a friendly camaraderie. But over the past month, you’d found yourself looking for any excuse to be near him, to talk to him, to make him notice you.

You felt ridiculous.

"How've you been?" you asked, trying to sound casual, hoping the question wouldn’t betray just how much you longed to be close to him. To hear him say something—anything—that might hint at the way you felt.

Simon leaned back in his chair, eyeing you with a raised brow. "Been good. Same old, same old. You?"

You bit your lip, feeling a slight blush creep onto your cheeks. You had so many things you wanted to say—so many things you wanted to ask. But you couldn't. Not yet. “Yeah, you know... same here.” you muttered, toying with your drink again. “Just trying to stay busy.”

Simon nodded, his eyes drifting over to the TV screen above the bar, which was tuned to some late-night news. He didn’t seem to notice the way you were watching him now, a little too intently. Or maybe he did, but he said nothing.

You decided to try something a little bolder this time.

“You're always so... serious,” you said, half-laughing to try and make it sound light. “I bet you don't know how to relax properly.”

He smirked slightly. “Im not here to relax. I'm here to unwind.”

“Right,” you said, leaning just a little closer. “But, you know, unwinding doesn't have to mean just drinking whiskey.”

There was a slight quirk of his eyebrow, but he didn’t seem to catch the hint. “Im not much of a ‘relax and chill’ kind of guy, you know that.”

“Maybe,” you muttered under your breath, almost wishing he’d just get it. “You could try,” you added quickly. “It’s not a bad thing. To unwind with someone else.” You tried to sound lighthearted, but the words came out a little heavier than you intended.

He chuckled, a dry sound that made your chest tighten. “Im fine. Don’t worry about me.”

You took a long sip of your drink, trying to hide the sting that echoed in your chest. Don’t worry about him? Bullshit. You always had, ever since that first mission you’d worked together. The way he always kept his distance, the way he barely spoke unless it was necessary, but when he did, it was always calculated, always sharp. The way he protected the team with his life but never let anyone get close enough to see the cracks in his armor.

You didn't even know why you cared. But you did. And that made it hurt more than it should have.

“So, I was thinking,” you said, trying to shift the focus, not letting the weight of the conversation crash down on you. “Maybe we should... you know, do something fun sometime. Like outside of all this.” You gestured vaguely at the bar, at the uniforms you both wore on missions, the responsibilities that always seemed to weigh you down. “Take a day off. No missions. No work. Just... normal stuff.”

Simon tilted his head, as if he were considering it. “Imnot really the ‘fun’ type,” he said, his tone so neutral it was hard to read. “But sure. If you’re up for it, we could grab a drink somewhere else sometime.”

Somewhere else? Your heart skipped again, but not in the way you wanted. It was as though you were still just teammates, still only worthy of a “let’s grab a drink.” No promise of anything more, no acknowledgment of the flirty hints you'd been dropping.

Is he... that oblivious?

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, fighting to keep your frustration under control. “Right. Of course.” you said quickly, but your voice faltered slightly. “You’re not the fun type. I get it.”

Simon gave you a quick glance, then turned back to his drink. He didn’t seem to notice how you had tensed up, the way your smile felt forced.

"Yeah. Just not much for hanging out like that." he said, a shrug of indifference in his shoulders.

And you? You sat there, every part of you aching with the weight of everything unsaid.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod fanfiction #ghost x reader #ghost cod #call of duty #simon ghost x reader

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motthe · 3 months ago

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hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,

i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]

my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️

warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!

The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.

They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.

“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”

Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.

The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.

Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.

Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.

“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”

You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.

Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.

You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.

Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.

Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.

On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.

Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.

It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.

Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.

When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.

“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.

Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.

You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.

It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.

“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”

“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.

“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”

“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”

“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”

“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”

“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.

“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”

Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.

As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.

“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.

“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.

“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”

His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“I know what you’re about to ask—”

“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”

“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.

“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”

You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.

“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.

“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.

“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”

Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”

“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”

The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.

“Those are just warmups, so…”

“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”

“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”

“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.

“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”

“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.

“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”

“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”

“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”

“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.

“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”

“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”

He blinked at you. “I do?”

Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.

“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”

You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.

“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”

“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.

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23victoria · 2 months ago

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angels in tibet

ꨄ༊*·˚ pairings: 𝓸𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓻 𝓹𝓲𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓲 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

₊✩°｡⋆ authors note: 𝓲'𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓲 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝓼 𝓲'𝓶 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓼𝓸𝓸𝓷! 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓲 𝓽𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓼𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰! 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂!!

ꨄ༊*·˚ synopsis: 𝓸𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓻 𝓫𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓷𝓮𝔀 𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

₊✩°｡⋆ 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽?! CLICK HERE!

ꨄ༊*·˚ F1 MASTERLIST

y/nl/n

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, dior, chanel, lewishamilton, sza, arianagrande and 2,151,141 more

i might just hypnotize you 🤍

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oscarpiastri i’m hypnotize 😫😫

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y/nl/n

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, dior, chanel, lewishamilton, sza, arianagrande and 3,516,171 more

booked and busy being me 🖤💫

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y/nl/n has posted a new story!!

twitter

y/nl/n and jamrepublic

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, straykids, lewishamilton, sza, sabrinacarpenter and 3,192,718 more

supriseeee!!! i’m in #StreetWomanFighter2! as jam republic’s leader!!! check us out!! and vote for us to win!!!

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oscarpiastri yes baby!! beyond proud of you!! you’re going to do amazing!! I can’t wait for the world to see!!

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oscarpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, dior, bts, straykids, sza, arianagrande, landonorris and 1,569,871 more

guys!! my beautiful and talented girlfriend @.y/nl/n is on #StreetWomanFighter with @.jamrepublic as their leader!! check them out and support my girl for me!!!

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y/nl/n babeeee!!!! omggg!!! you’re so cuteee!! i can’t!! tysm!! 🥺❤️✨

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y/nl/n posted a new story!!!!

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y/nl/n

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they underestimated us 🔥🔥 how’d we do?!?! vote for us to win!!! #teamjamrepublic #StreetWomanFighter2

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oscarpiastri bet they won’t do it again 😌

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oscarpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, y/nl/n, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, lewishamilton, georgerussell, maxverstappen and 1,392,271 more

my girl @.y/nl/n and @.jamrepublic performance last night was amazing!! thank you guys for all the support you have being showing them!! continue to watch #StreetWomanFighter2 and vote for #teamjamrepublic

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oscarpiastri @.y/nl/n i love you baby ❤️

y/nl/n

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, lewishamilton, fentybeauty and 3,458,918 more

sexy & spicy 🌶️ with a hint of sweetness 🍬

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badgirlriri you’re so fucking hot

oscarpiastri can’t believe i can call you mine 🤤😫😍

↳ y/nl/n @.oscarpiastri believe baby 😘

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↳ y/nl/n @.user67 it’s riri from @.fentybeauty

y/nl/n

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, alexandrasaintmleux, dior, sephora, lewishamilton, sza, arianagrande and 2,374,910 more

guys!!! one more day till #StreetWomanFighter2 comes to an end!! i’ve had such a a amazing experience here!! the crowd, the fans, the dancers i met!! everything has been amazing!! i can’t wait for you guys to see our final show tomorrow!! don’t forget to vote #jamrepbulic to win tm!!! see u guys soon!! ;)

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user4 you girls made history!!

lewishamilton this was legendary!!

oscarpiastri baby you guys killed this 🤩

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bellahadid so proud of you!!

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PSA: to all formula one fans and fans of #81, Oscar Piastri. He would like to celebrate this race win by having you guys go vote for his girlfriend’s team @.jamrepublic in the #StreetWomanFighter2 finals tomorrow night at 8pm !! Also who doesn’t love @.y/nl/n!! Wishing her and her team all the best in tomorrow finals!! Don’t forget to vote for them to win!!

f1 @.oscarpiastri It’s my pleasure 😇

↳ oscarpiastri thank you admin 🫡

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user65 someone find me an oscar piastri please!!!

user67 now this…is a man. mhmhmmm.

user01 lmk when you find him 🙏🙏🙏

user65 king shit!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

oscarpiastri just posted a new story!!

y/nl/n

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, dior, chanel, lewishamilton, sza, arianagrande and 6,982,431 more

had to remind them i didn’t come to play 😘💫

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badgirlriri how they forget you are simply just. that. girl. ?!

oscarpiastri always been that girl!!!

user111 this dance is fucking fireee omg!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥

user333 literally was hypnotized watching you both! 😍

user145 you both killed it!! 🙂‍↕️

bellahadid queen shit!! 🤧✨

user009 jam republic are my winner idccc!!

y/nl/n and oscarpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, lewishamilton, sza, arianagrande and 22,982,961 more

future Mrs. Piastri 💍🥺✨

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bellahadid ahhhhhhh congratulations!!

landonorris congrats osc!! 🥰❤️

alexandrasaintmleux so happy to witness that beautiful moment in person 🥹🥹

badgirlriri she’s a fiancé 😘💫

user34 wishing you guys nothing but the best!!

sza congratulations you guys! beautiful! 🥺🤍

user87 this is the dream!

user22 I love love 🥹🥰

f1 literally one of the best days ever!!! hello?!?! omfg!! congratulations!! 🎉🤍 - admin

user222 omg omg omg

user81 ITS HAPPENING YESSSS!!!!

@ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @revolutionsingingintherain @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @armystay89 @paucubarsisimp

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elizaleclerc · 8 months ago

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vicious 🍒

charles leclerc x reader (smau)

summary: singer!reader starts soft launching a relationship with charles leclerc amidst a new album and tour after a messy breakup with lando norris...

song: (literally every single one mentioned lol)

author's note: back on my smau bs! faceclaim is sabrina carpenter bc DUHHH!!!! i honestly just loveee the messy drama and petty posts w this one

NEW ARTICLE: VANITY FAIR

After almost two years of fiery romance, pop singer Y/N and F1 driver Lando Norris split after cheating rumors

Rising pop sensation Y/N had temporarily put her music career on hold to accompany her new boyfriend, F1 rookie Lando Norris, on his journey to dominance. The couple's public debut was in Monaco, following Norris's first Formula One win last year. After being photographed together several times after that, the pair finally decided to be more public with their relationship, with Y/N attending every Grand Prix at Norris’s side.

The media was ablaze with chatter about their fairytale romance, causing fans of both stars to swoon and declare them the next "it" couple. For nearly two years, Norris and y/l/n were inseparable, gracing every magazine cover and dominating headlines. But suddenly, everything changed. Rumors began circulating that Norris had been secretly seeing a stunning model for the past three months, sending shockwaves through the fandom. Soon, the once inseparable pair stopped appearing in public together, leaving fans to speculate if their relationship had met its bitter end. Now, all eyes are on Y/N as she prepares for her highly anticipated next album. Will she address the rumors and set the record straight, or will we all be left in the dark?

yourname proud to announce my second album, vicious, will be yours november 15th <3 more news soon x

liked by f1, charlesleclerc, landonorris, and others

-user8465 YES YES YES

-user9902 oh we're about to get all the answers

-user4558 if the album is as good as the cover photo we are about to get FED

-user5041 everyone place bets on how many of these songs are about lando...

landonorris A steady couple of weeks for the team, ready to take on more tracks soon!

liked by maxverstappen, mclaren, f1, and others

-user4902 sir are you aware you are about to get cooked

-user5506 um id go into hiding if i were you

-user4558 people already jumping to conclusions yall calm downnn

-user1141 have you not SEEN the cheating rumors??

-user4558 we have literally no idea what happened between them tho

-user1141 girl i fear we are about to know tho

yourname all because i liked a boy :,)

liked by charlesleclerc, sonymusic, f1, and others

-user0402 please tell me the caption is a lyric on the album i might die

-yourname shhhh...

-user0402 I DIED.

-user5903 charles being messy in the likes i cant

-user4304 y/n i don't think we are ready truly

yourname the first single, feather, is out now for you to love and enjoy!! kisses

liked by charlesleclerc, sonymusic, yourbestfriend, and others

-user3560 oh she's moved ON.

-user2094 "you wanted me, no DUH" we all said in unison

-user3932 im so sorry for your loss lando!!!

-user8856 she really just called this man a waste of time...icon behavior

-charlesleclerc A tune.

-user6678 CHARLES??

charlesleclerc Feels good to have a couple wins under our belt, the fight for the championship isn’t over yet.

liked by yourname, f1, scuderiaferrari, and others

-yourname red looks best

-user7704 hey so what does this mean

-user5089 charles dominance could bore fans

-user6723 so no ones gonna say anything about y/n in the comments? okay

yourname the vicious tour, coming to a city near you <3 check my website for more info ;)

liked by maxverstappen, charlesleclerc, sonymusic, and others

-charlesleclerc the ticket is already in my cart

-yourname what a loyal fan <3

-maxverstappen can i tag along?

-user4783 omg what did i walk in on

-user4370 charles and y/n i- um- how did-

-user3904 i need this album like yesterday i cannot wait any longer

yourname vicious is officially out now!!! creating an album is always so daunting, but everything i went through this past year has brought me to where i am now :,) the lyrics, melodies, and tears flowed out of me like a literal waterfall and this record slowly evolved into something so personal and beautiful, and i hope you all love it as much as i do. for those who have bought tickets to the tour, i'll see you all so soon. xoxo

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, maxverstappen, and others

-user3204 i simply have no words this is beautiful

-user5103 how is it possible to both cry and shake my ass to this album

-user0989 i know lando is somewhere sobbing and shaking

-user6434 everyone reply with ur fav songs so far!!

-charlesleclerc Picture You ;)

-yourname cheeky.

-user5568 could it be perhaps...because...its about you, charles?

charlesleclerc WORLD CHAMPION! It feels so good to finally have a WDC. The team has put in countless hours of work this season and it finally paid off. Red Bull and McLaren challenged us all year, but I've always had faith in myself and this team. This is a moment in my career that I will never forget. I'm ready to enjoy some time off, but I'll see you on the track soon.

liked by yourname, f1, scuderiaferrari, and others

-yourname my champion <3

-charlesleclerc ❤️

-user6845 OMG THIS IS NOT A DRILL

-user3579 we all love you charles!!!!

-user9356 charles wdc and y/n soft launch in the comments yall are we okay

-user5602 once again lando is probably crying and throwing up

-user1362 karma tastes so sweet

-yourname tell me about it

yourname he's good for my heart ☀️

liked by charlesleclerc, f1, sonymusic, and others

-charlesleclerc mon amour <3

-user5412 she's got him using that heart im obsessed

-user7584 going from wag to wag again she's truly iconic i fear

-user0049 girl why hide the face we recognize that man anywhere

-maxverstappen Soft launch of the century.

charlesleclerc my two loves. welcome to our little fam leo <3

liked by yourname, maxverstappen, f1, and others

-yourname love u both <3

-user6731 oh my god i might cry

-user0823 u can tell charles is so perfect for y/n im so happy for them

-user7803 charles better treat her well or we ride at dawn

-charlesleclerc i'll love her forever

-user4812 CRYING I LOVE THEMMM

thx for reading!! might make a part 2 with y/n on tour...

#formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #charlesleclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #social media au #smau

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sangwookisser · 17 days ago

Text

⭒TENSIONS ARE RISING - RAFE CAMERON⭒

cw. football! rafe, college rafe, enemies to lovers, breakups, love triangle (maybe not sure), female reader in mind, violence and blood, objectification of reader by rafe, no use of y/n, allusions to cheating, suggestive, ANGST

a/n: im so sorry babies the word count hit 8k so i gotta write a part two with all smut. stay tuned! MDNI

Homecoming weekend always brought out the worst in everyone.

The air was thick with school spirit and tension, the rivalry between your college and Rafe Cameron’s school burning hotter than ever. You knew the game would be brutal—your school hadn’t beaten his in years, and this season, your team had the best shot in a long time. But apparently, Rafe wasn’t content to let any stats do the talking.

His school was known for being best in the state at football, and although yours wasn't far behind, it seemed as though his was always several steps ahead with strategies, moves, and plays.

You spot him before your boyfriend does, standing near the tunnel below the bleachers with a few fans and frat bros making bets before the game, his team’s colors contrasting against his sharp jawline and too-perfect hair. He’s talking to some of his teammates, but the second he sees you, his smirk widens like he’s been expecting you. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

His gaze landed on you first, darkening slightly as he gave you a slow, deliberate once-over. From your little sneakers to your sweater, to the way your arms were wrapped around yourself, trying to ward off the October chill. But his stare wasn’t cold. No, it was heated, hungry, and entirely too satisfied.

Your stomach twisted. You hated that look. That arrogant, leering gaze that made it clear he liked what he saw—and that he didn’t give a damn who you belonged to, even with your boyfriend's initials on a gold locket around your neck, sitting on the plush skin of your cleavage.

He made it obvious that his eyes drifted to your tits, and he chuckled. Whether it was at your necklace or your boobs, you weren't sure.

You wrenched your eyes away, but it was too late. He’d already seen your reaction.

“Hey, look who it is,” Rafe drawls as your boyfriend finally catches sight of him. His voice is loud enough to carry over the pre-game noise, designed to get under your boyfriend’s skin. “Didn’t realize you were still wasting your time here, man. Thought you’d be smart enough to transfer after last year’s beating.” A few of Rafe's friends look over and laugh softly, sporting school colors and jerseys.

Your boyfriend stiffens beside you, already pissed before Rafe even says the next part. You hug your boyfriend closer to you, feeling his chest rise and fall hard.

“And you—” Rafe’s gaze flickers to you, shameless and slow, causing you to stiffen. You absentmindedly push your hair in front of your shoulders so it blocks some of his view of your breasts, and he laughs, unperturbed.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes rake you over, going down from the way your tits push against your tight sweater, down to your black leggings, which hug your thighs and hips, and then back up to your face, taking his time in a way that makes your skin heat for all the wrong reasons.

“Damn. I gotta say, you really are the only good thing about this sorry excuse for a school.”

Your face heats up at the comment, and you frown softly. He does this every time he sees you. Flirts with you, more so in front of your boyfriend, and tries to get a rise out of him by making it seem like he can take his girl from him any time he wants.

Your boyfriend surges forward, already balling his fists, and you barely have time to react before his teammates grab his arms.

“Watch your mouth, Cameron.” His voice is low, furious, barely restrained. You wrap your hands around your boyfriend's arm, rubbing gentle circles on his bicep to calm him down. He could be benched for foul play if he threw the punch, and you knew how much the homecoming game meant to him, he couldn't mess this up for someone as stupid as Rafe Cameron.

The two different teams crowded around, with Rafe's behind him and two of your boyfriend's friends holding him back.

Rafe just grins smugly, soft, charming dimples gracing his cheeks as he bites his lip momentarily, letting out a low whistle. He cocks his head slightly to try and get a glimpse of your ass, and you cling tighter to your boyfriend, your heart racing.

“What? Just saying what we’re all thinking.” He takes a slow step closer, eyes gleaming and deliberately provocative. Then his gaze flicks back to you, lingering this time—too long, too obvious. His smirk turns downright filthy.

“I mean, I get it,” Rafe muses, voice dropping just enough that only you and your boyfriend can hear him over the noise of the crowd. “You probably have him all wound up, looking like that. But, Jesus…”

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and his eyes shamelessly drag down your body yet again. “I can’t stop thinking about how much better you’d look in my jersey. On my bed. Making my name sound so much better than his.”

Your boyfriend lunges before you can stop him.

It happens so fast. One second, he’s tensed beside you, vibrating with fury, and the next, he’s ripping himself free from his teammates’ grip and charging at Rafe. The shove is hard enough that Rafe actually stumbles back a step, but he barely looks fazed. In fact, he laughs.

“You motherfucker—” Your boyfriend is seething, fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. “You don’t talk about her like that, you hear me? I'll fucking kill you”

Rafe straightens his jersey, still grinning. “Oh, come on, man. It's nothing personal, yeah?. I just can't stop thinking about the way she’d sound under someone who can actually handle her.”

Your boyfriend goes for him again, ready to throw a punch this time, but Rafe doesn’t back down. No, the smug bastard meets him head-on, chest bumping against his, barely restrained tension crackling between them.

He pushes your boyfriend back a bit, grinning. He's on a power trip, feeling proud at the way he can easily plant seeds of doubt in your boyfriend's mind. “What, you scared?” Rafe taunts, voice low,. He looks crazed, his eyes lit up with the delight of adrenaline that comes with a potential fight.

“Scared she might like it?”

You shove yourself between them before your boyfriend can swing. “Enough, Rafe!” you snap, voice sharp. “You’re disgusting.”

Rafe tilts his head at you, amused by your intervention. “That so, beautiful? That why you’re blushing?”

You hate him.

Hate that he always gets under your skin, hate that he’s so damn smug about it, hate the way he looks at you like he already knows how this ends.

And worst of all? He laughs.

Like this is fun for him. Like he loves the way he gets under both your skin and your boyfriend’s.

“Save it for the game!” a sharp voice cuts through the tension.

The ref.

He glares between the two boys, face tight with frustration. “I see either of you lay a finger on each other before kickoff, you’re both benched. Understood?”

Your boyfriend steps back, breath ragged, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself together. His teammates grab his arms again, dragging him away. You reach for him, running your hands over his back, whispering something low to calm him down.

And then you feel it.

The weight of a gaze still on you.

You turn, just in time to see Rafe watching you walk away.

You’re still fuming as you drag your boyfriend away, your fingers gripping his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping him from turning around and knocking Rafe’s smug face into the dirt. "You're good, baby. It's fine, he's just talking shit before a game. Wants to get you in trouble." He nods, barely looking your way, and your heart sinks in your chest.

You’re tired with this. Tired of Rafe, tired with his bullshit, tired of the way he always has to push and push and push until someone snaps.

And then, just as you think it’s over, you hear him again.

A low whistle, slow and drawn out, just loud enough for you to catch.

“Damn,” Rafe drawls, voice lazy. “I swear, that ass just gets better every time I see it.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your boyfriend stops dead in his tracks.

It takes everything in you to yank him forward again, forcing him to keep walking, even as you hear Rafe chuckling behind you like this is all some game.

The audience is alive with energy before the game, the roar of the student section echoing in your ears as you slide your boyfriend’s jersey over your sweater, tugging it into place. It’s warm, slightly oversized, and smells faintly like his cologne—the same one you stole hoodies from just to keep close when he was away for away games.

You ground yourself in the familiar scent, trying to rid yourself of the memories of Rafe's. Mahogany... Nutmeg... your mind starts to wander, and you shake your head quickly, refusing to let your mind get carried away.

You try to focus on the field, unwillingly making eye contact with Rafe.

He's standing near the 50-yard line, smirking like he’s been waiting for you to turn around. He’s wearing his helmet but hasn’t strapped it up yet, letting his hair resting against his forehead. He grins roguishly. Your stomach twists. Rafe barely acknowledges him at first, like he expected this. Like he’s amused.

“Well, well,” he drawls, flexing his fingers in his gloves as your boyfriend stops right in front of him, blocking you from his view. “Look who finally showed up.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t take the bait. Not yet. But his jaw is tight, his fists already clenched. “Stay the hell away from her, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckles. “I thought you were smart enough to know that’s not how this works.” He glances past him, back at you, sitting there in the bleachers. He grins like he’s thinking of something. Like he’s remembering something.

Your boyfriend sees it, too.

“What?” he snaps. “What the hell are you smiling at?”

Rafe tilts his head. “You sure you wanna know?”

Your boyfriend takes a step closer, but Rafe’s still so damn relaxed. He claps a hand on his shoulder—just for a second, just enough to push.

“You should be thanking me,” Rafe he murmurs into your boyfriend's ear. “For keeping your girl entertained while you were busy choking last season.”

That’s it.

Your boyfriend lunges, only stopping when his teammate grabs him from behind, dragging him back.

“I swear to God,” your boyfriend growls, chest heaving. “You say one more thing—”

Rafe grins. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll save it for the game.”

They march off, assuming positions on the opposing side of the field, and with the blow of the ref's whistle, the game takes off.

As you watch the game, you find yourself filled with anxiety. Sportsmanship is out the window, and people have started to become hyperaware of the animosity between the two boys. You heard some girls a few rows back wondering who the girl is that has Rafe Cameron so whipped for her.

You wanted to shout that he wasn't, that it was a pride thing, a rivalry between the two boys that you got caught in unwillingly.

The match has devolved into a raw and brutal battle. Every hit and tackle is sharp, almost desperate. Strategy is out the fucking window, and it's all brute force and personal animosity between the rival schools. You can tell by how many times the ref blows the whistle and screams at the men about class and integrity.

However, the rivalry between your boyfriend and Rafe has turned into the whole focus of the game. Every time they collide, it's personal.

Your boyfriend, a linebacker, is built for this. Working tirelessly to achieve his physique, he's all strength and power with an instinct to shut down Rafe at every opportunity.

But Rafe is a beast. Inhuman, if you will. He's faster. More calculated, and worse, he's playing with intent.

He's not just trying to win, he's making sure your boyfriend loses.

Each time your boyfriend goes in for a tackle, Rafe slips by, taunting him as he runs down the field, dodging him seamlessly. The frustration on your team's end builds with every quarter as the other team picks up points.

The hits get harder.

The penalties increase.

By the fourth quarter, Rafe's team is up by a touchdown. With a few minutes left on the buzzer, your boyfriend can still stop him.

The crowd is raucous, screaming, on edge. You're holding a school flag in your hands so tight that your hands start to hurt, and your eyes focus on your boyfriend, praying he makes the right play to at least get a tie. Anything to put a stop to Rafe's ego.

Rafe gets the ball.

Your boyfriend charges like a bull seeing red, going full speed to stop Rafe this time. He slams into him, the force of the tackle sending them both skidding across the turf. It's a clean, beautiful hit, and the crowd gasps, standing up to watch the two closely. It's the kind of hit that should leave Rafe pained, winded. But it doesn't.

Flat on his back, eyes dark and burning, he spits onto the grass and grins up at your boyfriend with a sickening sort of delight.

And then he leans closer.

“You know,” he breathes, voice husky from exertion, “when I win this, I think I’ll take my time with your girl.” Your boyfriend freezes, going pale.

Rafe sees the hesitation, the moment of shock on your boyfriend's face, and continues with a second blow. "Maybe I'll take her back with me to the showers and bend her over one of those nice locker room benches."

That’s it. Everything snaps. Your boyfriend is feral. No hesitation, no thought—just raw, furious instinct. He lunges, fists flying, tackling Rafe back onto the ground.

The refs are blowing their whistles frantically, but no one’s stopping this. No one can.

The first punch lands hard. A solid hit straight to Rafe’s jaw that sends his head snapping to the side.

For a second, you think maybe—maybe—your boyfriend has this.

But then Rafe moves.

It’s fast, almost too fast. He twists, using the momentum, shifting, and suddenly, he’s the one on top.

And then, it’s like watching something calculated, something cold.

Because Rafe knows how to fight.

This isn’t some wild, desperate brawl. It’s controlled. Every time your boyfriend swings, Rafe dodges just enough to take the edge off, redirecting the energy, making sure his punches land clean.

Your boyfriend is strong, but Rafe fights dirty.

He predicts every move, twisting your boyfriend’s arm just enough to knock him off balance, slamming him down harder each time. He tears off the other boy's helmet, His hand wrapping around your boyfriend's throat to hit his head repeatedly against the grass.

It’s like he’s toying with him.

Your boyfriend fights like a football player—full force, all muscle. But Rafe fights like someone who’s been in real fights before. Someone who’s done this enough times to know how to wear someone down.

And it’s working.

A brutal hit to your boyfriend’s ribs.

A sharp, precise punch to the gut.

Your boyfriend groans, struggling, but Rafe doesn’t let up. He’s relishing this.

He finally gets your boyfriend flat on his back, pinning him down with one knee pressed into his chest.

"You hear that, you fucking cuck?" He says, even as your boyfriend punches at Rafe's head desperately.

With every punch, he emphasizes the words, voice wild, breathless, dripping with cruel satisfaction.

“I’m—” crack

“gonna—” crack

“fuck—” crack

“your—” crack

“girl.”

Your boyfriend’s head snaps back, his lip split, his breath ragged.

You scream.

Your heart is pounding, panic rushing through you like fire. You can’t watch this. You can’t let this happen.

Before you even think, you’re running.

Pushing through the chaos, shoving past people, barely hearing the gasps as you throw yourself onto the field.

You grab Rafe, your hands clenching the back of his jersey, desperately trying to pull him off.

But he doesn’t move.

He’s too strong.

His muscles are tense beneath your grip, his breathing heavy, wild—his entire body thrumming with adrenaline. He’s smiling, his nose bleeding, his cheek already bruising.

And then he turns his head.

Looks at you.

The second his eyes meet yours, something shifts.

He leans closer to your boyfriend, his knee pressing harder into his chest, keeping him pinned.

“Say it,” Rafe murmurs, voice low, like a slow purr.

You blink, confused, hands still gripping his jersey. “What?”

Rafe’s smirk widens, his voice dropping into something sickeningly sweet.

“Tell him,” he murmurs, tilting his head, mocking. “Tell him you want me.”

Your breath catches.

Your boyfriend, barely conscious, groans, trying to lift his head. His eyes, swollen and bruised, find yours.

And that’s when Rafe really digs the knife in.

He twists your boyfriend's collar so he's choking, and you scream and try to lunge for him, but Rafe holds you back with one hand, holding onto the back of your jersey.

By now, there are people crowded around, coaches and the ref fighting to get to the middle of the scene, but Rafe's got his vision set in you, his eyes a striking blue that makes that disgusting, loathsome feeling in your tummy swirl.

You feel like you could throw up, because deep, deep down, so deep that you'd NEVER act on it, you feel that he might be right.

"Go on, princess." He coos at you, his voice no longer a hard snarl, but a soft coo, addressed solely for you. “Say it like you mean it.”

You shake your head, tears starting to cloud your vision as you grip onto Rafe's jersey, feeling desperate. “Rafe... I c-can't, I can’t,”

Rafe tsks, leaning in. “You can,” he whispers, voice sickly smooth. “Or I keep going.”

You look down. Your boyfriend is barely holding on, his breath shallow, his hands twitching at his sides. If Rafe keeps hitting him...

You swallow, your throat tightening so painfully you can barely breathe. And then, your voice cracks.

“I.... I want Rafe.”

Rafe hums, pleased. “Louder, beautiful. And look at him when you say it.”

Your lip trembles, your gaze glued to your boyfriend. Bile continues to rise in your throat.

“I want Rafe.”

His fingers tighten on your boyfriend’s collar.

“Louder.”

You scream.

“I WANT RAFE!”

The crowd is silent.

Rafe exhales slowly, satisfied, his smile wicked.

And your boyfriend—your sweet, strong, beaten boyfriend—just looks at you.

Like something inside him has shattered.

The game resulted in a draw due to extreme foul play on both sides. Not just during the fight between your boyfriend and Rafe, but all throughout the match. The coaches had to make a statement and apologize to the students for a lack of sportsmanship. It did nothing to squash the rivalry, however, and Rafe's team is still ranked higher than your boyfriend's.

Ex boyfriend's. You corrected yourself as you sat alone in your room, your hands cradling your sacred necklace as you sigh softly.

You weren't surprised, in all honesty. Your boyfriend had been humiliated in front of hundreds of people, and he felt like you weren't there for him when he needed you most, even as you explained in verbatim that you only said it because you didn't want Rafe to beat him to death, which then caused him to question if you believed in him. If he was too weak. If you thought he wasn’t man enough to protect you, to stand his ground against Rafe Cameron.

And the worst part? He didn’t even say it in anger. He said it with this hollow, tired acceptance, like the fight had been drained out of him in more ways than one. Like he’d already lost. On the field, in front of everyone, in front of you.

You’d cried. Begged him to understand. But the damage had been done, and his pride was too wounded to heal anytime soon.

So now, here you were. Alone.

You ran your fingers over the locket again, throat tight, stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Rafe got to walk away from this with everything, his ranking, his team’s reputation still intact, and worst of all, the last word.

He always got away with everything.

You frown, trying to focus on your schoolwork, despite the ache in your chest that wouldn't go away.

No matter how many times you tried to refocus on your laptop screen, no matter how much you tried to drown out your thoughts by going over your assignments, your mind kept drifting back to him.

Rafe Cameron.

You hated him. You hated him. The smugness, the arrogance, the way he got under your skin like it was his birthright. You hated how he’d humiliated your ex-boyfriend in front of hundreds of people, how he’d practically made you say those words, how he was still haunting you even now.

You shook your head, pressing the heels of your palms into your tired eyes. You had work to do. You needed to study. You needed to stop thinking about Rafe.

But then, as if summoned by your very thoughts, your phone lit up.

A new message. You already knew who it was without looking at the username of the account.

You hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as you tapped into the notification.

Miss me, sweetheart? Hope you’re not too heartbroken. That’d be a shame. Don’t worry though. Your boy still has a shot at redemption.

Your pulse spiked.

You sat up straighter, your brain scrambling to process the words. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Your fingers moved before you could stop them.

Rafe, what the fuck do you want?

He left you on read for a moment, and you could see the smirk he was probably wearing.

Relax, beautiful. Just wanted to check in. Oh, and let you know I’m seeing your Iittle boyfriend real soon Might just have to finish what I started.

Your stomach dropped. Don't touch him. You respond quicker than you'd have liked to.

Why don't you come stop me then? You know how good I listen to you, princess.

Your heart races at the implication, the hint of a threat he weaved so subtly into his text messages. That’s not funny, Rafe.

He responded soon after, and you got up to try and calm your heart. Your whole body was on fire.

Who said I was joking? But we can make a deal, sweetheart. You come see me. Tonight. And maybe I’ll be nice.

You weren’t actually going to do it.

You weren’t.

But then you found yourself gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles went white, staring at the highway exit that led straight to his university. This was insane. Every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to turn around, to just go home, block his number, pretend none of this ever happened.

And yet.

Your fingers tightened, your heart pounded, and before you could stop yourself, you flicked your turn signal on.

You told yourself it was because of your ex. That you were handling things. That if you confronted Rafe now, if you made him promise to leave your ex alone, then you could walk away from this once and for all.

It was a lie. And deep down, you knew it.

Rafe’s apartment was as absurd as you expected.

The complex was sleek and modern, towering over the rest of the neighborhood like a statement piece. The lobby alone was more elegant than any place you’d ever lived. The kind of place meant for hedge fund heirs and people who never had to work for anything in their lives.

The doorman let you up without question, which only made you more annoyed. He was expecting you. By the time you reached his floor, your blood was boiling.

You lifted your fist and pounded on the door, heart racing, breath shallow. There wasn't even a moment spared, as he opened the door quickly, leaving your fist raised in the air.

He grins the second he sees you, raising both arms above the doorframe to hold onto the top and lean over you. He smelled expensive and dark, all spice and warmth, mixed with the faint scent of whatever soap he used. It made your stomach twist with something you refused to name.

"Rafe."

He grins the second he sees you, raising both arms above the door frame to hold onto the top and lean over you.

"Well, well," he drawls, his smirk deepening. "I was starting to think you'd chicken out."

You glare, jaw tight. "Shut up, Cameron."

But he’s not even listening. His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate, drinking in every inch of your face, your body, the way your fists are clenched at your sides. His eyes rove over your body, and he laughs. “Holy shit.” he muses, staring right at your thighs. "Are you seriously wearing shorts right now? Just for me?"

Your face burns. "Not for you," you snap, shoving past him into the apartment, but he follows.

"Mm, sure," Rafe muses, his voice dropping a little lower. "Nice and loose, though. Looks good on you ‘cause it shows off that fat ass."

You whip around, glaring. "Cut the shit, Cameron." He just grins, like he loves seeing you all riled up. "You always this feisty when you visit guys in the middle of the night?" He hums, stepping closer, too close. "Or is it just me?" Your stomach tightens, pulse hammering as his fingers graze your arm, light and teasing.

You shove his hand off hard, but it doesn’t matter. His other hand is already grabbing at your waist. You smack it away. "Rafe."

But he just laughs, his hands held up in mock surrender. "Relax, princess. I'm just being friendly."

"You don't know the meaning of friendly. All you think about is your next fuck." you snap.

His smirk deepens. "Oh, you know me so well. I hope you know I’ve been thinking about you next. Made sure to tell your little boyfriend that you’d be on my dick soon enough." he murmurs, voice as he grabs onto your ass, dragging you up against him and squeezing handfuls of soft flesh, before smacking it light.

Your breath catches. Your whole body tenses. "You pervert!" you snap, shoving his huge hands away again. “G-get your hands off me, do you understand?” You pause, panting so loudly that your whole body wracks with each breath. “A-and we broke up. M-me and him. So don’t bring him into this anymore.”

He actually stops, his eyes widening and brightening. He looks elated for a moment. He lets out a low whistle, cocking his brow with impressment. “You got rid of him? Finally, I hope it was because of me.” He laughs at your hurt expression and the way you get more and more frustrated.

He knows it was. He just wanted to dig the knife in your chest deeper, and he does, because he keeps going. “Too bad I didn’t get to fuck you when you were still his girl, though. I would’ve had a lot of fun sending him videos of the fun you and I will have tonight.”

You slap him across the face.

Rafe’s head snaps to the side with the force of your slap. A sharp crack echoes through the apartment, the sting lingering in your palm. Your breath comes fast, your whole body shaking with anger, with something else you don’t want to name.

For a second, there’s silence. And then he laughs.

Low and slow at first, before it deepens, growing dark and hungry.

"Fuck," he breathes, running his tongue over his teeth before turning back to you, his cheek already blooming red. His eyes are glowing with something wicked, something starved. "You hit me so hard, baby. Thought you were gonna break that pretty little wrist." You can’t even speak. You want to, you want to tell him to shut up, to back off, but your voice won’t work because he’s smiling.

Smiling like he liked it.

And then he steps closer, crowding into your space.

Your breath catches, your whole body tensing as his fingers skim up your arm, trailing slow and lazy toward your throat. You shove at his chest, but it’s like pushing against a brick wall. He doesn’t even budge.

Instead, he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward, so close your noses brush.

"You’re trembling," he murmurs, voice silky. His grip tightens just enough to make your pulse jump. "Scared?"

You glare, ripping your hand free. "Disgusted."

Rafe chuckles, but there’s something dark in his gaze now, something twisted.

"That’s funny," he muses, "considering how fucking red your face is." His hand skims down your waist again, fingers pressing lightly over your hip, your stomach, before moving to your thigh, toying with the hem of your shorts.

Your breath hitches.

You shove his arm away, but he’s already gripping your waist again, fingers digging in.

"You wanna hit me again, don’t you?" he hums, dragging his nose along your jaw. "Go ahead. Do it, baby. I like it when you get rough."

"You're sick," you snap, hands bracing against his chest.

His grin deepens. "And you love it."

"I hate you," you hiss, nails digging into his shirt, gripping too tight.

Rafe laughs, a sharp exhale against your skin. "Yeah?" His fingers tighten around your waist, dragging you flush against him. "Then why are you still here?"

You don’t have an answer.

Or maybe you do, but you don’t want to say it, because his hands are so big on you, because his breath is warm against your neck, because his smell is making your head spin and your stomach twist in that awful, unbearable way.

Rafe sees it. Of course he does.

His hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Knew you wanted me," he breathes, his eyes primal with want. "Could see it all over that cute little face of yours, sweetheart."

You shake your head, eyes burning. "No, I—"

But you don’t get the words out because suddenly—He kisses you.

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feistyvirghoe · 9 months ago

Text

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 1 - you guys have such bright, very infectious because i’m just so giddy right now, yalls energy just shines bright like the sun omg, so full of positivity and love, happy as a child fr. i feel like people just like to consume your energy, has them all over the place, like pleading, there’s a push and pull effect you have, like you can be the most positive, optimistic person full of fucking light but then you have that other side to you that has people on their knees, like they can’t hold it in with you, the focus is on you guys, you’re hardworking and when you’re ready to fucking commit to something and go you just do it and get it started but you also know how to be inclusive and make others feel welcomed. i feel like people just want you to look at them, acknowledge them, you guys can adapt easily and may be spread out everywhere, you can’t just stay stuck to one thing and even within relationships im not saying you’re non-committal but you know your worth and some people and things just aren’t worth your time, you’re like a temptation, watch out for users and takers that may want to swindle you for whatever reason. you’re in tune with your femme side, you truly don’t need anyone to validate you and that’s a flex babe…it’s all you, something about the way you love and care for others, never dim that part of yourself, it’s so beautiful, the way you can own your mfkn power is by not letting bozos or losers come in and try to knock u off ur damn throne, standing up for yourself, believing that you’re fucking powerful just by being your true authentic self, confidently strutting your stuff, not giving away too much of yourself as well, connecting with your innermost self, reminding yourself who you are deep down inside, not being swayed the outside opinions of others, you may be a lil homebody and that’s okay..you’re sure of yourself and you don’t need anyone up in your face trying to fucking control you and make u feel small, by continuing to protect yourself in a healthy way, strong fucking boundaries is what needs to be set, don’t let these weirdos try to come in and fucking knock down your walls with their hateration and disgusting jealousy, show yourself off, embrace that fire within you, dont second guess yourself or make yourself small to fit in, burn bright baby boo. an affirmation for u - “i am a badass warrior and i conquer self doubt like it’s my fucking job!”

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 2 - your gentleness makes u fucking strike like lightning and i know you’re like “how?” babe we need more kind people like you on this planet, this world is so full of hatred and evil people, you’re kindness and compassion and just love for others makes you fucking strike babe, you’re a giver, very generous individual but i can see that you protect your heart as well, you know not to let shady people come and try to steal your energy, yeah that’s a thing, and you may need to be careful of that too, giving yourself away to undeserving people. you’re so content and just emotionally fulfilled on your own, u truly do not need someone else to fill your cup but im betting there’s a lot of people that would love to if you’d let them, you’re allowed be taken care of and poured into. but with how abundant your energy is and just how rich you are in spirit, of course it’d attract a bunch of energy vampires, just people with weird intentions. very emotionally mature and also vulnerable as well, well with the right people of course but you don’t hide how you’re feeling, and thats literally okay, you’re allowed to fucking let yourself feel free expressing what and how you’re feeling if that makes sense haha. you may throw people off, it’s like they dont expect YOU, like literally just you, your compassionate self. you don’t chase after people bc you know you’re already secure inside so don’t doubt that. maybe you really second guess yourself and how you’re coming off to others but i feel like people just see such a pure genuine soul, not just a nice person but a very kindhearted soul. you make others feel calm, like just content and chill haha. i feel like yall just make people smile, like smirking to themselves just thinking about you, omg admiring you and adoring you, u could be all up in people’s heads, unforgettable, maybe some just want to indulge themselves in you, just be cautious and aware of snakes hidden in the grass. i feel like i could go on and on about you guys, i dont want to make it too long though ;) your sweetness dude, you’re just like a lil fucking teddy bear ahhhh, someone who loves to help others, doesn’t matter what it may be just serving, wanting to be useful to others? maybe ppl have made u feel worthless bc of how kind you are like as if that’s boring or some shit, ignore those ppl, we need more kindness and love, don’t hide that side of yourself idc, let others who want to appreciate you show you their love. you’re also very in tune with your spiritual side and i feel you may dim that down too as if you’re not gifted i mean you’re here right?? embrace that side of yourself, you don’t even know how helpful you are to others, i feel like your generosity and just your pure loving soul is what puts a smile on others faces, so balanced, you’re just an unforgettable nurturer, a whole sweetie pie, a cutie pie ahhh, just such a sweet soul okay here’s an affirmation for you <3 “success is my middle name; watch me fucking conquer.” “i choose to surround myself with people who fucking respect me” and to own your power i feel like you just need to see you more, like you’re the one who can stay calm during the stormy weather, a shield for others, very protective over your loved ones and self, stay true to that boo! <33

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 3 - i feel like y’all are my glamorous pile, the ones ready to put their feet on the fucking ground and nobody ain’t going to fucking get in your way and stop you lmfao i’m hearing under the influence by chris brown, i feel like you guys got people feeling like they on drugs around you, your energy is intoxicating and addicting, some may even wanna knock u up to keep you as theirs wtf okay anyways hahahaha okay i feel like the way yall strike is like you’re in that empress energy very strong minded, in touch with your feminine side and you know when to cut a bitch off but then with that, the same people you cut off may try to come back and slither their way back into your life omg what the hell, so you guys are like the “heartbreakers” but not really because you just know your fucking worth more than what lames can give to you and not just that how they’re with you as well, goes for any relationship, you know when to fucking walk away and you’re not taking weird bullshit from anyone, you don’t play, i feel like your anger plays a part in making you fucking powerful, when you’re done you’re done and you can easily see through people’s bullshit, their facade, in hearing shit you up, lol u piss people off, idk what you’re truly doing, it could honestly just be you and your awareness, you’re not going to stand down and make yourself a tiny purse dog lmfao, very sassy as well, like no one can fucking control you, even if they wanted to, you guys make people uncomfortable but that’s there own issue, you may the wrong people for you uncomfortable haha, they try to fucking go and go at you relentlessly attacking you for no reason, so i can see why you’re protective of yourself and u don’t stand down, i mean with weird people like this honestly weird energy like this coming for y’all i understand why, it’s like you’re power makes others want to overthrow you and try and like one up you, just weird, got people competing for u and against you, i feel like they’re jealous of your fucking success and not just material success but your ambition, your drive, your resilience, never giving up on yourself no matter how hard it gets, you’re your own positive light in your life, you know how to make yourself happy, still shining, blowing out your candles, celebrating your fucking self like you should! yeah your fucking power just makes others despise you lmfao weird as hell, you live life on your own goddamn terms and you’re not sitting around waiting for anyone, a leader on your own, it’s like a natural quality of yours, you just know how to be up in front exuding dominance, like a lion, your walk may just give off CONFIDENCE i mean you have the emperor here, you’re just a fucking natural at it, it comes easily to you so i can see why others may feel offended by your power but they’re just projecting and not seeing their own power within themself, you look ahead, you don’t look for others, they look for you, goddamn lmfao! affirmations for you guys - “i’m letting go of negative bullshit, toxic people, and self doubt. i’m creating a fucking epic life on my own terms!” & “i am enough, i have enough, and damn right im fucking worth it!”

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 4 - i can see you guys regenerating in hermit mode, like taking some time to be alone with yourself building your power back up and cleansing yourself of all the weird energies you may have encountered, you like your solitude, my loners here, the ones who don’t mind leaving the party early, ready to go home and chill the fuck out or going on adventures by yourself and taking some time to just connect with your higher self if u wanna say that, just going within and seeing that light within yourself, you blossom on your own, you know how to make sure busy, it’s like when quarantine was around heavy, it didn’t phase this group, maybe it was even like a fuck yeah moment, nobody outside to bother you hahaha, like you guys may love to work out and get back to yourself that way, doing yoga, stretching, moving your body, but you may also be very cautious of the outside world, like you just jumped off the boat into uncharted territory taking time to feel out the place/environment/energy just watching where you’re stepping, or what you’re stepping into, making your way as you go along whatever journey you may be on, weighing out your options, not making hasty decisions, a thinker, maybe even a realist too. calm, balanced people here, like a lot of introspection, a very nostalgic person too. embracing the old memories, in tune with your childhood self, doing things that fuel your soul and what makes you feel the most peaceful, maybe you guys struggle with the mind so grounding yourself and staying away from the crowd is what helps you to stay sane and sharp, for you to be your most powerful self i feel like you just need that time away from everyone. yep it’s like you can’t really count on other people, do people make you second guess yourself, it’s like you’re there for everyone but they couldn’t even be bothered to hear you out, don’t give so much of yourself away to ungrateful people. you matter a lot and i can see this may be draining you as well, probably why you’re very cautious, but remember don’t keep yourself stuck on others weird projections and how they may try to take from you, it’s okay to be alone and regroup, if some one is offended by that then that’s there issue. the way u, my group four babies can uplift yourself and own your power is by letting yourself fucking shine and put yourself out there, confidently, i feel like people like making you guys feel small and quiet like a mouse, but you’re not a goddamn mouse you’re the fucking cat, and cats do whatever the hell they want to do, use your voice and own that fucking power, your words hold weight, speak more positively over your life and your self, unbiased opinions and being straightforward with your communication, don’t close yourself off from true unconditional love too..you deserve to be recognized and appreciated for all you do!!! keep fucking going, don’t give up on love, that goes for loving yourself too!! every fucking part of you and yes even the ugly bc the ugly is actually beautiful and makes you see the parts of you that you want to grow from and evolve beautifully into a better version of yourself! affirmations for y’all - “i’m unstoppable and nothing can hold me back, not even my fucking fears.” “my uniqueness shines like a freaking diamond! confidence? it’s my middle name, baby!” “i’m a badass boss babe and i don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks. i rock my confidence like a boss!”

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐀𝐂, 𝐢 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐮𝐩, 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐟𝐫, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭!! 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐌𝐖𝐀𝐇 (^з^)-☆

#tarot readings #pick a card #pac #pick a pile #feistyvirghoe #black tarot readers #tarotblr #lifting u up #power #strength #you r a badass!

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swtsupernatural · 1 month ago

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S.W || SILK & SHAPESHIFTERS: PT2

Sam Winchester x Thick!Fem!Reader

Content Warning reader being shorter than Sam, reader desc as having thick thighs, dean being annoying, swearing, reader wanting to fuck sam, a bit of sexual tension that is not yet resolved (pls be patient with me)

Summary Fluff, (Sexual tension lowk) strangers to acquaintances to lovers(?) - Posing as Sam Winchester's girlfriend at a charity ball for a hunting case isn't so bad, that is until you have to do actual work. You might kill Dean when you get out of here, and hopefully get your hands on your fake boyfriend.

W.C. 2k words

(Original) Ask anon: A: Hello hello! I'm back again; I'm going to change my request style a bit, how about a female reader with thick thighs? Make her with Sam please

Playlist: ♫ Blue Jeans - Lana Del Rey, Body - Megan Thee Stallion, She's My Collar - Gorillaz

A.N. part 2 finally ! was not expecting winter break to be so busy...more to come so so soon my loves. Also, so sorry to make this into 3 parts I swear im not trying to torture yall - xx claire

Taglist: @callsign-ember @kaiserpoo @lovelymax10

Inside the estate your once flushed face grew even warmer — this time from the heaters, not Sam’s undeniably sexy voice. Past the elegant entrance and wide, old doors was a large ballroom type area with an intricate ceiling that you had to crane your neck up to look at. The thick banners hanging around the room were a deep blue, showing images of marine animals in a chilling climate, most looking disheartened or sad. In swirling letters on the top of each banner read: “Marine Life Fundraiser: 2025”

“How much you wanna bet they don’t even know half of the animals they’re donating to?” Sam piped up.

“Not a lot. These events are more about having a nice evening in a way too expensive outfit, showing off your very rich, sexy boyfriend/husband or very pretty, young girlfriend/wife, and doing that rich person laugh.”

“I don’t know if we’re being very convincing then.”

“What do you—

Sam snaked his right arm around your waist, the soft velvety fabric of your dress ruffling under his sleek suit. He gripped your firmly but not tightly, his hand gently digging into your soft flesh through your thin dress. He smiled…no, smirked (you weren’t sure) down at you.

“That better, pretty young girlfriend?” Your eyes dilated in seconds and you fought to keep your eyes off of his.

“Y-yea...” You wanted to groan at how small and bashful your voice sounded, you never stuttered.

“Can you guys feel up each other after we finish this?” Dean’s husky voice sounded in both of your ears a bit muffled but it startled both of you, making you feel almost compromised. Sam loosened his grip on you only slightly, letting out a sigh from his throat that went over your neck and left an intense tingling feeling.

“You wanted us to play the part,” You muttered to Dean after you flipped on your ear piece, a gentle hand on Sam’s chest as you made your way to the bar.

“yn, can you put on something over your tight ass dress so Sam can frickin focus?” Your mouth dropped open, scoffing and tilting your head to the side in fake offense.

“Can you stop looking at me and do your job?”

“I am, but it's hard when you two keep eye fucking eachother. Get your drinks, socialize, and distract the remaining family grill ‘em if you can. And please, listen to your ear piece.” Before you can reply, your eyes land on Dean in the crowds of suits and dresses, who is looking at you unamused. You smile, and he rolls his eyes playfully. You knew he wasn’t actually mad, but you also knew you did need to focus. You ordered a drink, Sam looming very close to your back, ordering after you. He slides the bartender his card, taking your drinks and leading you to the back of the room.

“So…you seen them?” You shook your head, knowing he was referring to the family. You scanned the room pointedly, tuning out the music, chatter, and all the bright lights and costly chandeliers in the room, finally spotting the youngest member of the family, Victor Brady, sitting with his mother. His mother had gone ‘missing’ but he never had. Based on your research, you knew the Bradys were rich of course, but you weren't sure the motives of the group of shapeshifters yet. Why were members of the family disappearing then coming back as if nothing happened? Had they really kidnapped some of them? Were the mother and son in front of you really them? How many of them were there?

“Hey, don’t worry,” Sam muttered in your hair, seeming to sense how wired-in to the family your mind was, “Let’s go talk to them. Remember, I am,” he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, flashing the fake ID Dean had handed him earlier, “Ron Fogerty, son of a wealthy businessman from Canada. And you…” he pointed a finger at your face, then moved it to direct at your purse where your fake ID resided. You pulled it out.

“Elaina…Clifford? Really? You guys are still using the rock names?” Sam gave you a pointed look, as if saying, it wasn't my idea with his face.

“No idea how you both don’t get in trouble more often. Anyway, I’m girlfriend, correct? We’re here to support the Brady’s Fundraiser and get to know their youngest.”

“Bingo. Let’s go before Dean gets on our asses again.”

Strolling arm in arm to the Brady’s table with fake smiles, you and Sam greeted his mother first, then him

In the Impala, you had told the Winchesters about recent photos of them that had been published in the local paper. The family was known for being wealthy but not unkind; and was regarded highly among those in the city. But, in the photos from the week before, the youngest, Brady, was seen holding a number of odd documents leaving the bank, then making his way in the opposite direction of his family estate. Of course, the photos did not show the small printed lines of whatever secrets he was holding…but his angry, crude expressions in the photos did not match those of the graceful man sitting in front of you.

“This is Elaina, my girlfriend. She’s very interested in wildlife and insisted she spoke to those running the fundraiser.” Sam smiled, his voice calm and collected. You nodded, and Mrs. Brady tapped Sam’s shoulder, asking him something you couldn't make out because her son’s voice was louder, closer to your ears.

“My name is Victor. Please, sit. It is nice to meet others with a passion for doing good with what they were blessed with.” You turned to see Sam was speaking civilly with Mrs. Brady, seated across from her, and you decided to sit as well.

“Yes, I…also must say I find this place beautiful. Your family has lived here a while, I hear.”

Victor’s face dropped, his mouth forming a thin line. “We have. But you shouldn't believe everything you hear.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, trying desperately to play the part of a kind, naive woman, when all you really wanted was for him to tell you something, anything that might get you closer to what was going on.

“Of course not, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He sighs as you trail off, and that's when you notice the dark crescents of purple under his eyes.

“No, it’s my fault. People have been saying some things, lately, about us, about my father particularly. I do not appreciate men who spread false information.”

“And I do not either, I am actually a journalist back home, Victor. I know the importance of telling a factual story.” That made him relax.

“And I am glad to hear it. My parents don’t understand that whatever they’re doing is making me look like a fool as well.” You furrowed your brows. Whatever they’re doing?

“I’m sorry. It's hard to separate from your parents' identity, especially if they're as well known as yours.”

“Exactly. I love them, and I love these events, truly, but just because I’m young doesn't mean I won't understand all the things they keep from me.”

“I know wha–

Your words stop stuck in your throat as you feel cold liquid streamed over your legs, your mouth dropping open as the wine made you get goosebumps. You tilted your head up slowly to see…Dean; empty wine glass in his hand, the alcohol now all over your velvet dress. You look up at him with daggers in your eyes, and he already knew he was going to get it later. But the look he gives you after he apologizes and offers you some napkins suddenly makes you aware of his plan.

“So sorry again, miss, here, I’ll take you to wherever the bathroom is and…” Sam is up now, moving closer to you before you widen your eyes at him, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion before Victor speaks up.

“That won't be necessary, I will show her.” You thank him and quickly mutter a, “I’ll be right back, honey,” to Sam, who nods, finally getting what Dean was thinking. You walk away, you hear a few security guards telling Dean rather loudly that he is cut off from the bar.

You follow Victor, hearing his expensive shoes clacking on the dark wood stairs past a number of guards, ascending until you reach a long, grand hall. He walks to the second door on the right, and you understand that this is his parents bathroom. You can feel your heart beating at a speed you didn't think possible, thanking God that you still had your purse, and the special items inside you needed for a case like this. Victor offered you a few different stain removers, finally offering you a blow dryer for the bottom half of your dress where Dean had probably spilled a hundred dollars worth of wine on you.

“Excuse me, I’m just going to use the restroom.” Victor points to the very far corner where you see a door at the end, which is around the corner from where you stand. Your plan tumbles around your brain, keeping the blow dryer on the loudest setting as you turn on your ear piece.

“Alright, I’ll be here,” You say to Victor with a polite smile. He nods, turning the corner as you smirk, your heels already off, hand reaching into your bag as you go through the connecting door to his parents room. It had been a fucking hassle to get the layout of this stupid estate, but if this was the main building, that meant you were in the bathroom next to the master bedroom. Bingo.

“I’m in the bedroom,” you whisper, nearly out of breath with how fast your heart is beating.

You held your device up to your eye, sending a silent thanks to Bobby for helping you with it. You were booksmart, not handy. You weren’t a great physical hunter and didn’t have a knack for making things; but Bobby did. A couple years ago when you had both worked on a case with Shapeshifters, you’d kept some of the…sheddings, is what you agreed to call it, of two of them when they transformed. The ooze smelled awful and almost glowed once you brought it home. You’d expressed how helpful it would be to detect such ooze, almost like night vision goggles, for hunting shapeshifters. He’d agreed, and after a dozen phone calls and hours searching through his piles of junk and scrap from various cars, created a shedding detecting circle that looked like a single binocular eye.

“The parents? Holy shit, I’m a genius,” Dean’s muffled voice came in your ear.

“You got lucky. And I’m expecting a form of apology when this is over.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have some ideas. Sure you’d rather get my typa’ apology from Sammy, though.”

“You know I can hear all of this, right?” Sam said, his voice low and quiet in your ear.

“Can you both shut up so I can focus with the two minutes I have up here?”

You quickly spotted a heap of shedding glowing in the far right corner of the room, swiftly going over to see a pile of the ooze, skin, blood, and teeth. You scrunch your face at the smell, but put your left eye through the detector again. It took you a lot longer than you wanted it to, but you found a small trace of it on a cabinet near their bed. Inside, documents with faint traces of the shedding were in your hand in minutes.

“I got something, I’m coming back down,” you mutter, folding the pieces of paper as much as you could, shoving them not so gracefully in your purse when you heard the bathroom door open.

“Sorry! Wrong way out. I think I’ve nearly had as many drinks as the wine spilling guy.” You giggled, smiling at Victor like he was God’s gift to Earth, hoping he’d buy it. And he did. He smiled politely, washing his hands before leading you out of the bathroom commenting on how, “The stain remover worked quickly, it almost looks as good as new.”

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v1ctor1asecretangel · 4 months ago

Text

My baby, My baby

kyle spencer x reader

song i recommend listening to: i bet on loosing dogs by mitski

warnings: EXTREME angst, very slow burn (im a slut for a back story), kyles past, manipulation, mentions of SA, objectification of men, arguing, fluff, happy ending, i think thats it!

word count: 6.5k

notes: this one is kind of heavy im so sorry guys:( theres not enough fics that give kyle the justice he deserves 😞 not even gonna lie i started bawling while proofreading this. also i would just wanna put out there that if you are struggling with ANYTHING my dms are always open to talk:)

It was just an average chilly night when you found it out.

The familiar sounds of your mother and father arguing once again filled the silence, voices bouncing down the empty hallways and ringing in your ears. For weeks now, the yelling and the clash of words had become as common as the ticking of the clock sitting on your shelf. It started with the usual pattern. Your father muttering something unnecessary, your mother shooting back, voice like glass ready to shatter. And then, like clockwork, things would escalate. A plate shattering, a door slamming, the sharp clinking of silverware as it Falls to the floor. Somewhere along the line, you’d learned to tune it out, even finding a strange comfort in it all.

But tonight was different.

A raw, intense throbbing in your head amplified the shouting in a way that pushed you over the edge. Something inside you snapped, like a thread pulled just a bit too tight. You threw your thick, silk duvet off in one swift motion, the cool air meeting your skin as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare feet sank into the plush carpet, the fibers soft as you steadied yourself and took a breath.

Without another thought, you crossed the room with swift steps, each one heavy with frustration. Reaching for the door, you grabbed the handle and flung it open, the force sending a slight echo through the hallway.

The sound of your feet slamming against each step echoes through the house as you storm down the stairs, your frustration at your parents boiling over in your chest. Every stomp is a silent scream. You’ve been holding back, but this time, they’ve pushed you past the point of reason.

As you reach the bottom, you stop, breathing heavily. The air is tense, almost vibrating. Your eyes fix on your parents in the kitchen. Your father, lips pressed thin, hands gripping the countertop, and your mother, her face unreadable but her body tense, holding herself with a dangerous stillness. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but before you can speak, your mother turns. In one swift motion, she reaches for the knife block and pulls out the biggest blade.

The metallic glint catches in the light, and your breath halts. The kitchen feels like it’s shrunk to the size of a shoebox, every noise amplified, every heartbeat throbbing in your ears. You watch, frozen, as she raises the knife, her arm cocked and ready to strike. Your father stumbles back, hands up defensively, panic widening his eyes.

Without thinking, you scream, the sound raw and desperate, shattering the air like glass.

And then. Silence.

A thick, heavy silence, as if the whole world is holding its breath. Your eyes stay fixed on your mother, but you feel something different. A strange, burning energy coursing through you, pulsing from your chest to the tips of your fingers, as if an invisible string connects you to her.

With a sudden violent burst, your mother’s body flies back, her limbs flailing as if she’s caught in a hurricane. She’s thrown against the wall with a bone-shaking crash, and the framed pictures around her rattle off their hooks, crashing to the floor and splintering into shards. The knife slips from her hand, skittering across the floor.

You’re panting, your own heart thundering, and for a moment, the world spins, feeling somehow both right and wrong, as if you’ve crossed an invisible line.

Your father stares at you, his face drained of color. His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out, only an expression of sheer terror. Without another glance, he bolts for the front door, slamming it behind him , leaving you and your mother alone in the wreckage.

You turn to her, her eyes wide and wild as she slowly lifts herself from the floor, her breath ragged. She seems smaller somehow, her gaze darting between you and the chaos in the room. She finally looks at you directly, eyes brimming with fear, and in a trembling, barely audible whisper, she says, “You’re…one of them.”

The words echo in your mind, heavy and unfamiliar. One of them? You feel the weight of her accusation, the horror in her voice, and yet, beneath it all, a strange sense of power fills you. A darkness, a part of you that’s been waiting in silence for this very moment.

That’s how you find yourself standing before the tall white mansion, Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. The building stands before you, grand and stoic, its intricate columns rising up to the ceiling high before you. You glance up, taking in the massive structure. a place that feels like something out of a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. The sheer size of it makes you feel small, and yet, the air around it seems charged, humming with an energy that you can’t quite place.

The events that led you here flash before your eyes in quick memories. The look of terror on your mother’s face after you threw her back against the wall, her whispered words about being “one of them,” and the silence as she drove you away from the only home you’d ever known. Her voice, low and hesitant, echoed in your mind as she explained that your family had a history with witches and unbeknownst to you, magic coursed through your blood, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

“Blessed.” she said, but the word tasted sour. Blessed. That’s how she’d framed it, though her face had twisted with fear as she said it, as if she could barely look at you, barely stomach the person her daughter had become.

You’d rolled your eyes at her, that one last act of defiance as she’d tried to make sense of what had happened, desperately clinging to the idea that this was some sort of gift. A gift. The idea was almost laughable. If being able to throw your mother across a room was a blessing, it felt more like a curse. But now, staring up at the mansion, all of that seems to drift away, replaced by a strange, thrill.

Taking a deep breath, you clutch your purse tightly, the leather cool and smooth against your palm. You begin to walk up the stairs, each step echoing through the morning air. Your heels click rhythmically against the hard concrete, the sound bouncing off the towering Greek pillars that flank either side of you. You feel their presence, cold and impassive, as if they’re watching, judging.

The further you ascend, the more the air seems to thicken, charged with a strange energy that sends a shiver down your spine. Each step brings you closer to a new world, a world that feels like it’s already reaching out to pull you in, whether you’re ready or not. With one final click of your heel on the top step, you stand before the doors, the shadows cast by the pillars now stretching long and deep around you. You pause, feeling the weight of what lies beyond.

You straighten, squaring your shoulders, your grip tightening on your purse as you prepare to enter this place. A place that promises answers and, perhaps, even more questions.

You raise your hand, hesitating for a second as your knuckles hover over the door’s dark wood, a mixture of dread and anticipation twisting in your stomach. But you gather yourself, take a deep breath, and knock sharply on the door. The sound echoes hollowly through the heavy wood.

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence. You feel your pulse quicken as you wait, each second stretching on, amplifying the strange energy that’s lingered around you since you first set eyes on the mansion. Then, faint footsteps approach, growing louder, until finally, the door creaks open with a low, drawn-out groan that sounds almost otherworldly.

Standing before you is a woman, elegant and composed, with hair as golden as sunlight and eyes so deep a shade of brown that they’re nearly black, with a glint in them that’s both welcoming and mysterious. She stands tall, her posture regal yet effortless, wearing a fitted black dress with an intricate lace collar that radiates of old-world elegance. Her gaze meets yours, and for a split second, you feel as if she’s peering not just at you, but into you, as if she’s seen something hidden beneath the surface that even you haven’t fully recognized.

Then, she smiles, warm but with an edge of something unreadable, something secret. “Hello,” she says, her voice low and rich, “You must be Y/N.”

The way she says your name feels oddly intimate, as though she’s known it long before you arrived, as though the house itself whispered it to her. You feel a faint shiver ripple down your spine.

“Welcome,” she continues, her smile widening slightly as she steps aside, gesturing with a graceful hand for you to enter. There’s an invitation in her eyes, a silent, unspoken question, as if she’s asking if you’re truly ready for what lies within these walls.

With one last steadying breath, you cross the threshold. The air inside feels different, heavier somehow, steeped in a strange, stillness that makes you feel both protected and slightly trapped. You take in your surroundings, the grand foyer that stretches before you with polished marble floors gleaming beneath a glittering crystal chandelier. The chandelier casts fragmented light across the room, the crystals catching beams of sunlight from the windows and scattering them in delicate patterns across the walls and floor.

The scent of polished wood, and something faintly floral lingers in the air. It’s almost intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the place. You feel like you’ve stepped into another world. A world filled with secrets, shadows, and, somewhere beneath it all, an energy that hums with life, with power. The headmistress closes the door behind you with a quiet click that sounds like the sealing of a pact. Final and irreversible.

“I’m Cordelia,” she introduces herself, her voice steady and clear as she walks ahead, gesturing for you to follow. You can feel her watching you out of the corner of her eye, studying your every reaction, every flicker of emotion. There’s a subtle power to her movements, an authority that makes it clear she’s not merely the headmistress here. She’s the keeper of the academy’s secrets, the protector of its legacy.

As you follow her, each step echoing through the silent hallways, your heart beats a little faster. The mansion seems to stretch endlessly before you, filled with doors that are closed tight and shadows that cling to the corners. You wonder how many secrets these walls have witnessed, how many others have walked these halls with their own stories, their own fears.

Cordelia leads you deeper into the academy, her voice a steady presence as she tells you about Miss Robichaux's history, about the students who have come before you, and the purpose of the coven. But beneath her words, you sense an unspoken warning, a weight behind her voice as if she’s cautioning you. This world you’ve entered, it is not one to tread lightly.

You turn to your right, the polished marble floor beneath your heels as you step toward an open doorway. Through it, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be an dining room. The room is bathed in soft, natural light streaming through towering windows, casting a glow over the polished, table, long and grand, stretching nearly the length of the room.

At the far end, you notice a figure with platinum blonde hair, sitting with her back turned to you. Even without seeing her face, you feel a flicker of recognition. There’s an aura around her something powerful and dark. You’re not sure if it’s an instinct or an unease growing in the pit of your stomach, but it grips you, pulling your attention to her as if by force.

Then, abruptly, a searing pain spikes in your temples. You wince, clutching your head as a blinding flash fills your vision. In an instant, you’re pulled into a rush of images. Memories that are not your own, tumbling through your mind like a storm. You feel yourself slip, like falling into a chasm, as the world around you fades away.

Suddenly, you’re somewhere else.

The air is thick and you find yourself watching a girl. Her, Madison Montgomery, and she’s screaming. The scene shifts with a terrifying clarity, the details vivid and overwhelming. You see Madison, younger, her face twisted in horror and rage, as flames erupt around her. There’s a flash of red carpet, crushed beneath her feet as she stumbles back, staring at her hands, realizing what she’s done. The fire she’s conjured licks up the walls, and her eyes are wide, reflecting the flames that seem to both captivate and terrify her.

Another memory pulls you in, like you’re tumbling helplessly through her life. You see her standing in front of an audience, lights beaming down on her, cameras flashing. Fame surrounds her, yet there’s emptiness in her eyes. The applause seems to fade, the crowd a blur of faceless figures. She’s alone, trapped in a world that once promised her everything and now feels hollow. The lights dim and the applause fades, and a darkness consumes her.

Then, another sharp shift. You find yourself in a dark room with dim, flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. Madison’s face is contorted in a strange focus, her hands trembling over a mangled body on a table. A young man, Kyle Spencer. His broken, lifeless form lies beneath her hands, stitched together, his face pale and still. You can feel her desperation, a fierce determination mingled with guilt and something close to madness as she tries to force him back to life. A chant of a spell echoes in the room. She’s chanting, her voice loud and confident, but laced with fear and hope, until finally, Kyle’s chest rises with a shuddering gasp. But the moment isn’t joyous. It’s dark and twisted, a resurrection not for his sake, but for hers. Pain and control.

The images blur, but you see glimpses. Madison’s hand clenched around Kyle’s wrist as if to anchor him, her mocking words, the way she manipulates and taunts him, asserting her dominance over him, reminding him of his dependence. Her eyes are cold, her smile cruel, and a sick feeling settles in your stomach as the vision fades, lingering in your mind with the weight of something real and terrible.

You snap back to reality with a sharp gasp, stumbling slightly as the dining room floods back into focus. You blink rapidly, your vision still swimming, disoriented by the vivid intensity of what you just saw. The blonde figure before you shifts, and Madison turns, her gaze settling on you with a piercing, almost predatory look.

Her lips curl into a smirk, her eyes raking over you in a way that feels both dismissive and mocking. “Well, well,” she drawls, crossing her arms as she leans against the table, clearly amused by your disorientation. “Look who’s already having visions. Must be so special,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowed as she assesses you with that haughty, almost venomous look. “Hope you enjoyed the show,” she says with a smug grin. “Though it’s a little rude to peek into people’s private moments. But, hey, you’ll learn manners eventually… or not.” She waves a dismissive hand, as if the whole thing is beneath her, yet her eyes glint with something sharper, a challenge or even a warning.

You’re still reeling, the images of her life blurring and pulsing in your mind. The way she toyed with Kyle, her cruelty and need for control, make your stomach churn. But Madison only grins wider, taking in your reaction with a look of smug satisfaction. “You’re gonna have so much fun here.” she purrs, her voice laced with a mocking sweetness.

And with a dramatic flip of her hair, she brushes past you, leaving a trail of cold disdain in her wake, and you’re left standing there, still shaken, feeling like you’ve glimpsed something you were never meant to see.

The next few days at Miss Robichaux's Academy have been a blend of fascination and unease. Adjusting has come easier than expected, with Cordelia and the other witches offering support knowing what you’re going through. You’ve met Zoe, Queenie, and Nan. Each of them are unique, with stories of their own, kind in ways that contrast against Madison’s cold, snotty attitude. Cordelia had explained that witches like you are becoming rare, power that can vanish in a generation without new blood.

But in the days that followed, your mind kept returning to him. The boy from your vision. Kyle. Despite never having seen him around the mansion, you could feel his presence, an unmistakable energy that screamed in the quiet corridors. It was as though he was always just out of sight, a shadow in your periphery, drawing you closer.

And then, one night, it happens.

You walk down the darkened hallways, the silence thick and heavy as a blanket around you. The dim glow of antique lights casts shadows that dance across the polished floors. Your pajama pants brush softly against your ankles, and your loose tank top, slipping off one shoulder, sways with each step. You round a corner when you hear muffled voices coming from a partially open door at the end of the hall.

“Kyle, come on… you know you want to,” Madison’s voice coos, her tone slick with manipulation.

You stop, heart pounding, her voice igniting a strange anger within you. The desperation in her tone, laced with a mocking condescension, is unmistakable.

Then, a softer voice replies, wavering, vulnerable. “No… just want to lay.”

Your pulse spikes with pure rage. You can feel the raw vulnerability in his voice, the hurt hidden beneath it, and without thinking, you stride toward the door and shove it open, letting it slam against the wall with a sharp slam. The sound echoes down the hall as you step into the room.

Kyle is standing there, and for a fleeting moment, your gaze locks with his. His blonde hair falls messily over his face, and his eyes are lost, haunted. Almost like he’s caught in a place he can’t escape. And then, before you can fully register the moment, the world blurs, a wave of energy washing over you, and you’re pulled into another vision.

It starts with a flash of warmth, light hearted laughter filling the air, and the scent of a beach. You’re suddenly witnessing fragments of Kyle’s life, moments of innocence and freedom. There he is, laughing with friends, his arm slung around his friends shoulders, carefree and bright. You feel his joy, the warmth of his spirit, the love he holds for his friends. The happiness and tenderness are so real that your heart aches with the beauty of it.

But then the vision shifts violently, twisting into something dark. You see a glimpse of the accident. The crash. Kyle’s face, pale and filled with terror as metal twists and glass shatters. Then, everything fades to black, and you’re thrust into a world of agonizing silence. When light returns, it’s cold and sterile, the beeping of machines and the murmur of voices mixing with a sickening. Energy. Madison’s voice echoes somewhere nearby, and you’re forced to watch as she brings him back. A mangled body, stitched together in a desperate, twisted act of resurrection. The confusion and pain in his eyes as he awakens, no longer whole, haunt you deeply. You feel his fractured mind, his broken spirit, bound to her. Trapped, a puppet brought back against his will.

You gasp, the vision dissipating as reality floods back. The intensity of Kyle’s memories leaves you unsteady, the pain and horror clinging to you like a shadow. Your heart is racing, breaths shallow as you try to shake off the raw ache his past has imprinted upon you.

Madison is there, watching you with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leans back with a mocking grin. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” she sneers, raising an eyebrow as if the whole thing were some sort of twisted game. “Enjoy the show?” She tilts her head, a sly smile curling on her lips. "Kyle’s mine, you know. You don’t get to swoop in and play savior just because you had a little vision.”

Ignoring her, you turn your gaze to Kyle. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you see the desperation, the fear, the fragments of a person he used to be. He’s trembling, caught in the haze of what’s left of his mind. Trapped between the past and this present that he never chose.

Without thinking, you open your arms to him, and something in his broken gaze shifts. He stumbles forward, instinctively, his body drawn to the comfort you offer. The moment he’s within reach, he collapses into your embrace, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly. He clings to you as if you’re a lifeline, his shoulders trembling as he buries his face against you. You can feel the tension in him easing, his erratic breathing slowing as he finally allows himself to feel safe.

Madison scoffs, rolling her eyes. “How touching,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm, but you don’t even look at her. Your focus is entirely on Kyle, the broken boy now nestled in your arms, finding peace in your presence, perhaps for the first time since his resurrection.

As Kyle clings to you, his trembling form pressed against yours, another wave of energy pulses through you. It starts subtly, like a storm gathering within, and before you can stop it, another vision consumes you, pulling you deeper into Kyle’s fractured memories.

You’re standing in a small, dimly lit living room, worn and filled with the faint scent of stale cigarettes and bitterness of regret. There’s a woman Kyle’s mother, sitting on an old couch, her face pale and drawn, her gaze empty yet intense as she stares into the distance. Her features are gaunt, tired, but beneath the weariness is a sharpness, a bitterness that lingers in her eyes. She’s alone, her glassy stare betraying a lifetime of disappointment. You can almost feel the sorrow that hangs heavy in the air.

Then you see Kyle enter, younger, vibrant, his innocent smile lighting up the room despite the dark atmosphere. He glances at her with a look of hope, like a son yearning for approval, a glimpse of the mother he remembers from before. But her gaze drifts past him, unfocused, as though she’s looking right through him, her expression indifferent.

Suddenly, the vision shifts, blurring into darker moments, fragmented yet clear. You see Kyle in that same room, older now, his face worn with a new kind of sorrow as his mother’s hand trails over his shoulder, her touch possessive, her gaze twisted with a strange, warped affection. You feel his discomfort, his shame, the confusion that cloud his mind as he tries to pull away, his mother’s grip tightening, her twisted need for any semblance of maternal love.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Kyle withdraws into himself, retreating to a place in his mind that shields him from the reality around him. You feel his heartbreak, his sense of betrayal by the one person he should have been able to trust. The love he held for her is forced down, locked away as he learns to numb himself, his spirit fragmenting bit by bit with each encounter.

The vision shifts again, flashing back to the day he left for college, eager for freedom, for the chance to live a life on his own terms. You feel his hope, his relief as he steps away from that house, from her, determined to start fresh. But even then, a part of him carries the scars, the weight of her twisted hold over him. Darkness he can’t quite escape.

The vision ends abruptly, leaving you breathless and shaken, the horror of Kyle’s past etched vividly in your mind. You blink, reeling from the raw emotions that still linger, struggling to ground yourself as you return to the present.

Kyle’s grip on you tightens, his fingers clutching your shoulders as if sensing your understanding. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability that shatters you. There’s an unspoken plea in his gaze, a yearning to be seen, to be understood. His face is etched with pain, haunted by the memories that linger in both of you now. You reach out, gently cupping his face, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek, grounding him, letting him know he’s safe.

Madison stands nearby, her smirk faltering as she takes in the scene, her cruel facade wavering. But you don’t spare her a glance. You’re focused entirely on Kyle, your heart breaking for the boy who’s suffered so much, who’s been broken and betrayed by those who should have protected him.

“Hey.” you whisper softly, your voice a quiet promise. “You’re not alone, Kyle. Not anymore.”

He sinks further into your embrace, and for the first time, you feel him relax. A fragile sense of peace settling over him as he clings to the one person who’s finally offered him the compassion he’s longed for.

You pull back slightly from Kyle, feeling the warmth of his hold reluctantly loosen as you meet his eyes. There's a quiet plea in them, a vulnerability he rarely shows anyone, and you gently brush a strand of his hair back, offering him a small nod of reassurance.

“I’ll be back, Kyle,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the fury burning within you.

With one last reassuring look, you stand, directing your attention to Madison. She watches with a raised eyebrow, her mouth twisted in a smirk that only fuels the fire inside you. Her arms are crossed, as if nothing she’s done could possibly be considered wrong.

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your voice low and edged with a cold fury. “Madison… What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She raises her brows in mock surprise and fake innocence. "Oh, calm down,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she tilts her head to the side. "I was just… entertaining him.” She shrugs nonchalantly, her voice dripping with a fake sweetness that makes your stomach turn. "Not my fault he can’t take a little fun.”

You feel your fists clench involuntarily, your nails digging into your palms as you try to control the anger coursing through you. “Entertaining?” you repeat, your voice shaking as you take a step closer. “Is that what you call it? Tormenting someone who’s already been through hell, treating him like he’s your puppet?”

Madison rolls her eyes, her mouth twisting into a smirk. “Look, he wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. I brought him back, remember? That’s more than anyone else has ever done for him. Maybe he should be a little more… grateful.” Her words are sharp, laced with that biting sarcasm she wears like armor.

Kyle shifts uncomfortably on the floor, his eyes downcast, clearly torn by the twisted logic in her words. Seeing him struggle makes your anger flare hotter. You step protectively in front of him, blocking Madison’s view of him entirely. “Grateful? Grateful?” You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping as you shake your head. “Grateful for being dragged back into a nightmare he didn’t ask for? For being manipulated and humiliated by you?”

Madison’s eyes narrow, and for the first time, you see a flicker of anger in her expression. “You don’t get it, do you?” she snaps, her voice growing colder. “This world isn’t made for people who play nice. I know what I want, and I take it. That’s what it means to have power.”

“Power?” you spit back, your voice sharp as steel. “Power doesn’t mean breaking people down just because you can. Real power is knowing when to stop. When to help rather than harm.”

Madison’s jaw tightens, her smile gone, replaced by a thin line of resentment. She scoffs, crossing her arms more tightly across her chest, her stance rigid and defensive. “Please,” she says, her voice biting. “You think playing the savior makes you any different? You’ll get tired of it. You’ll realize that people only want you when you’re useful to them. Like him.” She gestures dismissively to Kyle without even looking at him.

“That’s enough,” you say, voice rising as your anger breaks through. You’re inches from her now, your gaze locked in an intense stare-down. “Kyle’s not some possession for you to toy with. He’s a person, and he deserves better than this… better than you.”

Madison stares back, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. She looks at you with a mixture of despise and something that almost resembles vulnerability, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Fine,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “If you want to play caretaker, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not worth the trouble.” She shoots Kyle one last look, her eyes cold as ice.

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoes through the walls, the silence that follows thick and tense, lingering in the space she left behind.

You stand there, breathing heavily, letting the anger slowly drift away as the reality of what just happened settles in. Turning back, you see Kyle sitting there, his face a mixture of confusion, relief, and a hint of awe, as if he can hardly believe someone stood up for him.

Softening, you lower yourself back down beside him, reaching out to take his hand gently in yours. “It’s okay,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “She’s gone. I’m here now… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The next morning, sunlight streams softly through the curtains, and as your eyes flutter open. You find yourself still propped against the wall. Kyle is asleep in your lap, his head heavy and his breathing slow and uneven. His face is turned slightly toward you, his features softened by sleep but still carrying the marks of his trauma. Creases of worry, faint bruises that never seem to fully fade, exhaustion that rests permanently under his eyes. He looks so worn and fragile, more like a lost child than the broken soul of a man sitting with you now.

Gently, you trace the outline of his cheekbone, noticing every detail of his face. His muscles twitch slightly under your touch, and his brow furrows as if even in sleep, he’s struggling. But he doesn’t wake, and you let yourself take in this quiet moment, heart aching for what he’s endured. You can almost feel the scars his past has left on him. He’s been hurt so much, lost so much of himself. But there’s a resilience in him. Flickers of hope beneath the pain that keeps him moving forward.

As the morning stretches into day, you stay close to him, sharing quiet moments and small reassurances. Even though words are often lost between you, there’s a silent understanding growing. Comfort that comes just from being together. Every so often, he looks at you with that same hesitant expression, as though he’s not quite sure if he deserves this.

By evening, you find yourselves in the garden. The air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and the dimming sunlight casts long shadows across the cobblestone paths. You sit on a weathered stone bench, surrounded by vibrant roses and tall hedges that offer some privacy. Kyle sits beside you, stiff and tense, his hands loosely clasped in his lap as he stares at the ground, as though he’s reluctant to look up.

He seems more restless tonight, his hands occasionally twitching, his gaze flickering to the flowers and back down. Finally, he attempts to speak, his voice low and halting. “I… feel… wro..ng.” His words are slow, each one seemingly pulled out with effort. “Like... b-broken pieces… that don’t fit.”

Your heart tightens as you hear the struggle in his voice, the way he’s trying to put together the broken pieces of himself to explain what he feels. He’s more hesitant than usual tonight, his voice disjointed, eyes darting around as though he’s worried the darkness within him.

His gaze drops, and you see the pain there, the deep confusion and shame as he mumbles, almost to himself, “I’m not… enough. N-not… me.”

You take his hand, feeling the tension in his fingers, the roughness of his knuckles. “Kyle,” you say softly, leaning closer so he can hear you clearly. “You’re here, and that means so much. You’re stronger than all the things that have happened to you. You’re not broken.”

He blinks at you, confusion and a spark of hope flickering across his face. “I… try,” he murmurs, his voice catching, as if he’s not sure if trying will ever be enough. He lifts his hand to his face, running a hand over the lines of his face, his eyes dark with the memories of the things done to him. The things that have fractured him.

“You’re not alone, Kyle,” you say firmly, squeezing his hand. “And I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes fixed on yours with an almost childlike vulnerability, and he lets out a breath he’s been holding in. His hand, slightly trembling, reaches out, brushing against your arm. For a moment, he just looks at you, his face softening, some of the tension easing as he absorbs the comfort you offer.

“Thank……you,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost miss it. It’s rough and broken, but there’s something genuine in it, something that feels fragile. He leans into you slightly, his head resting against your shoulder, and you feel his body begin to relax, the weight of his tension slowly fading.

In the evening air, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the garden, you sit together in silence. The stars slowly emerge in the sky above, casting a faint light over the garden, and for the first time, Kyle seems to let go, trusting that he’s safe here with you.

A couple of months had passed since the night Kyle finally opened up to you in the garden, and everything felt like it had shifted. The dark moments that had once defined his life began to fade, replaced by something softer, something that held warmth and hope. You’d spent every day by his side, helping him with patience and kindness as he took small steps toward healing. And now, looking back on those early days, you were amazed at how far he’d come.

The academy felt lighter, like a home. The other witches had become like a family to you, each one adding their own kind of magic (literally) to your life. Even Cordelia seemed to gleam with pride whenever she saw Kyle opening up or laughing with the rest of you. Madison, of course, still sneered and offered her sarcastic remarks, but her bitterness was easy to ignore now. Her words had lost their sting. In every way things were better than you could have ever hoped.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the garden again, Kyle’s favorite spot in the academy. The sun was setting, casting a golden haze over the flowers and filling the air with the scent of roses and freshly turned earth. You were both kneeling side by side, hands deep in the soil as you planted a new bed of wildflowers. Kyle had grown fond of gardening. There was something about the calmness of it, the gentle, nurturing process that seemed to bring him peace.

As you finished placing the last flower into the soil, Kyle turned to you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was still something a little unsteady in his gaze, but his eyes held warmth. There was spark that hadn’t been there before.

“You… helped m-me…. find this,” he said, his voice more sure now, each word steadier than they used to be. “This peace.”

You smiled back, brushing a smudge of dirt from his cheek. “You’ve done most of it yourself, you know. You’re stronger than you think, Kyle.”

He looked down, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he fumbled with the edge of a leaf, as though gathering his courage. “But… you didn’t leave. I don’t think… I could’ve found it without you.” His words came slower, but clearer, each one laced with genuine emotion. “You make me feel… real. Like I’m more than… what I was before.”

A pang of tenderness shot through you, and without thinking, you reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You are, Kyle. You’re so much more than that. And I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to memorize every feature, every tiny expression. His hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. It was such a small, innocent gesture, but you felt his gratitude, his trust, and something deeper in that simple touch.

He took a shaky breath, his smile widening. “I… don’t think I need… anything more than… this. Just… you.” His voice was quiet, like he was sharing asecret, his eyes soft and full of the warmth you’d come to recognize as love.

A gentle, happy laugh bubbled out of you, and in one swift, bold movement, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a second, Kyle tensed, his breath catching in surprise, but then he melted into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you in return. His head rested on your shoulder, and you could feel him relax, his entire being just sinking into the hug as if it was a safe haven he’d been searching for his whole life.

“You’re home, Kyle,” you whispered softly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re home, and you’re safe.”

He nodded against your shoulder, his voice muffled but full of warmth. “Yeah… I think I.. am.”

You held each other in the golden glow of the setting sun, surrounded by the blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves, the world felt perfect. It was quiet and peaceful, with nothing but the steady rhythm of Kyle’s breathing against you. In that moment, you both knew that this was exactly where you belonged.

Kyle pulled back, meeting your gaze with a look that was so full of gratitude and tenderness that it made your heart ache. His smile was real, wide, and hopeful, and he reached for your hand again, his fingers intertwining with yours as if he never wanted to let go.

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