#Gravitational Force of Dreams

[borngeniusworld]

Obsession is the Engine

I am Obsessed with Success Quotes 1. “Obsession is the engine that fuels the pursuit of growth and change.” 2. “Hard work is the cornerstone of success; obsession is the architect of transformation.” 3. “In the realm of progress, obsession is the compass pointing towards excellence.” 4. “Dedication is the ignition, but obsession is the relentless drive for continuous improvement.” 5. “To…

[dat1angel]

DPxDC Let Danny Be an Astronaut Dammit!

Every dpxdc fic and their mother has Danny not be able to be an astronaut because of his accident. Well I say NO!

LET THE BOY LIVE HIS DREAMS!!

We're talking DC, where meta humans are just a thing that exists. People have extraordinary powers and that's normal. NASA would totally have a specialized space program for metas who's abilities make them particularly desirable for outer atmospheric conditions!

Oh? What's that? You're a meta and your ability make you impervious to extreme temperatures? That would be super helpful in the freezing vacuum of space! Your ability makes you less sensitive to negative effects from g-forces and changes in gravitational pull? You can spend so much more time out of atmosphere without negative consequences!

NASA would love the opportunities opened up by these individuals and their specialized abilities. Give them Danny? They would be frothing at the goddamn mouth.

Doesn't need to breath, impervious to cold temperatures, can fly, so much more, and, if we go space core Danny, doesn’t need rations because he can get sustenance straight from the stars? He's everything they've ever wanted! Who cares if his vitals are fucky? They're normal for him! And once they have record of what his normal values are? No issue! In my vet classes we learn that you wouldn't treat a cat the same way as a bird because they have different needs and normal values. Well it's the same for humans and metas! I don't think Danny's different biology would be as big of an issue as a lot of fics make it out to be.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Pollen and Pheromones

Kinktober Day 13: Sex Pollen

Male Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Omega Reader CW: Noncon, sex pollen, aphrodisiac, pheromones, knotting, biting, claiming bite, stranded, spaceship crash, sci-fi, outer space, alien planet, a/b/o dynamics, bigotry/prejudice against omegas, rivalry, breeding, general yandere behavior, tsundere, betrayal Word Count: 1.6k (Enjoy this kinktober meal I have prepared <3)

"Star log: This is Pilot 2418 currently operating vessel Starlion: Orion. I am currently on route to pass the threshold of our galaxy in less than five minutes."

You were a shuttle pilot, one of the Exploration Guild's best. Ever since humanity had achieved interplanetary travel, they had sought to extend themselves ever further. With the new drift-space drives, that dream was now a reality.

They were only currently suited for small 1 to 2 man shuttlecraft, and only a couple such craft had been made. Two different ones had been commissioned through the guild, with both pilots competing to see who could exit the Milky Way first. The new drive could only be used in bursts to prevent overloading, so the journey had still taken a few months. But it seemed like you were about to succeed. Then you could make a U-turn and start drift-jumping back towards the nearest station.

Since you were an omega, this was a great achievement, a notice to the universe that your kind could do whatever betas and alphas could. You would be able to help stamp out the lingering bigotry and inspire others all with one action.

You were just about to cross the finish line!

Suddenly, your opponent, Tetsunori, came out of drift-space behind you. He had been your long-time rival, with both of you being about equally skilled.

But this was unacceptable to him as he was an alpha and held to the knothead mindset that an omega's place was bouncing on an alpha's prick or maybe in a teaching or nursing job.

You weren't worried, though. You had a solid lead. There was no way he could close the gap.

You rolled your eyes at the incoming transmission.

"Why don't you just give up now? If you surrender nicely, I'll let you celebrate my victory by letting you keep my knot warm!"

The temptation to reply was too great.

"Ha! You may be good at navigating the stars, but I doubt you have ever found your way into an omega."

Conversing with him hadn't distracted you or made you pause, so he growled as he switched to another plan. He fired on his tractor beam.

What the fuck, was he insane? Stooping so low to make sure you couldn't have a historic moment? You fired an equal and opposite tractor beam through his, which forced him to disengage. Something only possible because both ships were similar in size and energy output. Did he think you were some amateur?

In a desperate bid to prevent you from winning, Tetsunori rammed his shuttle into yours.

This type of bumping wasn't unheard of. It wasn't lethal if both ships were similar and had their shields up. But the bouncing was pretty strong for both parties, which is why it was a last-ditch effort. It could push you past the line, or it could bump him further. Neither of those things happened, though.

Instead, you careened right into the gravitational pull off a planet. You did everything you could to slow down and stabilize, but nothing seemed to be working.

Tetsunori sped after you in his spacecraft as he spoke into the comm link.

"I'm sorry, oh my god, I'm so sorry! I just had to be first! What omega would want to be mates with someone who they bested??"

You didn't have time for his weird ass confession and barely registered it. Your shields were still online and he had started pulsing his tractor beam to slow you down, full usage of it at such speeds could rip your ship apart, thankfully he wasn't an amateur either and knew that.

You put all available power and quickly put it into overloading the shields. You hit the emergency crash button, and two nozzles came out from the sides of the cockpit and sprayed you with a rapidly drying foam that would reduce damage to you if you got flung about the ship. Tetsunori's reckless and speedy entry into the atmosphere may have been enough to save you, but he had lost control of his vessel as well.

As you crashed, he careened away and crash-landed as well.

It was a good thing the high-tech impact reduction foam was so effective. Despite having shields, the ship was still shaken pretty badly, and the inertial dampeners weren't powerful enough to thwart damage from such a landing.

You took stock of the condition of your systems.

Almost everything was fried. You could at least scan the planet. It seemed like you had actually lucked out. In the entire galaxy planets that supported life were incredibly rare. But you had landed on one.

It seemed there were no known biological hazards present. No recognized toxins, dangerous bacteria, or viral agents. You were cleared to remove your suit. The temporary foam had started to dissolve, so it wasn't hard to remove.

The scanner also indicated there was a strong human life sign. It appeared that Tetsunori was okay.

You took the survival kit from underneath your seat as well as some beverages and rations you had procured at the last station and headed in the direction of dust and smoke in the distance.

You didn't even need the ship's scanner to tell you that the great imbecile, Tetsunori had landed there.

As you got closer, you stepped into a field of flowers that surrounded the entire crash site. You were probably still a mile away, but all around you were odd glittery silver and gold flowers.

The smell of them made you just slightly lightheaded and tingly. You realized the tiniest bit of slick was dribbling down your leg. They must be an aphrodisiac. The scanner hadn't warned you of anything in the air that was truly dangerous, so it probably wouldn't matter very much. And it really didn't. For you. As you trudged through the flowers and pollen, the effects did not get worse.

But for Tetsunori, the pollen was much stronger. When it hit his nostrils, it immediately put him into rut. Not a typical rut either, one of the ruts you see in pornos where the alpha is almost feral and unable to control their mating drive. When you came upon him, he was sitting on a piece of debris from his shit and rocking back and forth in clear distress. Through his outfit, his bulge was immediately visible.

"T-tetsunori? Uh... are you okay? D-did you get hurt in the crash?"

You took a step back when he looked up at you. His eyes were red, giving him a demonic appearance.

"The flowers, I think... they... UGH! My thoughts are all jumbled..."

He started to rub and massage his crotch desperately. He finally caught a whiff of your scent, ripe from the recent hike over to him and from being without a proper shower since your last space station stop. Not to mention the smell of the slick the aphrodisiac had coaxed out of you.

He started wildly sniffing at the air.

"Y-you smell so nice. You can help!"

You started backing away slowly.

"Uh... help with what?"

He got up and closed the difference between the two of you. Sweat had his dark hair clinging to his head. He was significantly taller and looked down at you intensely before sniffing and licking your neck with lazy broad strokes.

"S-smell so gooood. Always wanted to knot youuuu~"

You tried to push him off.

"Tetsunori! St-stop!"

You slapped, smacked, kicked, punched, and flailed, but nothing you did deterred him in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, but I fucking n-need this!"

He pinned you to the ground, clawing and biting off all your clothing until only your underwear was left, he removed it more delicately before inhaling its scent deeply and putting it in his pocket for later.

"Please don't do this, Tetsunori, PLEASE!"

He looked down at you, and it seemed like he was genuinely trying to resist before the pollen-charged rut won out.

Tetsunori unzipped his pants and let his drooling cock and full heavy balls out.

"G-gonna put all my babies in you! Have to! Have to!"

The lust-drunk alpha wasted no more time in ramming into you, an insertion that would have been more difficult had the pollen not slicked you up. Though it was still sudden and slightly painful.

"A-aaah!"

You tried to kick at him, but he growled viciously before pushing you into a mating press and slobbering all over your neck with his eager tongue.

The pollen must have increased the potency of his pheromones, or at least your susceptibility to them, because his musk was starting to cloud your thoughts.

Your grunts of pain became gasps of pleasure as your body quickly accommodated to his large size. You winced as he bit down hard on your neck to claim you. He kept right on fucking into you without skipping a beat.

He licked and kissed the lightly bleeding bite mark, some part of him remembering to comfort you despite his dominating need to fill you with cock. And by that point, the last of your resistance finally melted away.

"T-tetsunoriiiiii~" You moaned as your toes curled and body twitched in orgasm.

He growled your name in response and gave a few hard, deep thrusts before cumming as deeply as possible.

A comforting fullness filled your hole as his knot locked the two of you together. He pulled you close as he sat down so that you were in his lap facing him. The two of you caught your breath, then remained in an awkward silence until his knot deflated.

"G-got it out of your system?"

"Yeah... for the most part... sorry about that..."

You lifted yourself off of his lap, his half hard cock springing free with a lewd plopping sound.

"Well... it wasn't your fault. It was just the pollen..."

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his lap, his cock ramming directly into you, then began humping.

"Well... it wasn't just the pollen..."

[darlingdaisyfarm]

˚⋆｡ thinking about Ford who. . .✧˚ (x fem!reader)

minors don’t interact

Who can’t help himself.

His mind never really stops working, even when he’s inside you, moving so slow that has you writhing beneath him. His cock buried inside you, stretching you out inch by inch, but even now, his thoughts are somewhere between the galaxies and the stars. His cock pulses inside you, making you feel so good, but it’s not enough and yet he's still talking about the fabric of the universe. 

“You know. . . mmm, parallel dimensions have an infinite number of variables, but if you—" his breath hitches as he rolls his hips deeper, forcing your body to arch. “if you narrow them to specific constants you find— hahh, patterns.” little moan escapes your lips, needy, as his cock drags slowly against your walls.

His voice is calm, even steady despite the unhurried, delicious way he's fucking you, but you're barely listening. How could you? Every thrust has your mind blanking, leaving nothing but pleasure pooling low in your belly. Your nails digging into his back, you feel so abandoned each time he pulls out, only to have him slide back in with agonizing precision.

"Forddd. . .” you moan, head falling back into the pillow, begging for more, for faster. But his rhythm is controlled, measured, its like he’s savouring the way your cunt grips him, tight and so damn warm as he’s balls deep inside you.

“Dimensional travel. . . it’s not just theoretical, you see,” Ford’s voice is calm, as if he’s lecturing a class and not thrusting into your slick, dripping pussy, as if you’re not clenching around him so tight it’s driving you both insane. “If we can manipulate space-time— like this. . .” he punctuates his words with a deep thrust, his cock dragging against your soft walls in a way that makes your whole body shake. “we can alter outcomes. Mm, t-that means every choice you make branches into— fuck, you’re tight— into infinite possibilities.”

You can hardly breathe, can barely think because of the pressure building between your legs and he’s still talking. God, he’s still talking. You hear him, even if barely, something about gravitational fields and parallel worlds, but it’s all turning into a blur with your eyes rolling in the back of your head when he hits that sweet spot inside again and again.

“You like it when I explain things to you,” Ford claims. “It turns you on, doesn’t it?”

You can’t even find the words to respond, because yes, you love it and fuck, you hate that you love it. All you can do is mewl and whimper, your hips rolling against him in a futile attempt to make him pick up the pace. He knows, god, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Ford, please—!” his cock slides deeper, but that serious, calm tone, fuck, it’s driving you wild. You want him to stop talking, to focus, to pound into you like you need, but his voice just keeps spilling from his lips like honey. Your head rolls back, lips parting in pathetic little gasps and moans, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You can’t take it anymore, he’s teasing you, playing with you, dragging it out just to see how far he can push you before you break. “please, faster!” you plead, desperate for more, desperate for him to stop talking and just fuck you properly, hard and fast. But he’s still so calm, still so fucking unflappable. 

“Oh? you’re getting impatient?” Ford’s hand slides down your trembling thigh, lifting it higher, opening you up even more to him. “You wanted to learn about interdimensional physics, didn’t you?” he mumbles under his breath as he grinds into you, his cock plunging deeper, completely filling you and it feels like a dream for both of you. “I’m just giving you what you wanted.”

His fingers finds your needy clit, rubbing in torturous circles as he continues that slow rhythm inside you. He’s barely breaking a sweat, his brow furrowed in concentration as if this is just another experiment to him meanwhile you’re such a mess under him. His cock twitches inside you as he changes angle again, deeper now and he takes a sharp breath, but he doesn’t stop talking. 

He doesn’t stop and you hate him.

Ford’s eyes roam over your trembling body, reveling in the sight of you, desperate and needy. Your eyes watery and mouth open in a breathless moan.

“The fascinating thing about dimensional shifts— god, you feel so good,” he trails off for a moment, and you think, finally, he’s losing focus. You roll your hips against his, hoping to break his composure. But instead of faltering, he chuckles, leaning down only to plant a small kiss on your lips. “you’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, p-pleasee!” you whine, spreading your legs wider, trying to press up against him, but he pins you down.

“Clever girl,” he mutters, voice rougher now, losing some of that composed edge as he looks at you, the desperate need written all over your cute face. “letting me teach you like this.”

He pulls out, almost completely, leaving you aching, empty, before slamming back into you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. "That’s my girl." his words make you cry out his name over and over again, your nails digging into his back as he starts to fuck you better, properly, his pace quicker, rougher now, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

He’s no longer focused on explaining the mysteries of the universe, he’s focused on you, on how your body responds to him, on how good it feels to have you wrapped around him, hot and wet and perfect, on how your wetness and slick coating his length. The sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mixing with your desperate, needy moans and his groans when he finally fucks you the way you wanted, he ruts into you faster, harder, and it’s everything you needed, everything you craved. 

“Ford— oh fuck,” you cry out, head thrown back and he’s there, finally losing himself in the way your cunt clenching around him, making such wet squelching sounds, he’s lost in the way you’re moaning his name, voice so beautiful. You’re nearly drooling as you give him a silly smile, begging him to finish inside you.

“Cum for me,” he growls, his hand sliding down, thumb finding your clit and pressing down in fast circles what makes your head spin. “I want to feel you— cum for me, now.” you arch your back as the orgasm crashes through you, you walls flutter around him, the sensations are so intense you can’t even scream, only shake and try to cross your legs because pleasure is fucking overwhelming, though Ford never stops thrusting into your wetness. You’re trembling, mind blank as you cling onto him, holding him, feeling him.

Ford groans at the beautiful sight, his clever girl looks so pretty when she’s dumb fucked and cock drunk. However Ford is lost in pleasure too, your pussy feels so warm, so tight and good he just can’t stop fucking you. But he’s damn close. He grits his teeth, taking a deep breath, thrusting into you so hard, burying himself so fucking deep, his cock twitching as he spills into you, filling you up with every last drop. Finally, finally. He’s breathing heavily into your lips, glasses fogged, his chest heaving. You just lay there, taking it like a good girl you are.

Ford can’t stop looking at you, he kisses your forehead, softly and gentle. “Now. . . where were we? Ah, yes. Dimensional theory.”

You can’t help but laugh, head still spinning as he pulls you close, already starting to ramble again about parallel worlds and universal constants, like he wasn’t just inside you, fucking you senseless.

And honestly you wouldn’t have him any other way.

[flos-obsessivus]

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder"

Introducing my Yandere Prince OC Lilian!

Inspired by Sleeping Beauty and Tangled, please take care of him<3

The beloved prince from the Rosen kingdom, also known as the "Lily of the deep valley"

Blessed with the magic of song and beauty by his fairy godmothers, and cursed by Maleficus to death but was fortunately changed to eternal sleep.

Dreams of being able to get out of the castle and visit other kingdoms, though his parents never let him, as they are too protective of their only child, especially after being blessed when he was little.

Though everyone in the kingdom loves him, nothing made him feel as if he belonged there.

Which caused him to gravitate towards romance books and fairytales

Oh how he dreams to find his knight in shining armour or his true love that will take him far far away from this suffocating kingdom.

The graceful prince, the sweet flower, the blessed child. He is known by many but none see him outside his title and beauty.

But YOU did, YOU saw him for who he is, only YOU saw Lilian behind his beauty and voice, only YOU respected him and his wishes.

YOU, the princes childhood friend and advisor, his first love, his only desire. YOU taught him what it's like to be normal, to not force himself into a role expected by the whole kingdom, to be able to experience love outside obsession...

How stupid of him to expect a knight when his true love holds a pen and not a sword, when his beloved uses words and not iron, when their only protection is a book and not armour.

His parents knew the moment he asked for you as his Advisor, it would be impossible to be rid of you, not when their beloved prince is oh so fixated on you.

So when he got kidnapped by Maleficus, you are sent down by the king and queen to retrieve him alone. As a sacrifice or as bait, you do not have the time to ponder when a large black dragon appears before you, his voice deep and threatening.

As an advisor you are not expected to learn how to fight, so you walked up the stairs to the tower to face Maleficus and tried to talk your way into getting Lilian back.

Unfortunately, you are only human and so weak against a powerful fae, so you got stuck inside the tower with the prince.

Oh well, at least you didn't get killed by Maleficus, you only wish that the rescue would be faster though.

But, it seems like Lilian doesn't mind being stuck with you in the tower, he seems happy to be able to spend time with you without getting cut off by random people.

But uh... It's been a while since you met other humans hasn't it?

[vixeneptune]

IRRESISTIBLE MAGNETISM vaunt 🧲

You have no idea how magnetic I am. It’s honestly unreal. I’m so magnetic that I don’t even have to lift a finger—everything I desire is drawn to me as if I’m a force of nature. My energy? It’s irresistible. My desires don’t just find me; they crave me. They have no choice but to flow into my life because my aura is just that powerful.

I have this natural pull, this undeniable force that makes people, opportunities, and abundance gravitate toward me. It’s like I don’t even need to think about it. My magnetism operates on a level that most people can’t even comprehend. It’s like the universe is conspiring in my favor every single second. Whatever I want comes to me effortlessly, like it was always meant to be mine.

When I walk into a room, my energy speaks louder than words. People feel it—they can’t help but notice me. It’s not just about my appearance, though that’s irresistible too. It’s the way I carry myself, the way my presence demands attention. People can’t stop thinking about me. I stay in their minds, and they replay every moment they’ve had with me over and over. I leave an impression that’s unforgettable.

And it’s not just people. Opportunities line up for me like they’re waiting for my permission. Money? It flows to me effortlessly, as if I’m a magnet for wealth. Love? It’s drawn to me like I’m the most irresistible person in the world. Everything I want already belongs to me—it just shows up in my life exactly when I need it.

Here’s the thing: I don’t chase. I don’t beg. I don’t force anything, because I don’t have to. My magnetism is so insanely powerful that everything I want comes straight to me. I set my intention, and the universe handles the rest. My energy is unshakable, undeniable, and completely irresistible. Nothing and no one can resist me. It’s like the entire world is designed to work in my favor, and I love it.

I am the kind of person who always gets what I want because my energy commands it. I have complete confidence in my power. It’s not just luck or chance—it’s who I am. I am the embodiment of attraction. My aura is a masterpiece of magnetism, and it’s only getting stronger every day. This is my reality, and it’s the most natural thing in the world for me.

When I want something, it’s mine. No obstacles, no delays, no exceptions. It’s as simple as breathing. My power is limitless, my energy is irresistible, and my life is proof of that every single day.

That’s just the kind of person I am: effortlessly magnetic, endlessly powerful, and undeniably unforgettable.

You don’t understand just how magnetic I truly am. It’s as if the entire universe is wired to respond to me. My energy doesn’t just attract; it commands. The things I want? They don’t just find me—they chase me. My magnetism is so powerful that it feels like my desires are obsessed with me. They can’t resist me. Nothing and no one can.

It’s as though there’s this invisible force around me, pulling everything I dream of directly into my life. People feel it instantly. The moment they meet me, they’re captivated. They can’t explain it, but they’re drawn to me like I’m the most irresistible thing they’ve ever encountered. My presence is unforgettable—I stay on their minds, effortlessly. They replay every conversation, every glance, every moment with me because I’m that magnetic.

And it’s not just people—it’s everything. Money flows to me like water. Opportunities show up in the most unexpected ways, as if the universe is constantly bending over backward to deliver exactly what I want. Abundance surrounds me because it’s attracted to my energy. My life is proof that my magnetism is working 24/7, effortlessly drawing in the best of everything.

The way I attract isn’t normal—it’s supernatural. My aura is so strong that nothing can resist me. I radiate confidence, power, and beauty in a way that’s impossible to ignore. It’s not even about what I do—it’s who I am. My energy alone is enough to bring everything I want right to me. It’s like I’m operating on a different frequency, one where everything aligns perfectly in my favor.

And the crazy thing? I don’t have to try. I don’t stress. I don’t overthink. My magnetism works for me effortlessly. All I have to do is exist in my power, and the universe takes care of the rest. People, opportunities, success—it all gravitates toward me as if I’m the sun and they’re orbiting in my light. I shine, and everything I desire comes to bask in my glow.

Every step I take, every word I speak, every thought I think is infused with this magnetic energy. I’m so irresistible that even the impossible becomes possible for me. Barriers? They don’t exist in my world. If I want something, it’s already mine. My power overrides every obstacle, every limitation. My magnetism turns “no” into “yes” and “maybe” into “definitely.”

People feel my energy before I even speak. My confidence, my beauty, my aura—it’s overwhelming in the best way. They don’t just notice me; they remember me. I stay in their thoughts, their dreams, their fantasies. I’m the kind of person who becomes their standard for perfection. They’re drawn to me like moths to a flame, and they can’t help themselves.

But my magnetism goes deeper than just attracting people. It’s about my entire reality. I shape my world with my energy. I am a master at manifesting because my magnetism makes everything easy for me. I don’t just want things—I expect them, and they always show up. It’s inevitable because my energy is so potent, so irresistible, that the universe can’t help but deliver.

I’m in control. I’m powerful. I’m magnetic beyond belief. My desires don’t stand a chance—they’re mine, every single one of them. This is my reality, and it’s only going to get better, because every day my magnetism grows stronger. This is who I am. This is my power. This is my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

[someonegoood]

I’m not a kid! pt. 1 ✫ jeon jungkook

in which you’ve always had a hopeless crush on your brother’s best friend, Jungkook, who’s made it painfully clear he doesn’t feel the same—until a family vacation forces buried emotions to the surface.

CONTAINS: brother’s best friend troop, angst & fluff ! age gap, arguments, jungkook is an ass with reader, just a kiss...

NOTE: i’ll upload part 2 later… someday!! this work is not revised and english is not my first language :)

part 1, part 2.

The salty breeze of Busan’s coastline always carried the scent of the ocean and the faint cries of seagulls circling above. The city was alive with contrasts: the bustling fish markets that lined the shore and the quiet charm of the winding streets that climbed up the hills.

For Jungkook, Busan had always been home. The neighbourhood where he grew up wasn’t particularly special, but it was familiar—a place where kids spent endless summers playing soccer at the nearby park. That’s where he first met Minho.

Minho, your older brother, was the kind of boy everyone gravitated towards. He was a social butterfly while Jungkook was a shy eight-year-old, reluctant to join in but unable to resist Minho’s easygoing charisma.

“You’re on my team, Jeon,” Minho had declared one afternoon, tossing a worn-out soccer ball to Jungkook without waiting for a response.

From that day on, the two were inseparable. They shared everything: snacks bought from corner stores, secrets whispered during sleepovers, and dreams about what they wanted to be when they grew up.

That’s how you came into the picture.

You were Minho’s little sister, always tagging along, much to Jungkook’s annoyance. You were the sunshine to Minho’s confident energy, with an eternal optimism that made everyone crack a smile. But to him, you were just Minho’s sister—someone to tolerate because you came with the package.

Instead, over the years, your bubbly nature and obvious admiration for Jungkook became harder for him to ignore. You lingered on the sidelines of their soccer matches, offering water bottles and clapping too enthusiastically when he scored a goal. You laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny and gave him small, thoughtful gifts on his birthday—things like handmade keychains or little notes tucked into envelopes.

And while Minho teased you endlessly about your obvious crush, Jungkook’s reaction was always more severe. He hated it—not because he didn’t like you, but because he didn’t know how to like you. That made everything infinitely more complicated.

So, he did what he thought was best: he pushed you away.

NINE YEARS AGO…

The evening had the magic that only Busan nights could conjure: warm, salty air and the soft glow of lanterns strung along the bustling street-side restaurant.

Your family and the Jeons had planned this dinner weeks ago, a casual gathering to catch up and enjoy good food before Jungkook left for another training session in Seoul.

“I’m moving to Seoul,” he announced some years ago at your family’s barbecue, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just shattered your world.

Your heart sank.

“For what?” your brother asked, genuinely curious.

Jungkook’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles. “To be a trainee. BigHit is giving me a shot.”

You froze, the words hitting you harder than you expected. He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t even hinted at it. That night, you cried alone in your room. You felt betrayed: that was your only dream since childhood. Eventually he left Busan to become a trainee, which had made you wonder if you’ll ever have an opportunity in the industry.

The long, wooden table was nestled under a canopy of fairy lights, with plates of grilled fish, spicy tteokbokki, and steaming bowls of jjigae scattered across its surface. You sat beside Jungkook, not by choice but because the seating arrangement had worked out that way. Your mother was chatting animatedly with Mrs. Jeon, and your brother Minho was in a heated debate with Jungkook’s older brother about which soccer team was superior.

You couldn’t focus. Not with Jungkook so close, his presence filling the air between you. He was dressed casually in a black hoodie and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy from the seaside breeze. He was scrolling through his phone, barely acknowledging you, but you could feel the heat radiating from his shoulder whenever it brushed yours.

As the clock neared midnight, the temperature dropped. You rubbed your arms, the thin pink cardigan you’d worn doing little to ward off the chill. You tried to focus on the conversation, but your shivering gave you away.

“Are you cold?” your mom asked from across the table, concern in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” you lied quickly, forcing a smile.

But you weren’t fine, and Jungkook noticed your trembling.

Later, when the two families were chatting, you hesitated for a moment and then glanced at him. “Can I… borrow your hoodie?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“Your hoodie,” you repeated, trying to sound casual. “I’m freezing here.”

He stared at you for a second longer than necessary, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without a word, he pulled the hoodie over his head, his black t-shirt riding up slightly to reveal a toned stomach. You quickly looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Here,” he muttered, holding it out to you.

You slipped it on, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of his cologne—a mix of citrus and vanilla. It was far too big on you, the sleeves hanging past your fingertips, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“Thanks,” you said softly, stealing a glance at him.

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “It’s just a hoodie.”

But as the night went on, you noticed little things. How he subtly shifted closer when the breeze picked up. How his knee brushed against yours under the table, and he didn’t pull away. How, when he thought no one was looking, his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just a hoodie after all.

That dinner had stirred something in you. Maybe it was the way Jungkook had handed you his hoodie without hesitation or the bubble gum scent on it. Whatever it was, the feelings swirling inside you.

SEVEN YEARS AGO…

It all started at one of Minho’s infamous parties. The room was crowded, music pumping, and you tried your best to enjoy yourself but the thought of being there just because you were Minho's sister made you cringe. That was until you saw Jungkook laughing in the corner with his friends. He had got back from Seoul a few days ago because his company gave him some free days.

Your chest tightened as you saw him. It was impossible to ignore how Jungkook’s carefree laughter carried across the room, pulling you into a spiral of softness. You retreated to the kitchen, determined to drown your emotions in a cup of punch. That’s where Juwon found you, one of your brother's friends.

"Stop pouting," he teased, ruffling your hair. "What’s wrong, kid?"

You shrink at the thought of being called a "kid". "I’m not a kid," you snapped, pulling away. "And nothing’s wrong."

Juwon didn’t believe you, but before he could pry further, Jungkook walked in. His sharp jawline, dark eyes, and smirk made your heart skip a beat.

"Juwon-ah," Jungkook greeted casually before his gaze flicked to you. "What’s with the long face? Did someone steal your crayons?"

Your jaw tightened, and Juwon chuckled. "She’s sulking about something. Probably got dumped." You glared at him, but Jungkook’s smirk only widened.

"Dumped?" Jungkook tilted his head mockingly. "You’d have to date someone for that to happen, kid."

That was the last straw.

"Stop, I’m not a kid!" you snapped, slamming your cup onto the counter. "I’m not some little girl you can just mock whenever you feel like it, Jungkook!"

The room went silent, tension crackling between you. Jungkook’s smirk faltered, replaced by something unreadable. Juwon shifted uncomfortably, sensing he’d made a mistake by staying.

"Alright..." Juwon muttered. "I’m leaving you two to... whatever this is." When he left, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his eyes narrowing as he studied you.

"You’re really something, aren’t you?" he said, his voice low. "Always so desperate to prove yourself. What are you trying to prove this time? That you’re all grown up?"

You felt the sting of his words but refused to back down.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually apologize. Instead, he muttered, "You’re too young to understand."

"Stop using that excuse!" you shot back. "I’m not a kid anymore, and you don’t get to decide how I feel!" The argument hung in the air like a storm ready to break. Jungkook opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, his expression darkened immediately. He went closer to you, his height suddenly making the space between you feel even smaller.

“Are you kidding right now?” he asked, his tone cold. Your noses were almost touching.

Your heart sank and you closed your eyes. “I… I just want to be serious with you. For once.”

“Serious?” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. “Kid, you'll never be.”

The words hit you like a slap. You blinked rapidly, trying to process the sudden shift in his demeanour.

“I don’t need this,” he continued, his frustration spilling out. “I don’t need you trying to play house or whatever weird crush you’ve got going on. Stop wasting your time on me. You’re just a little kid.”

Your chest tightened the sting of his words bringing tears to your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. The cup you were holding was long forgotten.

"You’re... impossible, stubborn, and way too good for someone like me." Your breath hitched as his hand brushed against yours.

"Kook..."

He pulled back suddenly, as if afraid of what might happen next. "We can’t," he muttered, more to himself than to you. But before he could walk away, you grabbed his wrist.

"You’re an idiot," you said, tears pricking your eyes. "But if you walk away now, you’re proving me right."

Jungkook froze, his expression conflicted. Then, in one swift motion, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours. He began to kiss you, gently biting on your lower lip trying to make you open your mouth. You’ve never, in your whole life thought Jungkook would be kissing you.

The kiss was messy, desperate, and everything you’d imagined it would be.

One hand on your waist gripping you tightly as his other hand is gently holding the side of your face. His hands are constantly roaming over your body, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

Jungkook began to press kisses along the length of your neck, stopping just above your jawline.

“That feels nice,” you blushed.

He chuckled as he leant in towards you, brushing his hand against your cheek. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice shaky.

Once again, his eyes travelled to your lips but before he could kiss you he turned quickly, rushing back into the living room before you broke down completely. It was better for you to stop caring about him now than to keep chasing something he couldn’t give you.

Or so he thought. That was the first time Jeon Jungkook kissed you and the first time he made you cry.

That night, sitting alone in your room with tear-streaked cheeks and a heart that felt both shattered and strangely free, you made a decision: it was time to focus on yourself.

Becoming an idol had always been your dream. You remembered the exact moment you decided this was what you wanted—a moment of clarity during a school talent show when the cheers of the crowd and the spotlight on you felt like home.

But dreaming of something and pursuing it were two entirely different things.

When you told your family you wanted to audition, they smiled indulgently, thinking it was a phase. Your brother, ever protective, had scoffed, telling you to "be realistic." Jungkook, who was still part of your life, had smirked and asked, "Do you even know how hard life my is?"

And he was right.

Auditioning for agencies was gruelling. There were days when you faced rejection after rejection, each one feeling like a crack in the foundation of your confidence. You’d wake up at 5 a.m. for practice sessions, juggling school, part-time jobs, and long hours of singing and dancing in a cramped studio. Every week, you had to convince yourself to keep going when everything in you screamed to quit.

The hardest part, though, wasn’t the physical exhaustion—it was the emotional toll.

Friendships began to slip away, you missed birthdays, family dinners, and countless moments that made your hometown feel like home. Moving to Seoul for training was bittersweet. You were chasing your dream, but it felt like leaving behind pieces of yourself.

Training wasn’t glamorous, either. There were days when your trainers yelled at you for missing a note or a beat, and you’d spend nights in the dorm crying into your pillow, wondering if you’d ever be good enough. Some trainees around you gave up, packing their bags and leaving without a word. But you stayed because deep down, you knew this was what you were meant to do.

And then, one day, after years of relentless hard work, you got a call from BigHit. You had been selected to debut. You and the four other girls you’d grown close to over endless practice hours were going to be idols.

But with debuting it came him.

Jungkook had debuted first, of course, with BTS. And every time you crossed paths at the company, at award shows or music programs, he made it clear he wasn’t thrilled about it.

It was a surreal moment as you and your group—Mimi, Sky, Nari, and Yunjin—stepped into the large studio for the BigHit family photoshoot. The air buzzed with energy as staff members rushed to set up lighting and cameras. You were dressed in coordinating white outfits, your makeup and hair perfected to the last detail, but none of it stopped the nervous flutter in your stomach.

The nerves only intensified when you saw BTS already gathered near the set, their laughter and chatter filling the room. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen them; in fact, you’d met the members long before they became global sensations, back when Jungkook was still a trainee.

Taehyung and Jin had always been the most welcoming, making an effort to befriend you during those early, uncertain days of training. You had countless memories of Taehyung showing you silly tricks to lighten your mood and Jin bringing snacks to share after practice sessions. Even now, they greeted you with warm smiles, as if no time had passed at all.

Taehyung waved enthusiastically as you approached. "Look at you! All grown up now."

You laughed, cheeks flushing. "And you haven’t changed a bit, Tae."

But the moment your eyes landed on Jungkook, your breath hitched. He stood near the backdrop, hands tucked in his pockets, looking impossibly good in his fitted suit. His gaze met yours briefly, and he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.

You had seen him a few weeks ago at a family lunch back in Busan, but every encounter still carried a weight you couldn’t quite shake.

"Alright, everyone!" The photographer clapped his hands, gathering everyone’s attention. "We’re starting with the full group shots. BTS and our newest girl group, together."

Your heart sank. You weren’t sure you could survive being this close to Jungkook, especially under the teasing gaze of your members and his.

As the groups began to arrange themselves, chaos ensued. Jin insisted on being in the middle, Taehyung joked about needing his best angle, and your leader, Mimi, declared she wouldn’t stand anywhere near Namjoon because he was too tall. Amid the commotion, you somehow ended up right next to Jungkook.

You tried not to panic as you felt his body press against your back in the cramped arrangement. His arm brushed yours, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Y/N," Sky whispered, barely containing her laughter. "You’re blushing."

"Shut up," you hissed back, but your cheeks betrayed you, turning even redder.

"Look at them," Jimin teased loudly, his voice drawing everyone’s attention. "Our maknaes! Should we make room for you two?"

"Park Jimin," you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Sky and Nari joined in, giggling as they exchanged knowing looks with BTS’s members. Even Yoongi couldn’t resist chiming in. "Let’s make a maknae photo. Everyone else, move aside!"

The teasing only worsened as the photographer tried to get everyone to focus. Jungkook remained quiet through it all, his expression unreadable, but you were hyper-aware of his proximity.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

"Enough," Jungkook said, his voice firm but not harsh. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to him.

He looked down at you, his expression softening. "Let’s just take the photo, okay?"

You nodded, too flustered to say anything. The teasing subsided after that, and the rest of the shoot went smoothly, though you couldn’t stop your heart from racing every time Jungkook shifted beside you.

As the session wrapped up, Taehyung leaned over and whispered in your ear, "He still cares, you know."

You didn’t respond, but the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence and the memory of his quiet defence stayed with you long after the photoshoot ended.

The photoshoot felt like a blur in your memory, but one moment lingered vividly—Jungkook standing beside you, his quiet presence both overwhelming and grounding. When he had stepped in to silence the teasing, you’d felt a warmth you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just his defence but the softness in his eyes, the unspoken understanding that had stayed with you.

Since then, things between you have been… complicated. Jungkook was still distant most of the time, his words often cold, but there were cracks in his armour. Small, fleeting moments where his gaze softened or his words carried a hint of something deeper.

Now, backstage at the award show, the weight of his presence pressed on you like a phantom. You hadn’t exchanged more than a glance, but his impact lingered, just like it always did.

“Okay, so who’s the most nervous?” Nari teased, trying to break the tension as your group sat in a quiet corner.

“Not me,” Sky declared, though her knuckles were white around her water bottle.

“What about our maknae?” Mimi leaned closer to you. “You’ve been off all morning. Thinking about Jungkook again?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as the others giggled. “I’m not,” you lied, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“You totally are,” Yunjin added, poking your side. “He’s got you all flustered, and he hasn’t even spoken to you yet.”

Before you could respond, Taehyung and Jimin appeared, their easy smiles immediately lightening the mood.

“Ladies, looking stunning as always,” Taehyung greeted, his tone playful as ever.

Jimin offered his signature kind smile. “Nervous? Don’t be. You’ll do great.”

Their presence was a welcome distraction, and you couldn’t help but laugh when Taehyung dramatically declared, “We’re here to protect you from Jungkook’s glaring.”

But the laughter was short-lived. Across the room, Jungkook leaned against the wall, his sharp gaze fixed on you. When Jimin ruffled your hair, earning a bright laugh from you, Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the performance ahead. But just as you steadied yourself, he approached the group.

“Hey,” Jungkook called softly.

Everyone turned, surprised to see him standing next to you, his expression unreadable but his tone lacking its usual sharpness. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards your group's dressing room.

“Don’t let me ruin this for you,” he said, his voice so low you could bearly hear him. “You’re… good at this. Just do your thing.”

It wasn’t an apology for everything, but it was something.

Your eyes searched his, looking for any trace of malice, but all you found was a flicker of uncertainty. For the first time in what felt like forever, his walls seemed to lower, if only slightly.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unsure of what else to say.

As he walked out, Yunjin sidled up beside you, a knowing grin on her face. “What did Jungkook say?”

“Nothing important,” you lied, though your heart told a different story.

“Sure,” she teased.

The words stayed with you as you stepped onto the stage, ready to perform. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t the same boy you’d once known, but beneath the cold exterior, there was still something there. Something worth holding onto.

The night of your group’s single release party was supposed to be a celebration. The venue buzzed with excitement, filled with industry friends, labelmates, and staff. Your group were the stars of the evening, basking in the glow of your latest success. You’d worked tirelessly for months, and now, you deserved to let loose.

You flitted around the party, sharing laughs, clinking glasses, and posing for photos with everyone who came to congratulate you. But a familiar tension brewed in your chest, one you tried to ignore as much as you could.

It didn’t help when Jungkook and his members arrived.

You didn't expect him to come, even though he’d been the first on your personal list. Yet there he was, standing near the bar in a sleek black outfit, grey jeans and an oversized t-shirt that fitted him nicely. His gaze found yours almost instantly, but he didn’t approach. Instead, he stayed rooted in place, sipping his drink and chatting casually with Hoseok.

“Babes,” Sky called, tugging you out of your thoughts. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

But the truth was, Jungkook’s presence threw you off. The history between you—complicated and unresolved—lingered like an unspoken storm. His quiet indifference always hurt more than it should have.

As the night wore on, you avoided him, focusing instead on celebrating with your group. You danced, laughed, and tried to push him out of your mind. But when you stepped outside for a moment of air, the cool breeze hit you, and so did the realization that he’d followed you.

“Couldn’t even last the whole party?” Jungkook’s voice carried a teasing edge, but there was a hesitation in his tone.

You scoffed, not turning to face him. “Why are you here, Jungkook?”

“To congratulate you,” he said, stepping closer. “Big night for you and the girls.”

You turned to find him standing a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets. “Funny,” you muttered. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I care,” Jungkook stepped closer, his gaze searching yours. “You’ve been avoiding me since the meeting in the backstage.”

You laughed bitterly. “And you’ve been ignoring me for years. Why do you care now?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension was palpable, years of unresolved feelings bubbling to the surface.

“I don’t ignore you, kid.” He said finally, his voice quieter.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out. Every time I think we’re okay, you push me away again.”

His gaze dropped to the ground, and for a moment, he looked almost guilty. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” you pressed, the frustration you’d bottled up for so long finally spilling out. “If you don’t want me in your life, just say so. Stop playing this game, Jungkook. I’m tired.”

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Kid... I never wanted you out of my life.”

“Stop calling me 'kid'” you demanded, your voice breaking. “Why do you act like I don’t matter?”

“You matter,” he said, stepping closer. “You matter so much it scares the hell out of me.”

The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. Your heart pounded as he closed the distance between you, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. You pulled away, tears brimming in your eyes.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“I know,” he said, his forehead resting against yours. “But I don’t know how to let you go.”

You stepped back, creating space between you. “You need to figure it out, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep doing this.”

The pain in his eyes mirrored your own, but neither of you said another word. You turned and walked back into the party, leaving him alone in the cold night.

"Let me take you home," he said. His tone was strong, not what you were used to. Still, the ride to your flat was silent, you sitting in the front with Jungkook while faint music played on the radio.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white. “You think you mean nothing to me?” You could only sob again, unable to answer him mainly because you were ashamed. When the car stopped, he unbuckled his seat belt and murmured that he would walk you to your door.

Jungkook rocked on his heels as he watched the moonlight highlight the tear-stained cheeks of his best friend's sister. He thought you looked beautiful that night even though you had been crying for the last half hour, your hair hadn't been brushed, and you were digging through your purse like crazy.

Although he would never admit it.

"I got them!" You laughed, waving your keys in the air before bumping your nose with the keychain. You paused as you pushed the key into the door, turning to look Jungkook in the eye for the first time since the party.

"Thank you," he didn't want to hear it. After all, you were just his best friend’s sister.

"It's no big deal."

After a moment, you dropped your bag to the floor and wrapped your arms around the boy's waist, your head resting on his chest as he quickly moved his hand and rubbed your back. He whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"Goodnight."

It’s been two months since the party. When your mom first suggested a getaway, you thought it was the perfect idea to forget Jungkook’s situation. “You’ve been working too hard,” she had said over the phone, her voice tinged with concern. “A little break will do you good. Sunshine, good food, some family time—it’s exactly what you need.”

You’d been reluctant at first. The idea of slowing down felt foreign when your life had been moving at a breakneck pace for so long. But your mom’s persistence—and your own exhaustion—eventually won you over.

“We’ve already rented a villa by the beach,” she added, excitement in her tone. “Oh, and the Jeons will be joining us. It’ll be like the old days!”

The Jeons. You hadn’t heard that name in a while, but the memory of warm summer evenings spent with Jungkook’s family hit you like a wave. Your stomach sank as you considered the possibility of seeing him again.

“Do you mean the whole Jeon family?” you had asked hesitantly, trying to gauge just how much of a challenge this ‘relaxing’ trip would be.

“Of course!” your mom said brightly. “It’s been so long since we’ve all gotten together.”

You hadn’t been able to come up with a convincing excuse to avoid the trip, so you packed your bags, hoping the villa would be big enough to keep a comfortable distance between you and Jungkook.

But the moment you stepped onto the patio of the villa, you knew that hope was futile. He was there, leaning against the railing, staring out at the ocean like he belonged there. And when he turned and saw you, the atmosphere immediately shifted.

His dark eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. You felt his gaze move over you briefly before he turned away, as if dismissing you altogether.

Your brother’s voice broke the tension. “Surprise! Kook managed to clean his schedule.”

You forced a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Great,” you said, your voice flat.

“Hey kid,” he smirked.

“I’m not a kid!” Inside, you wanted to scream for help.

[majikkulu]

━━ ❝MASTERLIST❞

these are my personal observations and may not resonate with everyone. please take them with a grain of salt, as i'm not a professional astrologer! :))

𓂃⋆.˚

★ AURA (1488)  where aura resides in your chart, it reveals the energy that surrounds you, your magnetic field—how you are felt before you even speak, how others are drawn to or repelled by you. it whispers the essence of your presence, the invisible force you project, and the subtle way you shape the world around you.

★ EXAMPLE ariana grande, with aura in scorpio in the 9th house at 1°, carries a magnetic intensity, captivating hearts without effort. her presence commands awe—bold, rebellious, mysterious—her energy leaves a lingering impression, as though she's stepped out of a dream. scorpio lends a sense of secrecy, while the 9th house fills her aura with a thirst for knowledge and adventure. people are drawn to her, sensing an affinity with the esoteric, the spiritual. at 1°, this placement echoes an aries spark, making her aura feel like an unstoppable force of nature. her presence inspires and challenges others to expand their views on life.

𓂃⋆.˚

AURA IN ARIES / 1ST HOUSE with this placement, your presence feels like the first light of dawn—bold, fearless, commanding. you walk into a room, and people notice, not because you try, but because your energy is undeniable. your aura is like a fire, igniting others, making them feel alive and ready to conquer the world. you project strength, confidence, and assertiveness, drawing people to you with the sheer power of your will. but beware, the intensity of your energy can sometimes be overwhelming, leaving others feeling as if they've just been hit by a wave of raw power.

AURA IN TAURUS / 2ND HOUSE a soft, steady hum surrounds you, like the earth itself. your energy is calm and comforting, rooted in a quiet strength that makes others feel safe. your aura is reliable, dependable—a sanctuary for those seeking solace. people gravitate toward your peaceful, sensual presence, drawn to your innate beauty and grounded nature. there's a sense of timeless elegance in the way you move through the world, and though you may appear unshakable, there’s a stubbornness beneath the surface that makes change feel like a slow, deliberate process.

AURA IN GEMINI / 3RD HOUSE like a breeze that shifts and changes, your aura dances through the air, never quite the same, yet always intriguing. you are a chameleon, adapting to every environment with ease, your energy as fluid as your words. people are drawn to your curiosity, your wit, your endless conversations that feel like a portal to new worlds. you radiate an electric charm, pulling others in with your lightness and sociability. whether you're the life of the party or a quiet observer, your presence is like a spark that keeps everything moving.

AURA IN CANCER / 4TH HOUSE a soft, nurturing light surrounds you, like the embrace of home itself. your aura is one of comfort and care, making others feel like they’ve found a safe harbor. people are drawn to your warmth, your ability to listen and heal. there's an invisible thread that ties you to others, allowing them to open up in ways they never thought possible. yet, in giving so much, you may carry the weight of others' emotions, leaving your own needs in the shadows. your energy feels like the moon, ever-changing, deeply intuitive, and eternally comforting.

AURA IN LEO / 5TH HOUSE your aura is like sunlight, brilliant and captivating. you glow with warmth, charisma, and confidence, always the center of attention without ever trying. your energy radiates an irresistible magnetism, attracting admiration and affection wherever you go. you command the room, not with words, but with the sheer force of your presence. children are drawn to you, and so are those who crave the light you exude. yet beneath the radiance, there’s a playful, flirtatious energy that adds a layer of fun and charm to your aura.

AURA IN VIRGO / 6TH HOUSE your presence is like the quiet hum of a well-oiled machine—calm, composed, and deeply grounded. your aura is that of someone reliable, capable, and intelligent, always ready to offer practical advice and solutions. there's a purity to your energy, a focus on improvement and service, making others feel as though they’ve found a trustworthy guide. your aura is reserved but strong, exuding a quiet confidence that others find both reassuring and inspiring. when in your presence, people may feel compelled to heal and grow.

AURA IN LIBRA / 7TH HOUSE your energy is like a delicate balance, soft and inviting, making others feel seen and appreciated. you radiate charm, grace, and a deep sense of fairness that draws people in. your presence is like a gentle invitation to connect, to collaborate, to create harmony. people are magnetized by your ability to see both sides of every situation, valuing your opinion and seeking your company. there’s an elegance to your aura, like a finely balanced dance, drawing others toward you with ease.

AURA IN SCORPIO / 8TH HOUSE your presence is magnetic, intense, and utterly compelling. there’s an air of mystery that surrounds you, a depth that others can’t quite grasp but are drawn to anyway. your aura penetrates, leaving a mark on those who encounter you, as though they’ve been seen in a way they never expected. people are captivated by your power, your quiet authority, and the secret energy that pulses beneath the surface. you may carry a seductive, almost hypnotic quality, making it hard for others to look away.

AURA IN SAGITTARIUS / 9TH HOUSE your energy feels like a breath of fresh air—adventurous, optimistic, and full of possibility. your aura expands outward, drawing people in with the promise of new horizons and uncharted territories. you are a beacon of freedom, your presence making others feel alive, ready to take risks, to explore, to push boundaries. your truth is spoken plainly, unvarnished, and it inspires others to follow your example. there’s an infectious quality to your energy, like the call of the wild, inviting others to join you.

AURA IN CAPRICORN / 10TH HOUSE your presence carries the weight of authority, like the unshakable foundation of a mountain. your energy demands respect, but it also offers it. you are the embodiment of responsibility, seriousness, and ambition, and people are drawn to your grounded nature and clear sense of purpose. there’s a cool distance to your aura, making you seem unapproachable at times, but beneath that exterior is a powerful, mature presence that others look up to. your energy speaks of success, stability, and an unwavering commitment to your goals.

AURA IN AQUARIUS / 11TH HOUSE your aura is like a spark of lightning—unpredictable, electric, and full of originality. you stand apart from the crowd, your energy unmistakable, like someone who is always two steps ahead of the game. your presence is cool, detached, and uniquely yours, making others look to you for new ideas and fresh perspectives. there’s an eccentricity to your energy, something that feels like it belongs to the future, and people are drawn to your innovative, progressive vibe. you radiate individuality, like a star burning in the sky, unlike anything else.

AURA IN PISCES / 12TH HOUSE your presence feels like a gentle tide, soothing, dreamy, and ethereal. your energy flows like water, soft and fluid, making others feel safe, understood, and deeply connected to something larger than themselves. you exude compassion and empathy, your aura pulling others into a world of healing and emotional depth. yet, there’s a certain mystery to you, a softness that leaves others wondering about the depths of your spirit. your energy feels like a dream, something otherworldly that resonates on a subconscious level, making you both enchanting and elusive.

[truevedicastrology]

Unveiling the Enigma of Mars

🚀Mars, the celestial orchestrator of how you magnetize individuals and the manner in which you resonate. It delves into the intricate essence you exude and the perceptions people harbor about you. This cosmic force also embodies masculine energy, offering insights into the archetype of men you may allure.

🌌Mars in the 1st house unravels your allure externally, where your energy becomes swiftly discernible. You're characterized by responsiveness and a tenacious self-advocacy. Occasionally perceived as impulsive or irate, your sanctuary lies in self-indulgence, physical exertion, and athletic pursuits. The gravitational pull extends to men with athletic prowess or those with a self-centric aesthetic.

🌺Mars in the 2nd house manifests allure through olfactory allure, skin aesthetics, or indulgence in epicurean pleasures. Passion for culinary arts and a penchant for opulence mark your identity. Your charm attracts men of affluence or those generously disposed.

🏖️Mars in the 3rd house articulates allure through eloquence and the written word. Passion resonates in your speech, and the written realm becomes a source of profound joy. A proclivity for literature and related pursuits is evident. The enticement extends to multitasking, loquacious men, possibly educators or wordsmiths.

🏡Mars in the 4th house unveils allure in moments of domestic comfort, adorned in unassuming attire. Emotional energy becomes an irresistible magnet. Mars, discreetly nestled here, shares passion exclusively with intimate circles or family. Attraction extends to nurturing, emotionally expressive men, perhaps with a hint of moodiness.

🎨Mars in the 5th house radiates allure during dynamic activities, invoking attractiveness in motion. Passion is channeled into hobbies, joy, and a perpetual youthful spirit. The magnetic pull is towards confident, charismatic, and playful individuals.

🌈Mars in the 6th house renders allure through physique and an organized, health-conscious lifestyle. The zenith of well-being is achieved through proactive endeavors, organization, and animal companionship. Attraction is directed towards industrious, meticulous men, potentially involved in animal care or fitness training.

🌙Mars in the 7th house allures through aesthetic grace, fastidiousness, and a pursuit of justice. The epitome of well-being lies in harmonious relationships and aesthetic refinement. Attraction extends to men who embody beauty, meticulous grooming, and charm.

🔮Mars in the 8th house projects allure through intimate and sexual charisma, intertwined with an aura of power. Stability and emotional equilibrium define your zenith. This allure thrives in secrecy and spiritual pursuits, attracting individuals exuding intense energy, possessiveness, and depth.

🌐Mars in the 9th house emanates allure through vivacity, intellect, and captivating narratives. The ardor for exploration, diverse cultures, and distant realms is palpable. Attraction aligns with optimistic, adventurous men, including educators, professors, or those hailing from diverse cultures.

🏰Mars in the 10th house showcases allure in the public eye, accentuating tenacity and success. Energy converges into achievements and reputation, possibly bordering on work-centric tendencies. Attraction is drawn towards older, stable, and successful men, echoing qualities reminiscent of paternal figures.

📱Mars in the 11th house unfolds allure in the digital realm, exuding uniqueness that captivates social networks. The energy is invested in friendships, aspirations, and dreams. Attraction encompasses peculiar, distinctive men, thriving either in group dynamics or solitude, immersed in individual pursuits.

💖Mars in the 12th house mystically radiates allure, captivating through an enigmatic aura. Appreciation transcends the physical, delving into the spiritual and ethereal facets. Energy is channeled into artistic expressions, resonating with the profound. Attraction unfolds towards artistic, spiritual, emotionally profound individuals, potentially from coastal regions, with a transcendent connection that transcends verbal communication.

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[ghouldump]

hiii, i just wanted to say i LOVE your iwtv fic, the characterization is just perfect *🤌*

If your requests are open I would like to request a loustat x fem!reader + claudia

reader is a vampire slightly older vampire than louis, turned in the 1860s by a 700 year old vampire, she was his first and only fledgling, they did not know eachother before he turned her (his wasing bleeding to death after being robbed in an alley), they had a close friendly/platonic relationship like siblings, and she met loustat in 1925, and joined their relationship, she like the odd one out as she's the calm/sensible one and a mediator between them. She acts like Claudia's fun aunt.

Sorry if it's long 😅, the rest is totally up you, just something where they get jealous/possessive over her please!!

Forever Young | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ you meet someone who reminds you of your maker, and naturally gravitate to them, but your family isn’t as welcoming to the idea of the man.

it’s definitely not too long, it’s perfect, i love it 🩷

“Aleron, brother, please, open this door,” you beat on the door, no matter how much force you put in your hands, the door wouldn’t budge.

You could see the sun rising, from under the door, his painful screams, following. The blood poured from your eyes, as you pleaded with him. You could still save him, you could nurse him back to life.

Finally, you could open the door, crying out as the sun graced your face. As you began to burn, you noticed the pile of ashes. You were too late, he was gone. Grabbing his coat, you backed into the house, shutting the door, before dropping to your knees, weeping loudly.

“Aleron-

“Y/n, are you alright?” your eyes opened, staring into Claudia’s worried eyes. Sitting up, the familiar faces surrounded your coffin, Louis wiped your face with a soft handkerchief.

“It was only a dream,” you smiled at them.

“Are you sure, you had us worried,” Claudia said, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m fine, really, we should get dressed,” you told her, watching as she nodded, getting up, and going to her room.

Lestat hadn't said a word, watching you, trying to see what it was that you weren't sharing. Turning to face him, you shook your head, climbing out of the coffin.

“I’m okay”

“What was your dream?” he asked you.

“It was a silly-

“That left you crying,” he said, sternly.

“Don't push her to tell you”

“It's okay, Louis, I know he just wants to help,” you smiled.

“If I have another, you'll be the first one to know, come on, get dressed,” you reassured him.

“Do we all have to go?” Claudia whined as you all got into the car.

“It will only be for a little while,” Louis said, as Lestat started to drive.

Louis couldn't seem to fully let go of his family, randomly showing up with gifts. They already had their assumptions about him, yet he wouldn't stop trying. Lestat found it pointless, but you understood that he loved them still. Even when they blamed him for the passing of his brother, he still loved them all greatly.

“You can sit in the car with me if you want,” you told her, smiling as she nodded in agreement.

While Lestat tried to be cordial with the family, you never made an effort. They'd stare at you, as you sat in the car, but you never looked their way. Yes, you thought Louis’ love for them was admirable, it didn't change what they thought of you all. They found your relationship weird and concerning, they questioned why none of you were ever seen during the day if you were seeing both Lestat and Louis. Their questioning was nevertheless exacerbating, so you kept a distance from them.

Your mind began to drift off, thinking back to your dream, to him. Aleron, your maker, your teacher, your companion, your brother, your father, your friend. It had been nearly 40 years since his departure, and yet when you thought of him, the wounds felt fresh.

He was your everything, the reason you were the way you were today. He exuded remarkable beauty, turned at only 14 years of age, by a follower of Akasha. With the queen of vampires' blood running through his veins, he quickly discovered the power and strength he possessed, compared to others. For centuries, he lived, killing hundreds upon hundreds of humans in his lifetime, and then he met you.

He had been hunting, when he came across the men, who, after robbing you, conceived the plan, their minds filled with corruption, sought to kill you as well. Taking turns they beat you, before stabbing you, taking all of your possessions, and that was very few things.

He could see into your thoughts, an orphan, who had recently come of age, trying to make it in a world that wasn't built for women to strive without the help of a man. You were alone, like him, and having compassion, he killed them, brutally for your name's sake. Turning you in that very dark alley.

Taking you in, he taught you companionship, the history of vampires, and advice on how to live, after being on earth for over 700 years. He loved you and you loved him, and there wasn't a love as strong, that either of you had ever witnessed.

Then it happened, somewhere within his teachings he regained his humanity. He didn't want to kill anymore, didn't want to be a child of the night, to be trapped in this forever youthful body. And so, 30 years into your life of vampirism, he used his power to keep the doors shut. He longed to die, accepting his fate while he stepped into the sun, becoming nothing more than dust.

“We’ll be right back,” Louis said, as the car stopped.

“Ok,” you nodded.

After over three lonely decades of wandering, your heart ached at the thought of Aleron’s centuries on earth. He was but a child, when he was turned, making it impossible to build any nonplatonic relationships. Perhaps that is what made you love Claudia, Lestat, and Louis so much. In a way, you could see fragments of you and your maker in them.

“Why do you think Daddy Lou keeps coming here, even though he’s not welcome”

“Because they were once his family, it's hard to just stop loving someone who was once important to you, but it looks like they are coming back,” you pointed, seeing Louis and Lestat walking out of the house, visibly aggravated.

“You and that white devil stay away from this house,” his sister’s husband yelled.

“I own this house,” Louis reminded him. As they approached the car, he looked back at them once more.

“And he ain't white, he's French,” he corrected them.

Looking over at Claudia, you both covered your mouths, holding back the laughter.

“It's alright, they can't say you didn't try to be there for them,” you told him, leaning up, kissing his cheek.

Sighing, he nodded in agreement, before he and Lestat began to talk about business ventures. You were relieved when the car finally parked, stretching, you smiled, seeing Claudia clap in excitement. She enjoyed hunting, surprisingly with Lestat, he wasn't as restrictive as Louis.

“We’ll meet back here, in twenty minutes?” Lestat announced, everyone nodded, before going their separate ways.

You didn't have much of an appetite tonight, after your dream. How real it felt, how vivid the memory was, it ruined any hunger that could've been there. Walking down the French Quarter, you stopped seeing the large nutria rat. You hadn't been introduced to drinking from rodents, until Louis and Lestat. No, it wasn't nearly as good as a person, but it managed to get the job done.

Quickly killing and draining the rat, you wiped your mouth, as you tossed it into the garbage. Walking along the sidewalk, you looked at the different stores, a few new ones, some closing down, others busy as always. As you passed by a shop, your eyes widened, before you backed up to stare at the cashier.

You couldn't believe your eyes, going into the fragrance store, he spoke, before looking at you. It couldn't be him, but here he was, looking the very same, only older.

“Welcome to Aromaessence, let me know if you need any…thing,” he paused a little, as he stared at you. Nodding, you walked around the store, looking around, picking up random sprays, occasionally glancing at him.

Grabbing a floral bottle, you walked to the counter, slowly sitting it in front of him.

“Is that all for you, Miss?” he asked.

“Yes,” you smiled, softly.

“Ah, Lavender, this one smells so good,” he said, you could feel your eyes tingling.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching Aleron pick the flowers from his neighbor's garden. She would lose her mind if she caught you both here, but he couldn't help himself.

“Getting some lavender, put some in your bathwater, or just rub it on your skin, it smells wonderful,” he beamed, while you quietly laughed.

“It does,” you agreed, your eyes traveling to his name tag. Aaron.

“Are you the new shop owner? I haven’t seen the other man in a while,” you asked.

“No, it's my cousin's store, his wife just had their first child and he asked me to come down and help out a bit, I'm from Chicago,” he explained.

“Well that was very kind of you,” you told him.

“Uh, 30 cents is the total,” he said, chewing his bottom lip.

Handing him the coins, your eyes widened as his fingers brushed against your hand, as he accepted the money. You felt a spark.

“Would you like this in a bag, miss?”

“Yes please,” you nodded, watching as he placed it into a small bag for you.

Walking behind you, you noticed as he closed both of the windows.

“Closing?” you asked him.

“Ah, yes ma'am, you were the last customer of the night,” he nodded.

“I see, well, goodnight,” you told him, turning to leave.

“Wait, I-um, have we met before? You look so familiar,” he said.

“I don't think so, goodnight Aaron,” you said.

“May I have your name?”

“Y/n”

“Goodnight, Y/n, I hope to see you again,” he told you, before shutting the door.

You couldn't contain the smile on your lips, as you walked away. However, your eyebrows quickly furrowed, seeing the troubled expressions on Lestat and Louis’ face.

“What's wrong-

“You know the boy at the fragrance store?” Louis started.

“And what could he have possibly said for you to keep smiling and laughing, I'm sure he wasn't that funny,” Lestat said with an attitude.

“You were gone for more than twenty minutes, so we went to look for you,” Claudia told you. You couldn't believe they were acting jealous, riding in silence until he parked in front of the house.

“I don't know him, I was only being nice, he's practically a tourist,” you finally spoke up.

“Seemed like you thought he was cute,” Louis said.

“He is cute, like when you look at kittens and puppies, you wouldn't get jealous if I was giving my attention to an animal,” you told them.

“Actually-

“I’m yours and yours and yours, I don't have any room in my heart for any others,” you said, pulling Claudia into a hug, swirling her around, before placing her on the ground.

As she ran into the house, Louis and Lestat still stood outside, both of them pouted like a wounded animal.

“I just bought some perfume, no need to be jealous,” you spoke to Louis, as you pecked his lips.

“Either of you,” you said, as Lestat circled you, before accepting your kiss.

“You two have to try to keep quiet tonight,” you moaned, as Louis kissed along your neck.

“No promises, ma chérie,” Lestat groaned. Holding each of their hands, pulling into the house.

“Claudia, where’s Y/n,” Louis asked, as he came down the stairs.

“No idea, she left a note,” she said, pointing at the small note on the counter.

“I'll be back before sunrise, love you - Y/n”

“And she expects us to believe nothing happened,” Lestat said, as he came down the stairs.

“Why would she lie about that?”

“I can feel when I am being lied to, she's keeping something to herself,” Lestat said, as he went to sit on the sofa.

“Maybe she knows him, but didn't want to say anything,” Louis said.

“She said she doesn't know him, and he wasn't a vampire, I would've known”

“He probably doesn't know that she's a vampire, he could be a distant relative or an old friend-

“Or an old boyfriend, she said he was cute,” Claudia laughed but quickly stopped when the two stared at her with glances of horror.

“I’m going find her,” Lestat stood up.

“I was only messing around-

“You do realize this affects you too, your aunt, mommy, sister Y/n, riding off into the sun with some mortal, or how about this, she turns him, he becomes her companion, and we wake to all of her belongings gone, so tell me, does any of this seem like a laughing matter?” he asked her, clarity washed over her face as she shook her head, realizing how serious the situation actually was.

Standing outside of the shop, you nervously played with your fingers. Unsure what you were even doing, or why you were doing this. He wasn't Aleron, yet he looked like him, could it be reincarnation, perhaps Aaron happened to be a part of the same bloodline somehow. You didn't know, but being around him, seeing him, in your heart you felt like he was still alive.

“Miss Y/n, did you want to buy another perfume, I could open back up?” Aaron said, as he stepped outside.

“Oh no, I'm sorry, I was passing by and I changed my mind,” you said.

“Then perhaps, you'd like to go for a drive? I can't seem to get you out of my head, we could chat a bit, and become familiar with each other,” he offered, hesitantly.

“Sure,” you agreed, following him to his car, getting in as he opened the door for you. Controlling his mind, with the spell gift, you sat quietly, while he spoke, during the ride, driving to the outskirts of Chalmette.

“Y/n, where are you?” you could hear Claudia, but didn't say anything.

“You need to come home, or at least tell us where you're at,” Louis followed.

“If you're with him, I'll tear off his fucking he-

You blocked them out completely, even in his thoughts, Lestat managed to scream. They wouldn't understand, they had their maker, and Lestat seemed fine without Magnus. You never talked about Aleron, not sure where to even start, without a proper goodbye, part of you was left uncertain about so many things.

As he parked amid trees and darkness, you pulled the locket from your pocket.

“Sorry, I figured we could use some privacy,” he said, leaning towards you when you pushed his face.

“I don't want to kiss you, Aaron, I have something for you,” you laughed.

“I-oh my god, this is so embarrassing”

“Don't go yet, we don't know what they're doing, and we don't want to lose her trust,” Louis said, trying to be rational, despite struggling. It was usually you, who was being rational, the mediator, giving them the benefit of the doubt, and he was trying to do the same for you.

“Trust went out of the window when she got into the car with another man,” Lestat was seething, his eyes already red. He was sure that he would be in tears in a few minutes.

“Maybe she's feeding on him,” Claudia said hopeful, a worried expression on her face. Lestat’s words left her sad and anxious. You were a part of the family, a part of all of their lives individually, she wasn't sure how things would be if you decided to leave.

“I hope so”

“Does this look familiar to you?” you asked, holding up the locket.

“I don't know, I feel like I've seen it somewhere,” he furrowed his eyebrows. As he looked into your eyes, you began to glamour him.

“It's yours, you dropped it, but you promised you would pass it down to any future children you had,” you said, handing it over to him.

“I did?”

“Yes, try not to lose it,” you told him.

“I will, thank you for returning it,” he smiled.

“It was my pleasure,” you said, reaching to touch his face, a bloody tear slipping from your eye.

“I wish you didn't leave me, I was so lonely,” you cried, as you held his face, keeping eye contact.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you,” he spoke.

“It’s okay, you have to go, after closing the shop, you went to get some food, and now you're going home, you didn't talk to or see anyone”

“I didn't talk to anyone”

“And tell your cousin you can't stay anymore you had to get back to Chicago”

“You're right,” he nodded.

“I love you”

“I love you, Y/n,” he repeated.

Moving in an instant, he snapped out of the hypothesis, furrowing his eyebrows, as he looked around the car. Shoving the locket into his pocket, he started the car and drove off. High in the sky, you looked down at him, the tears pouring down, a smile on your face.

Flying towards the city, you shook your head, lowering to the ground, stopping in front of the car.

“Y/n,” Claudia gasped, getting out of the car, wrapping her arms around you.

“Why did you all follow me?” you questioned, surprised to see they were so close.

“Why did you lie to us? You said you didn't know him, he wasn't this, he wasn't that, he's like a puppy, we don't have to worry,” Lestat began to swear up a storm in French. Smashing your lips into his, you grinned at him.

“You're too cute when you're jealous, I told you, I only have room for three vamps in my life, and I don't intend to make room for more”

“You had us worried, we tried contacting you-” you interrupted Louis kissing his lips.

“I could hear you, trying to be reasonable, I'm so proud of you,” you told him.

“So what was it? Why did you bring him out here, just to not kill him?” Claudia asked.

“He looks like my maker, we were companions, he was a brother, and when he died, I felt lost. I know it seems dumb, but I glamoured him, so I could say a proper goodbye, I didn't mean to make you all worry and be jealous,” you said, kicking the dirt.

“That's all? how could I stay mad at that?” Louis asked, picking you up, and spinning you around. As he placed you down, Lestat slowly approached, pulling you closer.

“No more secrets,” he said, you could see past his calm demeanor, how stressed he was at the idea of you leaving.

“No more secrets,” you nodded, before grabbing Claudia’s hand, and climbing into the backseat.

During the drive back, you looked up at the sky, as Claudia’s lustrous nails lightly dragged against your hand.

“Why are you giving this to me,” you asked, as Aleron stood behind you, placing the necklace on your neck.

“This was a family heirloom, my father gave it to me, to pass down our bloodline, you are the closest thing I have to a child,” he explained.

“But aren't heirlooms passed down, once the person dies”

“One day, I will die,” he told you, but you shook your head.

“Stop talking like that, you said you have to want to die for you to be able to, do you want to die?” you asked him, worried.

“No, my child, but if I did, you could find love, a companion, or even a coven”

“But then who would be there, with you”

“I've been alone a long time, Y/n, I think I could manage,” he laughed.

“As long as you're alive, I won't leave your side,” you smiled.

“Sounds like I am holding you back”

“I didn't say that”

“If I did, maybe I'd be reincarnated-

“Do you really believe in that, or have you been reading a lot lately”

“A little bit of both, could you imagine that I came back, and we met again”

“I guess it sounds cool in theory, but I wouldn't know how to feel if I saw you all old and wrinkled,” you laughed.

“Then I'll make sure every time we meet I am still young, maybe older than this body, but forever young, in your eyes,” he said.

“You wouldn't want to be a vampire again?”

“I don't think so, eternal life but no family, no children, no physical aging, no sun. When I was a child, I'd play in the sun for hours,” he thought back fondly.

“You have me, I am your family,” you told him.

“That, you are, and I am grateful to say that in my final moments, I have been loved, and I will always find my way back to you, my precious fledgling, until we meet again,” he said, his hand brushing against your cheek before he stood up.

“What?” you frowned, standing up.

“Sit, you must prepare for rest,” he commanded, using his powers to make you sit down.

You tried fighting, tried standing, but couldn't move, only able to watch him walk towards the door. Blood was already trickling down your face, realizing his plan. It wasn't until he was outside, that you were able to stand, rushing to the door, that wouldn't open.

"Aleron, brother, please, open this door," you beat on the door, no matter how much force you put in your hands, the door wouldn't budge.

You could see the sun rising, from under the door, his painful screams, following. The blood poured from your eyes, as you pleaded with him. You could still save him, you could nurse him back to life.

Finally, you could open the door, crying out as the sun graced your face. As you began to burn, you noticed the pile of ashes. You were too late, he was gone.

Grabbing his coat, you backed into the house, shutting the door, before dropping to your knees, weeping loudly.

"Aleron, oh god,” you screamed, clutching the coat.

Driving past a small gas station, you could Aaron, leaning against his car, as the worker pumped the gas.

“Goodbye, Aleron,” you spoke to his mind, smiling as he looked around, his hand going to the locket that he had put around his neck already.

“Until we meet again, my beloved, maker”

“So I know we're all made up, but could you three wait until I'm out hunting for the makeup sex, I don't think I can take another night of Uncle Les being all loud and whatnot,” Claudia said, making you and Louis both laugh, while Lestat groaned loudly at her already back getting on his nerves.

Maybe he was right, losing him, who, at the time was your everything, made a way for you to have what he never got to experience, your own little family.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rumoured Nights | S.R

This was written for the lovely and wonderful @foxy-eva milestone celebration. Congratulations love! 💕 I used the prompt - “someone has to unexpectedly share hotel room with their favourite coworker - who apparently really likes to cuddle.”

Set during 5.21 Exit Wounds - this ep just lends itself perfectly for a one bed fic.

Summary - a case in a small town in Alaska forces you and your favourite coworker into sharing a room and a bed. And according to Morgan, Spencer likes to cuddle.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Category - smut NSFW Minors DNI

Warnings - one bed trope, friends to lovers, sex dream, cuddly Spencer, swearing, making out, Spencer is touch starved, canon compliant death, meddling BAU team, interruptions, fingering, handjobs, penetrative, protected sex.

WC - 7.5k (don’t ask me how, she’s wordy)

“I’m not sleeping with Reid.” 

The comment was probably meant inoffensively, an off the cuff remark to make his coworkers laugh but instead only caused the youngest member of the team to blush furiously. 

Spencer Reid shrunk down in the armchair, attempting to hide his embarrassment from the eyes of his fellow team members who now all looked upon him. 

As far as he was aware, Morgan had never told the team what happened the one and only time they’d shared a room during a case. The confused looks being sent his way went to further that, thank god. 

It happened a few years back when they’d been on a case in a town equally as small as Franklin, Alaska where they found themselves now. Like tonight, the BNB was small and they’d had to double up. 

And Morgan had woken in the morning to find Spencer’s arms wrapped around him like he was the genius’s oversized teddy bear, and one of Spencer’s legs draped across him. 

Morgan had pushed the younger man off of him and apparently Spencer hadn’t even so much as stirred. It wasn’t even until a while later Morgan had filled him in on what he’d subconsciously done in his sleep. 

It was perfectly innocent. There was no more to it other than the fact that Spencer was painfully touch starved. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on how long exactly it had been since he’d had another warm body to share his bed with, but if he did he would be able to recite how long it had been down to the minute. 

It was an involuntary reaction. His subconscious must have gravitated him towards the body in his bed and held them without thought to who it was. In his unconscious mind, it didn’t matter who it was, just that he needed the comfort of holding somebody. 

He was glad Morgan hadn’t woken him because he would have been a hundred times more embarrassed if he had to remember his inappropriate middle of the night cuddle. 

While he relented to his own mortification, the rest of the team silently paired off. Garcia was quick to place her hand on Morgan’s arm, nabbing him as her roomie before anyone else had the chance.

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look of understanding and JJ smiled at Emily, the brunette nodding back at the blonde in response. 

Spencer felt his stomach coiling into thick knots as he let his eyes glance across the room and land on you who had also noticed the non-verbal agreements taking place. You met his gaze and offered him a meek half-smile.

“Guess you’re with me, Doc.” You got to your feet, grabbing your bag off the floor. 

You tried to hide the look of sheer delight from your eyes, tried to pretend that this wasn’t the best outcome to you. There had always been something about Spencer that you found magnetic, his brain intrigued you and he wasn’t at all hard on the eyes. 

Through five years of working together you had kept your little crush underwraps, your poker face was second to none. 

So you had to play it cool. You couldn’t show how utterly thrilled you were that the chips had fallen in your favour. 

One by one the rest of the team stood with their bags and collected their room keys from the kindly innkeeper and headed towards the staircase. 

You hung back for Spencer while he procured the key and with an awkward smile he followed you to the stairs.

“Good luck, mama.” Morgan smirked at you, clapping a hand down on your shoulder as you went to pass him by. “Pretty boy here is a secret cuddler.” 

“Morgan!” Spencer’s voice pitched, around five octaves higher than his usual cadence. 

“She’s gonna find out sooner or later, kid.” Morgan winked at the younger man, causing Spencer to turn beet red again. 

You shook your head with a soft laugh, averting your eyes away from Derek and towards the bottom step.

“Uh, thanks for the heads up. Goodnight.” You started up the stairs, hearing Spencer following behind you. 

You met him at the door to your room and stood aside so he could unlock it. Like the gentleman he was, he held it open for you to enter first. 

It was you who first noticed the initial problem. When Spencer sidled up next to you a moment later he saw it too. 

One bed. There was only one freaking bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He was quick to speak, dumping his go-bag on the dresser. 

“You’ll put your back out.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m not Rossi.” He scoffed, indignantly. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Spencer, your knee still hasn’t properly healed. I cannot in good conscience let you sleep on the floor.” 

“I’m fine,” he waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve been walking without my cane for months.” 

“With a limp.” You clucked. “If it makes you uncomfortable to share a bed, let me sleep on the floor, please?” 

“It is statistically improbable that I will let you sleep on the floor, Y/N.” He folded his arms across his chest in defiance. 

“Fine,” you shrugged. “It’s one night, Spence. We can share a bed can’t we?” 

For the third time in ten minutes, Spencer’s cheeks burned bright red with his embarrassment. 

“I, uh, you see…” he swallowed. “Morgan wasn’t lying about the cuddling thing. We had to share a bed once on a case and apparently I cuddled up to him in my sleep.” 

A smile tugged at your lips and you felt a little guilty given how mortified he looked. But honestly you thought it was incredibly adorable and plenty endearing.

Spencer was known for having an aversion to touch, always citing how many germs could be passed in a single handshake and how it was actually safer to kiss. So the thought of him hugging anyone made you smile, even if it was when he was asleep. 

“I just so happen to not totally hate that idea.” You tried to encourage him, not wanting him to be embarrassed. 

“Y-you don’t?” He stuttered with a frown. 

“It’s cute.” You smiled.

“I think the word you’re looking for is pathetic.” He sighed. “Who knows it might have just been a one off anyway. If you’re lucky, I’ll leave you alone.” 

Lucky? Some luck that would be. 

You hid your expression from him, the one that desperately loved the idea of him snuggling up to you in his sleep. You pushed it down, simply offering him a nod. 

You just might be disappointed if he didn’t cuddle you.

***

The two of you took turns in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and changing into your respective pyjamas. Usually you slept nude, or at the very least just in your panties, but thankfully you kept a pair of shorts and a tank top in your go-bag in case you ever found yourself in this position.

You were already in bed scrolling on your phone when Spencer stepped out of the bathroom. He wore a set of dark green flannel pyjama pants and a matching long sleeved top, buttoned right up to his neck. You smiled in amusement at him as he padded across the room.

“Why does it not surprise me one little bit that Doctor Spencer Reid even sleeps in a button down?” You giggled a little as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I get cold easily.” He shrugged, his back now to you. “And we are in Alaska.” 

You didn’t reply, simply watched him as he slid his legs under the sheets, his mismatched socks still adorned on his feet, and laid his long, messy hair on the pillow. He kept his back to you and he reached out and switched off the lamp.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispered, tucking one hand beneath his pillow. 

“Goodnight, Spence.” You smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes.

***

It was still dark out when you stirred in your sleep, eyes fluttering slightly as you pulled the duvet further up to your chin. You would have fallen straight back to sleep if it hadn’t been for the sensation of something heavily draped over your ribcage. 

You were on your back, the ceiling staring back at you when you opened your eyes. It was then you realised there was something hard between your head and the pillow. 

You looked to your side and blinked against the darkness, trying to adjust your vision. A messy head of hair was next to you on your pillow, so close you could feel the soft breath coming from parted lips tickling your face.

It was then you pieced together that the thing that was under your head and across your torso were one in the same: Spencer’s arms. One was tucked beneath you, holding you close to him while the other cautiously rested over you, just below your breasts. 

His right leg was bent at the knee, slung over your bare thighs. His whole body was pressed up against your side and it was then you registered that something hard was digging into your left hip…

Oh, your eyes widened. Oh. 

You looked back at the ceiling, body going rigid in Spencer’s arms. It certainly did not take someone with a genius level IQ to figure out what it was. 

You tried to ignore it, willed yourself to go back to sleep and put it behind you. Maybe you were still asleep, perhaps this was just a really vivid dream. In the morning you would pretend it never happened, not wanting to embarrass the poor man. 

But then the situation somehow grew even more awkward, if that were possible. Spencer nuzzled closer to you in his sleep, his face buried against your neck. His breathing started to grow frantic and his hold on you tightened. 

And then he moaned. 

Your stomach tightened at the delicious sound, equally trying to commit it to memory and forget it at the same time. But then it happened again, the sound deeper this time. There was no denying it was a moan of pleasure. 

The third time he made the sound it was followed by the whimpered utterance of the word fuck. 

And when his hips started to gesticulate, grinding his hardness against your hip, you had to do something. 

“Spence?” You hissed, wriggling in his arms. “Spencer, wake up!” 

His eyes shot open suddenly and he huffed out a breath. His eyes were hooded with his sleep, his plump lips parted in confusion. 

For a few moments he just laid there, not registering his position or the bulge in his pyjama pants. He simply stared blankly at you. 

“What happened?” He groaned sleepily. “Another body?” 

“No….no. Not work.” You swallowed. “I uh, I don’t really know how to say this so I’m just gonna say it…I think you were having a sex dream.” 

His eyes got really wide, really fast. As your words registered with him he also realised he was holding you, snuggled tightly against you. And at the same moment he also realised the part of his anatomy that had woken up long before his brain had. 

And it was pressing right against your side. 

He scrambled away from you suddenly, drawing all of his limbs close to his torso and burying his face into the pillow. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled against the cushion. “Fuck, I am so unbelievably sorry. I’m going to…” 

He trailed off and quickly rolled to the edge of the bed but you were faster and you managed to grab his arm before he made it out. 

“Spence, it’s fine. These things happen. Let’s just go back to sleep and forget it ever happened.” You gently guided him back to the mattress and he flopped onto his back. 

“This is somehow more humiliating than when I cuddled Morgan. At least then I didn’t have a, uh…yeah.” He shook his head, not willing to finish that sentence. 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Spencer. You were dreaming, and apparently it was a very good dream.” You couldn’t help but laugh, trying to cast light on the situation and make him feel less uncomfortable.

It had the opposite effect.

“I really don’t see how this is funny. I’m lonely ok? I’m so painfully lonely that the only kind of physical contact I can get with a woman is in my sleep.” He blurted out, his brain not quite awake enough to stop the words coming out of his mouth. 

The room fell silent. Spencer stared at the ceiling, you stared at the side of Spencer’s face. 

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to hear. Spencer never talked about dating or anything of the sort and although Morgan had speculated he just kept his exploits quiet, you were never so sure. 

Spencer was awkward and shy and had a hard time talking to anyone he didn’t know unless it was in statistics and facts. 

So it didn’t surprise you to find this out, but it did surprise you that Spencer was offering that information out to you. 

“I, uh…” you croaked. 

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that I had a sex dream about you but in my defence I can’t control my-”

“Hold up,” you cut him off, leaning up on your elbow so you could look at him properly. “Did you say you were dreaming about me?” 

His cheeks turned impossibly redder and he buried his face further into the pillow. 

“I assumed you knew that part. I thought you said…'' he wracked his brain.

No, you didn’t tell him he’d said your name. He’d added that part, assumed that you knew who he’d been dreaming about. Fuck. 

“You were dreaming about me.” You croaked, staring at what little of his face wasn’t covered by the pillow. 

“Y-yes.” He whispered. “As if the situation wasn’t already awkward enough. I can just go and sleep in the bathtub or something. The lobby even.” 

“Spence,” you gave his hair a gentle tug, trying to get him to look at you. 

Reluctantly he lifted his head and his eyes were wide and guilt ridden, his bottom lip cushioned between his teeth. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you…have you…” you couldn’t seem to finish that trail of thought. 

“Yes.” He clearly knew what you were trying to say. “It has happened before. More times than I care to admit right at this present moment.” 

“Oh.” You swallowed thickly. 

“So bathtub or lobby? How bad is this situation exactly? Does the bathroom put enough space between us or do I seriously need to leave the room entirely?” 

“My preference would be that you don’t go anywhere.” You confessed, causing Spencer to frown. “I mean, unless it’s closer to me.” 

“I…I’m not sure I understand.” 

“Sure you do.” You smiled, shuffling closer to him when he wouldn’t move. “The real thing will be so much better than even your wildest dreams, Spence.” 

An air of confidence washing over you, you finally got the chance to do something you’d been imagining for years and pressed your lips against his. 

He whimpered at the contact, momentarily dumbfounded by what was happening. But he soon managed to snap himself out of it and quickly took hold of your face and parted your lips with his tongue. 

As he deepened the kiss he rolled himself on top of you, already straining at the front of his flannel pants again. This time he was happy to roll his hips against you, really allowing you to feel him. 

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound down into his lungs. He held your face with care but the kiss was all frantic tongues and the clashing of teeth. 

It was years worth of pent up sexual tension for which neither of you had ever realised the other felt too, all spilling forth against the others lips. 

You wrapped your arms around his waist, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of his pyjama shirt, he moaned into the kiss when your hands glided over his back, across his shoulder blades and back down his spine. 

His own hands wandered at the same time his tongue hungrily explored every crevice of your mouth. His touch was featherlight down your biceps and forearms before falling towards your torso and following your lead, under the hem of your shirt. 

His finger brushed delicately over the sides of your ribs, up and down and up and down the skin, his fingertips making a mental note of how every dip and curve felt beneath them. 

His teeth grazed against your bottom lip before nibbling on it lightly and then pulling away. He sat back and looked down at you, your hands dislodging from under his shirt.

His pupils were blown out wide and his lips were puffy and red. His chest heaved his haggard breaths while he fought for air. 

You smiled up at him, reaching for the top button of his pyjama shirt. He let your deft fingers do their work, popping each button in turn and moving lower and lower down his abdomen. 

When the final button was undone he shucked the material off his shoulders and tossed it aside. His long curls hung around his face, framing him perfectly and you didn’t think anyone had ever looked as delicious as he did right now. 

His own hands brushed under your tank top again, palm flush against your stomach for a moment or two before he hooked his fingers in the fabric and started drawing it upwards. 

He let out a feral moan as he peeled the top away to reveal your bare breasts beneath. You helped him get it over your head and it soon joined Spencer’s shirt on the floor. 

He was open mouth staring at you, not even trying to hide it. You rolled your eyes with a soft chuckle, reaching for him and pulling him close.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” You spoke as you kissed him again. “Never seen a pair of tits before?” 

“None that magnificent, that's for certain.” He mumbled in reply. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere Doctor Reid.” Your hands moved to cup his clothed ass. 

“Fuck,” he hummed, rolling his hips against you. “Keep calling me Doctor Reid and it’ll be over before it begins.”

You laughed at the insinuation, wrapping your arms around him and expertly managing to flip you both over so his back was to the mattress and you were straddling his hips. 

His hair splayed out against the pillow and from this angle you were able to get a good look at what the good doctor was hiding in his pants. 

You involuntarily hissed at the sight and his eyes never left your chest. His hands were pawing at your hips, cloying at the fabric of your shorts. 

You raised your eyes to his face and waited for him to meet your gaze. When he did you made a show of grinding down against his lap, his mouth falling open as a moan erupted from his lungs. 

The friction caused by his pants rubbing against him was nice in a way but he would much rather a different kind of friction. 

He reached for your neck, pulling you closer so your bare chests crashed together and he kissed you deeply. 

You continued to grind against him, feeling his hard member between your legs and wishing for fewer clothes to be in the way. 

But before you could think about helping him undress further, Spencer’s hungry fingers were trailing up your thigh and grazing beneath the leg of your shorts. 

His hand wove higher, he could feel the heat emanating from your core. His fingertips lightly brushed against your pubic bone and you whined into his mouth. 

“Is that what you want?” He spoke against your lips, his other hand gripping the back of your neck tightly. 

“P-please…” you whimpered, nibbling on his lip and trying to move yourself closer to his waiting fingers.

Spencer chuckled almost darkly, brushing his fingers over the same spot. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” He whispered as your lips latched against his neck, sucking deep marks in his flesh. 

“About as long as I have. Please Spencer, please for the love of god!” 

The way you moaned so desperately for him made his head spin, no one had ever reacted like this for him. 

He inched his fingers nearer to where you wanted them, but as he was about to give you everything you’d been waiting for, an ear piercing scream reverberated in the room. 

You fell back as Spencer sat up, ears pricked and waiting in silence that now shrouded the room. Seconds passed that felt like hours until you both heard it again. 

“Help! Somebody please help!” 

“Is that…?” Spencer’s chest heaved in panic. 

“Penelope!” 

The two of you were suddenly out of bed and on your feet, scampering around to dress as quickly as possible. You threw a pair of jeans over your shorts, foregoing your tank top and tossing on a sweater instead before your coat. 

Spencer grabbed his pyjama shirt and fought with the buttons whilst stuffing his feet inside his converse. He grabbed his jacket and scarf on his way to the door, before quickly doubling back and picking up his revolver. 

You got your firearm as well, toeing on your boots as they two of you quickly dashed from the room. In the corridor you saw Morgan ahead of you, running towards the stairs. 

“You heard it too?” You asked as you ran to catch him. 

“You bet your ass I did.” Morgan hurried down the stairs with you in hot pursuit. “Pretty boy, wake the others. Y/N and I will check it out.” 

Spencer nodded though no one was looking at him. He fell back, his hand holding the gun dropping to his side as he made his way back to the other rooms.

His head was still spinning, dizzy with the lust from previous moments ago. Maybe this was a sign to him not to cross that line with his friend. The line was blurred, sure, but not yet so much as it couldn’t be rectified. 

All he could hope was that he hadn’t destroyed your friendship to the point of no return. 

You followed Morgan hurriedly towards the front door of the inn, guns pointed in front of you. You could still feel an electric current pulsing through your veins from Spencer’s touch, your lips still tingled from his kiss. 

You pushed it aside as a blast of frigid air hit you when Morgan opened the door and the two of you descended the front steps. 

“Help! Someone help!” Cried Penelope off in the distance. 

Morgan’s head whipped around almost three hundred and sixty degrees, eyes taking in the dark landscape to find what he was looking for. 

“Over there!” He barked, nodding his head towards two silhouettes in the trees. 

He quickened his pace, so did you. 

You found Garcia on her knees on the ground over the dead body of a man. She had tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth hung open.

“I…and he…and then…”

“It’s ok baby girl,” Morgan crouched down next to her, stuffing his gun in the back of his jeans and helping her to her feet. 

You tucked your own gun away, leaning over the body and placing your index and middle finger to the side of his neck. 

No pulse. You didn’t think it needed to be spoken out loud. 

Garcia was sobbing, head buried against Morgan’s strong chest while he held her. The sound of crunching leaves alerted you to your company and you spun around to see the rest of the team running your way. 

Hotch and Rossi still wore their usual daytime attire but JJ and Emily wore sweats under large coats. Spencer looked an absolute picture in his pyjamas, coat and scarf hanging limply from his neck. 

He briefly made eye contact with you, but you broke it swiftly, glancing over at your boss who looked even more annoyed than usual. 

“Get her inside.” Hotch spoke to Morgan. “Someone call the sheriff.” 

Emily pulled her cell phone out and stepped away to make the call. 

“He knew we were staying here. This was a big risk.” Rossi huffed, glancing at the faces around him and lingering a little longer on Spencer. “Kid, why do you look so flustered?”

Spencer’s eyes widened and you saw him swallow thickly. You looked away, focused on the body on the floor. 

“I…” he squeaked, rolling his lip between his teeth. “I’m fine.” 

And if anyone noticed his voice was several octaves higher than usual, they kindly didn’t say anything. 

***

Over an hour later you all trudged back inside from the cold. The coroner had taken the body away and you would continue your investigation in the morning. 

Penelope was fraught, never having seen a dead body in real life let alone having to witness someone die. Morgan tried to keep her calm but even he couldn’t bring her back from this spiral.

When she stormed upstairs you all watched her go. Morgan looked over at you, his eyes asking you questions before his words did. 

“Can you…?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded. 

You moved past the others towards the stairs, you hadn’t so much as looked at Spencer in the last hour. He tried to make eye contact with you as you walked by but you kept your gaze forward.

Once you were up the stairs, Morgan sidled up to Spencer who was still watching you walk away. 

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been looking like a lost puppy for the last hour?” He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man. 

“What? I’m not! I’m…tired. I was sleeping when I heard Garcia.” Spencer averted his gaze.

“I hope that isn’t true.” Morgan scoffed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer frowned looking back at him. 

“It means,” JJ stepped forward, an amused smile on her lips. “We’ve all spent the last five years trying to get you and Y/N to see what the rest of us can see.”

“And what’s that?” He turned to JJ. 

“Oh please.” Emily chuckled. “You think we don’t notice the tension between the two of you? Morgan’s been single handedly trying to get the two of you to bone for years.” 

Spencer’s cheeks instantly turned red and he felt his chest tighten with his embarrassment. 

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned his back on them and headed for the stairs.

“Go get her lover boy.” Morgan called after him and they all fell about laughing while Spencer shrunk away. 

He was at least glad you hadn’t been privy to that. But he didn’t relish the idea of seeing you right now, that would surely be one awkward encounter. 

***

You found Penelope pacing the length of her and Derek’s room, muttering under her breath frantically. 

You cautiously entered, not wanting to startle her. 

“I watched him die.” She spoke when she saw you. “I watched him take his last breath, Y/N.” 

“I know.” You nodded slowly, coming close to your friend and placing your hands on her shoulders. “I can’t imagine how scary that was for you.” 

“I just…” she whined a little. “When I was shot, all I could think was that if I die the last face I’m ever going to see is the man who killed me. I didn’t want that for him.” 

“You’re too good for this world, Penny.” You squeezed her shoulders. 

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to sleep again.” She pulled free of your hold and started pacing again. “Tell me something, anything. Something to distract me.” 

“Uh…” you scratched the back of your head. “You did everything you could to help him?” 

“No, not that. Not about this.” She quickened her pace, arms flailing about as she walked. 

“Uh…I’m pretty sure after tonight you can get Morgan to spoon you. All you need to do is tell him how scared you were.” You tried again. 

“As delicious as that sounds, I don’t think Kevin would be too pleased about that.” She was a blur of colour, like a rainbow flying through the sky. “Please Y/N, I need to think of something other than this horrible night.”

Goddamnit. 

You had the exact thing she was looking for, the perfect piece of information to take her mind off of this. 

Goddamnit, here goes nothing. 

“I almost slept with Spencer tonight.” You blurted out before you could change your mind. 

As expected she immediately stopped pacing, halting in her tracks and glaring wide eyed at you. Her mouth hung open like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, awkwardly waiting for her to say something. Slowly she stepped closer to you, eyebrows raising towards her hairline. 

“You…and boy wonder?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s about time!” She slapped your bicep and you growled at the impact. “Wait…did you say almost?” 

“Yeah, we didn’t quite get that far.” You rubbed your arm from her assault.

“Why not?” She sounded incredulous. 

“Because…the screaming? The cries for help?” You huffed. 

“I…I ruined your first time with Reid?” She gasped. “No, no that won’t do. You are going to march back to your room and resume all previous activities. Right now.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” You shook your head. 

“Why?”

“It was a dumb idea, Pen. We’re friends, we work together.” You sighed deeply.

“Friends who are utterly infatuated with one another and have been for the past five years.” She clucked. 

“Guess my poker face isn’t as good as I thought it was.” 

“It is not. You make heart eyes at him every time he walks into a room. And he’s just as bad!” Garcia sounded exasperated. “Go to him. Finish what you started. For the love of all things pink and sparkly.” 

“Penny, I love you but it’s not gonna happen.” You shrugged. “I’m not ruining one of my closest friendships for one night of passion.” 

“Ok…I do not like thinking of boy genius and the word passion in the same sentence.” She pulled a face. “That’s like thinking of my brother…gross.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way her body shuddered at the thought. You were pleased at least you had managed to get her to calm down. 

“You gonna be ok if I go?” You smiled at her. 

“Morgan will probably be up soon, I’m sure he can protect me.” She smiled back. “Just let him down gently ok? Reid is fragile.” 

You rolled your eyes, backing away to the door. 

“Goodnight, Penelope.” You blew her a kiss as you opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. 

Across the hall your own door loomed. Your chest tightened as you pushed forward, hoping Spencer may already be asleep so as to avoid an awkward conversation. 

But you knew he wouldn’t be and that was confirmed when you entered your room and found him sitting on the edge of the bed as if waiting for you. 

He looked up from where he’d been staring at his lap when he heard the door close. He pushed himself to his feet, his jaw set tightly. 

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” He blurted out suddenly. 

“Me either.” You agreed, stepping closer to him as you got out of your jacket. 

You unsheathed your firearm and laid it on the dresser next to Spencer’s. 

“But uh…” he frowned, fighting an internal battle with his own thoughts. “Friendships are overrated right? I have plenty of friends…”

“Way too many friends.” You smiled and nodded as he reached for you, large hands cupping your face. 

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He whispered and then proceeded to crash your lips together. 

You immediately parted your lips and his tongue slid inside of your mouth while he pulled you back to the bed. You both fell to the mattress, you on top of him while never breaking the kiss. 

He didn’t want to waste a second, didn’t want to risk being pulled away from you again and so his hands quickly found the hem of your sweater and helped you out of it. 

You got his buttons undone and he guided you with a hand on your back, down to the mattress. He slipped the garment off of his shoulders and rolled himself on top of you, kissing you again. 

His hands wandered down your torso to the button of your jeans. His lips trailed to your neck and brushed along your collarbones. 

They moved lower, down to your right breast where he placed kisses on the swell of it before moving on and taking your hard nipple in his mouth. 

You moaned and bucked your hips to meet his erection in his pyjama pants. He popped the button on your jeans and you helped him shimmy them down your legs. 

When his lips moved to your neglected breast, you reached out and blindly groped him through his pants. He grinded against your hand, moaning around your nipple. 

His large hand glided back across the plains of your stomach before inching lower. His fingertips brushed over the waistband of your panties before disappearing beneath the fabric. 

His index finger located your clit and pressed firmly against it, another moan erupting from your chest. He pulled back from your nipple and looked down at you with a sinful smirk. 

He started rubbing deft circles between your legs, his nimble finger a thing of magic. Wanting to return the favour, your own hand slipped inside of his pants and you grasped the base of his cock in your hand. 

He moaned deeply, his finger working more frantically as you started to stroke him. He met your gaze, his lips parted and soft moans escaping between them. 

“F-fuck.” He stuttered, moving his finger from your clit and running it through your folds, collecting your arousal on his digit. 

His middle finger joined his index and pressed against your entrance. You increased your movement on his shaft as he pushed them slowly inside of you. 

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered as you clenched around him. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Why the fuck have we never done this before?” He whined, pushing his fingers as deeply inside of you as he possibly could.

You whimpered, bucking your hips against him as he moved in and out of you hurriedly and your strokes of his member were becoming frantic. 

His head was already leaking with pre-cum and you swiped your thumb through it causing an animalistic growl to leave Spencer’s mouth. 

It was too much and not enough all at once. You needed more, you needed everything. 

His fingers slammed into you roughly, the sounds of your slickness filling the room. You twisted your fist as it moved up and down his cock and he was snapping his hips back and forth, practically fucking your hand. 

“Fuck…I don’t suppose you have a condom?” You panted, desperate to feel more of him. 

“Uh, embarrassingly yes I do.” He nodded, his cheeks flushing a little. 

“Why is that embarrassing?” You slowed your pace and Spencer slowly removed his fingers from inside of you. 

“It seems…presumptuous? It wasn’t like…I didn’t think…it’s not like that I swear. It’s, uh, a long story.” He stood up, locating his wallet on the dresser and unsheathing the small golden foil packet from inside. 

“I believe you, Doc.” You smiled at him as you shimmed out of your panties. 

Spencer’s mouth fell open at the sight of you laid bare for him. His hands started to tremble as he moved them to the waistband of his flannel pants. 

He wouldn’t look at you as he pulled them over his hips, down his legs and kicked them off of his feet. 

When he did look back at you, you were staring right at his crotch. 

Your chest heaved with frantic breaths and you were rolling your lip between your teeth. 

“Good god, Reid.” You smirked. “I need you like yesterday.” 

He shuddered at the desperation in your voice and shakily ripped the condom wrapper over. He moved closer to the bed again, holding the base of his shaft in one hand and rolling the rubber over his tip with the other. 

You spread your legs for him, welcoming him between them and wrapping them around his waist. He leant on his hands either side of your head, the veins in his arms pulsing as he held his weight above you. 

He eyed your face, an almost delicate smile on his lips and you weren’t sure what it meant. 

“What is it?” You asked him, reaching up to tuck his long hair behind his ears. 

“You’re sure about this?” He asked softly. 

“Very. Aren’t you?” 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He breathed. “But I really don’t want things to change between us.”

“Spence,” you brushed your knuckles across his cheek. “Things have already changed between us. But not in a bad way.” 

Linking your hands at the base of his neck you drew him close for a kiss. He moaned into your lips and you felt him finally pressing between your legs. 

He held his shaft again and guided him where he needed to be, his blunt head penetrating you, stretching you to accommodate him. 

He slowly sank into you, a long and shaky breath leaving his lungs. Inch by inch he ebbed deeper, your walls fluttering against him as your body made room for him. 

When he bottomed out he stilled, glancing between your bodies at where he was now sheathed inside of you. The look on his face was pure bliss, as though nothing in the world had ever felt this good to him. 

He lowered himself onto his forearms as he drew his hips backwards painfully slowly. But then he surprised you by roughly thrusting back into you. 

After that there was no holding him back, like a man possessed he started fucking you hard and fast into the mattress. 

He pounded against your cervix with each thrust, kissing you with a newfound ferocity. The room was encompassed by the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans which were being swallowed by the other's mouth. 

He already knew he wouldn’t last long, but that was ok. He didn’t plan on this being the only time he fucked you tonight. 

It was completely unexpected, out of the blue for the mild mannered doctor to be such a stallion. But it was electrifying, dizzying, the way in which he pounded into you like his life depended on it yet kissed with such gentle passion.

Resting all of his weight on one arm, his other hand manoeuvred between your sweat slicked bodies and his finger pressed deftly against your clit again. 

He started rubbing intricate circles on your bud, hips still snapping back and forth, stretching your walls around his length. 

He had a few beads of sweat trickling down his forehead which was scrunched up much like his nose was. 

His chest was flushed beet red and his left arm which was holding him up shook with the exertion. 

Your legs tightened around his waist, walls clenching around his cock. A combination of his rough thrusts and ministrations on your clit we’re bringing you rapidly spiralling towards your orgasm. 

You assumed by the look in his face that he was close too and by the way in which he started to lose his rhythm a little, his thrusts becoming a little frantic. 

You drew him in for another kiss. It was slightly messy, teeth clashing together and tongues fighting their way into the other's mouth. 

He moaned deeply against your lips, his finger now rubbing against you rampantly.

“I’m s-so close.” He mumbled. “Can’t…don’t think I can…”

“Me too.” You agreed as you felt the tightening in the pit of your stomach. “Don’t stop. So close, don’t stop!” 

And he didn’t. 

The pressure was building and between his cock burying deep inside of you and his finger never letting up on your clit, you teetered on the brink. 

And then as if a volcano erupted, you reached your peak, moaning into Spencer’s mouth as your body convulsed beneath him. 

He felt you clenching around him as you came, causing a pressure to shoot through his member. He thrust deep one last time and whimpered as he felt the come shooting from his head in ropes, filling the condom. 

His hips continued to buck lazily as if he simply couldn’t get enough of this feeling. His hand fell from its spot between your legs and he collapsed on top of you, panting and sweat slicked. 

You could feel his heavy breaths as his chest moved against yours, could feel his heart erratically beating at his rib cage. 

He nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath fanning across your skin. His hips were still rolling, grinding against you not ready to stop despite how worn out he was. 

You stroked his cheek and moved your head so you could kiss him sleepily. He mumbled something incoherent against your lips. 

Eventually his movements stilled briefly before he cautiously pulled out of you. He rolled onto his back and peeled the condom from his softening member, tying a knot in the end and tossing it lazily in the general direction of the trash can. 

He shuffled a little, his arm finding his way beneath your head how you’d found it when you woke up in the night. 

You curled into him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the still slightly erratic beating of his heart. 

“I never like being friends anyway.” He mumbled, making you giggle. 

“Me either.” You slung your arm around his waist. “Whatever this is, it’s so much better.” 

He placed a kiss of agreement in your hair and snuggled closer to you as his eyes fluttered closed. 

He decided, as he drifted off to sleep, being a secret sleep cuddler maybe wasn’t so bad after all. 

***

Down the hall, Morgan flopped on the armchair in his and Penelope’s room, eyeing the blonde as she stared at her laptop screen. 

“What a night huh?” He ran his hand over his head. 

“Yah huh.” She nodded, bouncing a little in the bed as she did so. 

“You seem oddly chipper. Y/N manage to take your mind off of things?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“Something like that.” A small smirk played at the corner of her mouth.

Derek sat up straight, scrutinising her curiously. 

“Spill.”

“What?” Her eyes snapped away from the screen and over at Morgan. The guilt was written all over her face. 

“You think I don’t know when you’re hiding something, baby girl? Spill.” He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs. 

Penelope huffed out a breath, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise.” He frowned. 

“I think…I think Y/N  and Spencer might be…you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

Morgan’s eyes widened as he stared at her. 

“No way.”

“Yes way. Apparently they almost and then, you know, everything happened. But I’m hoping that they picked up where they left off.” She was grinning from ear to ear and it must have been contagious because a smile broke out on Morgan’s face too. 

“My man.” He smiled brightly, a glint of something in his eyes. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I too know when you’re hiding something Derek. Now you spill.” Garcia eyed him up, Morgan’s smile only grew. 

“I’m just happy is all,” he beamed in amusement. “And I’m really glad I made up that story about him cuddling up to me in his sleep now.” 

“You did what?” Garcia gasped, wide eyed. 

“It started as a prank, just to wind him up a bit, embarrass him. And I thought if I brought it up tonight it would put ideas in his subconscious. Guess it worked.” Derek looked exceedingly pleased with himself. 

“Derek Morgan, you are evil! Pure evil.” Penelope cackled, shaking her head at her chocolate thunder and his mischievous ways. 

“I was just giving him a nudge in the right direction, he needs all the help he can get.” He grinned happily, pushing himself up and sighing wistfully. 

“True, I love Reid and Y/N but they are so oblivious sometimes.” Garcia shut her laptop screen and laid back against the pillows. 

Her eyes closed and as such she didn’t see the playful look spread to his eyes as his smile somehow grew, encompassing his entire face. 

“And with any luck,” Morgan shuffled to the bed made up on the floor. “Pretty boy still had that condom I gave him.” 

[xoluvx]

lunch; b.eilish .˚₊✩ part one ✩₊˚.

i'm interested in more than just bein' your friend

"Are you sure you're not gay?" you joked shoving the brunette sitting next to you. She'd just reached over to double tap your screen on what was very clearly a thirst trap. In your defense, you were gay as fuck so beautiful women on your feed was not a rarity.

"I just appreciate beautiful women," your best friend shrugged with a 'don't blame me' look.

You locked your phone and let it fall somewhere on the couch turning to face her with a serious look on your face.

"No, but seriously..." your voice trailed off as your arm rested on the couch's back rest. Billie looked at you with those eyes anyone could easily get lost in. "Are you gay?" you asked again and she chuckled licking her teeth. The action caused her already plump lips to protrude a smidge more so who could blame you for letting your eyes linger on them a second too long.

"I don't think so," she stated. "I've rode more dick than I've seen vaginas," she added. You couldn't help but chuckle at that one. She was always a smart mouth.

"I'm your best friend, you know you can tell me anything right?" You took her hands forcing her to look at you. You stared into her eyes again and she stirred, furrowing her brows.

"Is this an intervention or what?" she joked opening her eyes wide, making a face that lightened the mood. She squeezed your hands before letting go.

"I'm just saying...it's okay to like boys and girls," you emphasized the girls part just for her.

You weren't trying to be pushy. Far from it. You were actually just trying to be supportive. You'd noticed the way her eyes lingered on certain girls before. You also noticed how intrigued she was whenever you told her about a hook-up. So your brain was naturally trying to fill in the gaps. And your gaydar was rarely wrong.

After a moment of silence, she cleared her throat.

"How would I know if I like girls?" she wasn't looking at you. She was twirling her practically empty cup. The smoothie you'd made her was mostly gone.

Your mouth fell open slightly and you swallowed. That was a good question. You'd never really questioned if you liked girls. You just saw them and your heart did that weird fluttering thing that you assumed was suppose to happen when you looked at a boy.

"Shit," you mumbled and shrugged. "I guessss," your voice trailed off and she finally turned to look at you as if you were going to let her in on a piece of information she'd been missing her whole life.

"I guess-," you started again scooting closer to her.

"You know you like girls-," you swallowed now touching her knee with your own. The slightest touch now made your heart beat faster. "-if they make your heart flutter," you stated watching her look at you with those beautiful blue eyes.

"If you feel like you're going to burst into butterflies-" your voice was low as you inched closer. Her own body leaned into yours curiously. "-when they touch you like this." Your finger traced the side of her face pushing a tendril of hair behind her ear.

"What else?" Billie's voice was shaky. Her hands were clammy from hearing your voice. There was a shift in the energy. Suddenly, your voice was the only thing she wanted to hear.

"You melt when they hold your hand," you added running your fingers down her arm until they were locked with hers. Billie watched your fingers entwined on her lap and the gravitational pull grew stronger.

Your faces were centimeters apart, eyes searching for answers. Answers to questions you weren't sure you should've been asking right now. Not with your best friend at least.

When your foreheads touched, you swallowed hard and Billie bit her lip.

"What are we doing?" you whispered closing your eyes feeling her nose brush your own. You didn't want to open your eyes. You didn't want this to be a dream. But you also weren't ready to ruin your friendship. You didn't want this to make things awkward.

"Teach me," Billie murmured.

Were you hearing correctly? Teach her? Your best friend. Teach her what? How to be gay?

"I want to know what it feels like," her voice was soft as she answered your unspoken questions.

"What what feels like?" your chest was rising and falling rapidly. You felt like the oxygen in the room was dwindling and the muffled murmuring of the tv playing in the background was now making your ears ring.

"To be with a girl," she replied. This time she swallowed hard and your lips brushed for a brief second. You pulled away abruptly getting up from the couch. You ran a hand over your face, inhaling deeply.

"I'm sorry," Billie stood up as well. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" she was frantic. Did she just fuck up your friendship? She didn't mean to. She didn't want to lose you.

"Okay," you bit your lip nervously. "Okay, I'll teach you."

Billie's eyes lit up.

"Just don't go falling in love with me," you teased. Billie’s shoulders relaxed. She rolled her eyes, but pulled you in for a hug.

"I'm already in love with you," she joked. Her arms still wrapped tightly around you as your bodies tumbled onto the couch.

"Kiss me," Billie's voice was still laced with goofiness as she grabbed the back of your head playfully trying to kiss you. You laughed harder pushing her away teasingly. She peppered your face with kisses and you giggled. But that silly little flutter in your chest was still present.

It wouldn't be so bad. There was nothing wrong in helping someone figure out their sexuality, right? Especially your best friend. Who you loved and adored more than anything...

At least that's what you were telling yourself to justify how much you actually wanted this.

part two

.˚₊✩ masterlist ✩₊˚.

[redvexillum]

A/N: Big Smoll Sad.

SUMMARY: You are a once-celebrated painter, your glory long faded and your passion for art extinguished. That is, until you meet an enigmatic man named Luci, who sparks something inside you that you thought was lost forever.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human reader, devil!lucifer, lucifer is still hung up on lilith, lucifer in the human world, emotional smut, p in v, implied suicide, reader is an artist, this is still smutmas cuz the banner says so uwu

These days, the world blurs into an indistinct haze, a cacophony of shapes and sounds dissolving into the murky canvas of your mind. Faces, once vivid and meaningful, bleed away like rain washing over a forgotten oil painting—its vibrant hues smeared into lifeless swirls of muddy browns and bruised blacks, spiralling endlessly until only the void remains. The warmth and colour of life have long fled, leaving you adrift in a landscape of shadows, a ghost wandering streets that no longer seem to belong to you. You search, desperate, for that elusive spark—the incandescent flame that once ignited your soul and commanded the awe of countless spectators. 

But the spark never comes. It’s as though some divine hand had once granted you a finite wellspring of brilliance, only to cruelly empty it when you needed it most. You are hollow now, an artist reduced to a shell of their former self, withering under the weight of your own irrelevance. Your fingers tremble as they trace lines meant to evoke wonder, but every stroke feels misplaced, every attempt an abomination. The canvas mocks you with its lifelessness, each brushstroke a reminder of what you once were and can never be again. You clutch at fragments of your past triumphs, their glow dimmed by time, yet even their memory cuts deeper than any blade. A prodigy no longer; you are forgotten, decaying in the shadow of the glory that has long since turned to ash. 

The familiar bell jingled as you stumbled into the card shop once again, your movements robotic, rehearsed. The shopkeeper glanced up briefly, his expression blank before he returned to sorting inventory, dismissing you as just another nuisance. He didn’t need to say it aloud—you were the unpaying regular, an unremarkable ghost haunting his space. Without fail, you gravitated to the same display rack: rows of garish cards depicting ducks in absurd costumes. 

There they were—pirate ducks, wizard ducks, detective ducks—all locked in cartoonish battles for supremacy. Duck Battle. The game that bore your fingerprints, your long nights, your fleeting dreams. It was a runaway success, a pop-culture juggernaut that earned you enough royalties to live comfortably. 

And yet, the thought of it felt like swallowing acid. 

Your gaze settled on one card, the cheerful caricature of a duck in a jester’s hat. Its painted eyes stared back, unblinking, its crooked smile warped into cruel mockery. A sudden tightness seized your throat, invisible hands wrapping around your neck with the weight of unspoken expectations. Your parents’ faces surfaced in your mind, their quiet disappointment etched into every wrinkle, their smiles brittle under the strain of politeness. 

Breathe. You reminded yourself. 

But the air felt paper-thin, each inhalation shallow, scraping against the walls of your lungs. Tears prickled at the edges of your vision, hot and traitorous, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, swallowing the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stand still. No one could see this weakness—not here, not anywhere. 

Your fingernails dug into your forearms, the sting sharp and grounding, a desperate tether to the present. Slowly, the world sharpened, the dull haze retreating just enough to let you see. But the ache remained, burrowing deep. 

Masahiro Yokotani’s words drifted through your mind like an unwelcome whisper: “When you’re ten, they call you a prodigy. When you’re fifteen, they call you a genius. But once you hit twenty, you’re just a normal person.” 

A normal person. 

Being ordinary wasn’t inherently wrong. It wasn’t a curse, not for most. But for you, it was a sentence, a punishment for daring to matter once, for daring to believe you were special. Your success was the only currency you had ever known—the only thing that earned you love, admiration, or even the illusion of belonging. 

Without it, who were you?

Your fists clenched, trembling with suppressed anger as the jester duck continued to grin, mocking you. For a fleeting moment, you wanted to rip the cards from the rack, scatter them across the floor, destroy them one by one until they were nothing but shreds of paper and ink. You wanted to scream, to rage against the machine that had turned your passion into a product. 

But what good would it do? 

Somewhere along the way, the success you’d once celebrated had become a cage. The art you’d poured your soul into was no longer yours. It was a commodity, stripped of meaning, stripped of you. People didn’t see the blood, the sleepless nights, the fleeting moments of joy. 

All they saw was a game. 

A product to consume. 

To discard. 

To forget. 

If you couldn’t amaze them, if you couldn’t create the next masterpiece, you were nothing. 

And if you couldn’t meet their expectations, fulfill their demands... 

You were less than nothing. 

The thought wrapped around your mind like frost, numbing, relentless. 

You weren’t talented. 

You were just lucky. 

You weren’t creative. 

You had connections. 

You weren’t special. 

You were nothing worth keeping. Nothing worth loving. 

Your breath came slower now, shallow and cold. A shiver coursed through you, though you weren’t sure if it was from the temperature or the weight pressing down on your chest.  

Like clockwork, you turned to leave, your movements mechanical, resigned. But just as your hand brushed the door, a figure caught your eye—a man stepping past you with an air of quiet purpose. His hair was a cascade of gold, catching the pale shop light like threads of sunlight, and his eyes were startlingly blue, the kind of vivid sapphire that seemed to hold secrets of oceans untold. 

He moved straight to the duck cards. 

It was almost comical, the way he held a cloth basket with casual confidence, scooping up deck after deck as though stocking for an army of duck enthusiasts. He plucked every box of booster packs from the display, piling them into his basket without a second thought. You blinked, stunned, your lips parting as you struggled to process the absurdity of the scene before you. 

“Hey, leave some for the others,” the shopkeeper grumbled, his voice gruff with annoyance. 

The interruption jolted you into noticing the man behind the counter for the first time in months. His wiry frame and sallow complexion struck you in their starkness, his dark, greasy hair hanging limp around his face. It was strange—how had you been coming here for years without ever truly seeing him? 

“Oh, r-right,” the blonde man stammered, a sheepish smile curving his lips. His attire was... peculiar. He wore a pristine white three-piece suit, his vest adorned with red and white stripes that ended in a dramatic two-tailed flourish. He stood out like a figure from a different world, but it was his eyes that mesmerized you most—jewel-like and shimmering, their hues shifting like sunlight on rippling water. 

Your fingers twitched. That long-dead ember inside you flickered, faint but undeniable. 

The man’s lips pursed as if in thought, and with exaggerated care, he removed a single booster pack from his basket and placed it back on the counter. Not a box, but one lone pack. The absurdity of the gesture bubbled up in your chest, breaking free as a soft, unguarded laugh. 

The sound startled you—it felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. But it also startled him. His head snapped in your direction, his cheeks flushing as his eyes dropped, uncharacteristically shy. 

Something shifted in you then, fragile yet profound, like the crack of ice revealing the flowing river beneath. 

Summoning a hesitant smile, you stepped forward, reaching for the lone booster pack. Your hand brushed the tin foil wrapper, and for the first time in months, you held it without bitterness. “I’d like to buy this,” you said, your voice rasping from disuse. 

The shopkeeper raised a brow but said nothing, punching the numbers into the register. 

“$6.21,” he said flatly. 

You handed him the money, feeling the booster pack’s weight in your hands—and for once, the bitter feeling of wanting to rip it to shred was absent within you.

As you stepped outside, the winter air nipped at your skin, sharp and biting. You lingered near the door, the booster pack clutched tightly in your hands, its glossy surface catching the faint sunlight. The art you had poured countless agonizing hours began to surface in your mind, the colours dulling as memories of your efforts melted away like candle wax under flame. 

Then, the sharp chime of the shop’s bell rang out, pulling you from your spiral. The man stepped out, his bag stuffed to the brim with his purchases. 

“Uhm,” you called, the word catching in your throat. 

He turned, his expression open and curious. When his gaze met yours, his lips curved into a gentle smile. “What’s up,kiddo?” 

You faltered, your brows furrowing. He didn’t look much older than you, so the greeting felt oddly misplaced. Still, you thrust the booster pack toward him, your fingers trembling slightly. “H-here,” you stammered, your gaze skittering from his eyes to the scuffed tips of his black boots, then down to the icy ground. “Y-you’d probably enjoy this m-more than me.” 

His expression softened, surprise flickering across his features. “A-are you sure?” he asked, hesitant. 

You could only nod, your throat too tight for words. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet his. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking the pack with a reverence that made your chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely painful. 

You felt it—the fleeting warmth of his fingers brushing yours as he took the pack. It was barely a second, but it left an impression, highlighting the chill that seeped into your bones on this cold winter day. “W-well, I-I hope you enjoy,” you murmured, your voice faltering as you prepared to turn away, to retreat as you always did. 

But his voice stopped you. 

“W-wait.” 

Your body stiffened, your breath catching. Slowly, you turned back, your gaze lifting cautiously. His smile was gentle, inviting, radiating a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes. “D-do you want to open them together?” he asked, his grin broadening, something so bright in his expression that it reminded you of the sun breaking through storm clouds. 

It had been so long since anyone had asked to spend time with you. 

And your time—your energy—always felt so fleeting. 

Still, with a shaky smile and a flutter of nerves in your chest, you nodded. Heat crept up your cheeks, embarrassing in its intensity. You worried—panicked, even. Would he find you dull? Would he regret inviting someone like you, someone who had nothing to offer except the remnants of a fading career? 

You hoped, desperately, that he wouldn’t. 

You walked side by side with the stranger, whose name you now knew as Luci. His voice was light, brimming with enthusiasm as he shared bits of himself—his love for ducks, his daughter, his wife. You listened, half-focused, half-distracted by the echo of warnings ingrained in your mind: don’t follow strangers; it’s dangerous.

Yet, you wondered. If he were to hurt you, would it even matter? 

You brushed the thought aside as his warmth began to melt your trepidation, his words weaving a strange sense of comfort around you. His anecdotes were simple, endearing, and as he spoke about his family, an ache blossomed deep in your chest. 

Jealousy, sharp and bitter, coiled through you. What would it feel like to be loved like that? To be cherished so completely, so unconditionally? 

Your thoughts strayed to your own parents, and you felt it again—the invisible noose tightening around your throat. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to yield. You forced a bright smile onto your face, desperate to focus on him, on his words, his expressive gestures, the way his eyes gleamed like cut gemstones catching the light. 

Then he laughed, a sound so rich with joy that it seemed to chase away the cold clinging to you. He launched into a story about a duck-shaped toy that blew bath bubbles, one he had designed with his daughter. His animated retelling painted the chaotic scene vividly: bubbles everywhere, a floor turned slick, his wife caught between frustration and uncontrollable laughter as they all slipped and slid around like fools. 

The genuine delight in his voice made something inside you stir, fragile but real. You clung to it, that warmth. It spread, tentative, but enough to pull a soft giggle from your lips. 

Luci stopped mid-step, his eyes widening slightly before a wide, toothy grin overtook his face. “You have a beautiful laugh,” he said simply, with honesty that caught you off guard. 

The compliment was unexpected, and you coughed, your cheeks igniting with heat. Your mind raced, urging you to say thank you, or anything at all to fill the awkward silence. But your lips refused to cooperate, frozen in uncertainty. 

Before you could stumble over a response, Luci stopped in front of a small building—a café, its soft glow spilling out onto the street like a promise of warmth. Luci’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Ah, we’re here! I’ve heard they make the best banana nut muffin, so I wanted to try it before I go back!” He held the door open, the light catching his golden hair and the shimmer of his grin. 

As he pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell rang out—a gentle, almost musical sound, like wind chimes caught in a summer breeze. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you, rich and warm, inviting you to linger. The walls were painted a soft pastel yellow, their brightness tempered by dim, cozy lighting that gave the café a feeling of safety, of comfort. 

The space was intimate, and aside from you and Luci, it was empty. From the back emerged a stout woman with a radiant smile, her long black curls bouncing slightly as she walked. Her green apron was worn but clean, a testament to her work here. “Welcome!” she greeted warmly, her voice carrying the cheer of someone genuinely glad to see you. “What can I get ya folks?” 

Luci turned to you, and with a grin, he asked, “Want a banana nut muffin?” 

Your throat constricted slightly as you struggled to respond. A simple yes or no would have been enough, but your isolation had left you fumbling for basic social graces. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you could hear the sharp voice of your mother, her criticisms cutting deep. How unbecoming, her voice whispered in a memory you couldn’t quite escape. 

You reached into your pocket for your wallet, your fingers clumsy with nerves. “L-let me p-pay,” you stammered, your voice cracking into something embarrassingly high-pitched. 

Luci chuckled, a soft, disarming sound that somehow made the tension in your chest ease. He patted your shoulder, his touch brief but grounding. “It’ll be my treat, sport,” he said with a playful grin. “For the pack,” he added, waggling his brows in exaggerated humour. 

Before you could protest further, he ordered two muffins and herded you to a table with two chairs in the corner. The space felt smaller as you followed, the warmth of the café suddenly claustrophobic under the weight of your thoughts. 

Sitting across from him, you watched as he rummaged through his bag, his energy infectious. He pulled out a small stack of booster packs, his expression bright with unfiltered glee. 

“These are my favourites,” he said as he held up a pack, his excitement as radiant as a child opening a long-awaited gift on Christmas morning. “I have all the cards from the first wave of Duck Battle releases!” His voice was filled with pride, his fingers already tearing into the foil wrapping. “I just had to come up here when I heard they released the second wave after two years!” 

His words swirled in your mind, dissonant against the memories rising like a tide. Your hands, hidden under the table, clenched into fists. Your fingers dug into your palms, grounding you against the maelstrom of emotions. 

You had drawn those silly ducks in their costumes, poured hours into creating gadgets, props, and absurd scenarios. Two hundred and fifty illustrations, each more uninspired than the last. You remembered the exhaustion, the growing sense of emptiness that swallowed you whole. 

“What do you like about them?” you asked softly, your voice fragile. You cleared your throat, trying to sound steady as you felt an unwelcome wave of bitterness threatening to rise. 

Luci’s blue eyes lit up as he looked up from the cards, his smile unguarded. “Oh, where do I even start!” he exclaimed, holding up a card to show you. “Aside from the fact that they’re ducks, just look at them! The costumes, the gadgets—they’re so clever, so fun!” 

He turned the card in his hand, his admiration genuine, his joy untainted. And as he spoke, your chest tightened, caught between envy and a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of pride. 

Luci held up a card, its surface shimmering with the golden foil that marked it as rare. Your eyes fell on the image—a duck in swimming trunks and sunglasses, wielding a sword alive with swirling water. The memory of creating it surged forward, unwelcome and sharp. 

You remembered the day you drew that card. The day everything inside you cracked open. You had screamed into the hollow silence of your room, pages of drafts torn apart and scattered around you like confetti from some cruel, mocking parade. Your voice had grown raw as you told yourself, over and over, that you were done. 

That you’d quit. 

But quitting was a lie you couldn’t tell yourself for long. 

The words of self-loathing had been relentless: 

Everything you create is garbage. 

This opportunity only exists because of your parents. 

You’re a shadow, fading and inconsequential compared to their brilliance. 

And yet, like some twisted masochist, you’d dragged yourself back to your desk the next morning. 

There had been no joy in it—only pain. The siren call to create, once your solace, had become a piercing scream you couldn’t silence. The pencil in your hand had felt like a blade, its grip carving into you as you pushed yourself to the brink. Your fingers had cramped, the skin blistering until it split and bled. 

You hadn’t stopped. 

You couldn't.

Because drawing wasn’t just something you did—it was a part of you. An integral piece of your existence, impossible to sever, no matter how much you might have wanted to. 

Now, that duck—a creation born from your anguish—stared back at you in Luci’s hands, a mirror of a piece of yourself you hated. His voice broke through the haze, brimming with enthusiasm as he babbled about the card, his words high with praise. 

You should have felt pride. Gratitude. Joy, even. But you didn’t. 

Instead, his praise slid over you, leaving nothing behind but the familiar ache of inadequacy. Why can’t I accept this?you thought bitterly. It was as if his words belonged to someone else, someone who deserved them. 

Someone you were not. 

So you smiled. Nodded. Pretended.

When the plate of banana nut muffin arrived, the scent of warm cinnamon wafting up, you glanced down at it. A dollop of whipped cream sat artfully on the side, dusted with cinnamon. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day, yet the hunger that should have gnawed at you was absent, swallowed by a numbness you couldn’t quite shake. 

Luci took a bite and moaned in delight, rolling his eyes dramatically. “This is absolutely delicious! Charlie would love this!” he said with a grin, taking another hearty bite. His joy was infectious, yet it stayed just out of reach for you. 

He paused mid-bite, his expression sheepish as he pushed a booster pack across the table toward you. “Oh, golly! I should’ve had you open some with me,” he said with a laugh, gesturing to the small pile of torn foil and neatly stacked cards already in front of him. 

You ran your thumb along the seam of the unopened pack, the texture sharp against your skin. “I don’t mind you opening them all,” you murmured softly, your gaze fixed on the faint silver glint of the packaging. 

“Nonsense!” Luci declared, his grin bright and unwavering. “You might pull the ultra-rare Count Duckula! Come on, it’s all in the fun.” 

He dragged his chair closer, the legs scraping lightly against the tiled floor. His knees bounced with childlike anticipation, a rhythm of barely contained excitement. 

You forced a small smile, though your hands betrayed you, trembling as they fumbled with the pack’s edge. The foil tore with a soft rip, the sound somehow louder in the quiet café. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d opened one of these. The promotional box they’d sent you months ago sat untouched in some forgotten corner of your home, buried under stacks of other projects. 

Carefully, you drew out the stack of six cards and flipped through them, revealing each one in turn. 

All common - trash - cards. 

How painfully typical. 

“S-sorry,” you murmured, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. “It looks like I don’t have good luck. Maybe you should open the rest?” 

“Nonsense,” Luci said again, his voice gentler this time. He reached out and took the cards from your hand with surprising care, as if each one were a delicate treasure. His expression softened as he studied them, pausing on a trio of ducks huddled together. 

“I like this one the best,” he said, turning the card so you could see it more clearly. 

The illustration stared back at you, the familiar design almost mocking in its simplicity. The card was called Duck Gang, but when you’d drawn it… you thought of...

“It’s like a family,” Luci murmured, his tone thoughtful as he turned the card back toward himself. “I already have forty-five of these, but I can’t help collecting them. They’re one of my favourites.” 

Your chest tightened. The smile on your lips sharpened into something brittle, edged with bitterness. “T-that’s a lot,” you said, your voice cold, a contrast to the warmth in his. “You should consider selling them. They’re common, after all. Trash cards, really. Probably won’t get much for them.” 

You picked up your fork and poked at the muffin on your plate, the sweetness of it utterly unappealing. The bitterness inside you, however, only grew, swelling like a tide threatening to pull you under. Your eyes flicked back to the card, the garish trio of ducks resembling parents and a child more than any sort of gang. 

“I-I could get you all the rares,” you added, the words spilling out with a sharp edge. “If you'd like.” 

Luci paused, his expression unchanging as he looked up at you. His ever-enigmatic demeanour shifted, and then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a warm, easy sound. A few golden strands slipped loose from his carefully styled hair, brushing against his cheek. 

“The fun of it is in opening the packs and seeing what you get!” he said, reaching for another booster pack. He tore it open with practised ease, glancing through the cards until his face lit up like the sun breaking through a heavy storm. 

“No way!” he gasped, holding up a foil-covered card with both hands. His blue eyes shimmered with delight, his toothy grin nearly splitting his face as he revealed the ultra-rare Count Duckula. 

His reaction was so dramatic, so comically over-the-top, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something unexpected. In the small space of that quiet café, amidst the warmth of yellow walls and the scent of coffee, you felt something stir inside you. 

Something warm. 

Something… meaningful.

It wasn’t like the cold, impersonal emails you received from your agency, filled with spreadsheets and data points. Those soulless reports quantified your work with meticulous precision—what cards sold best, which ones fetched high prices, which ones were deemed worthless. 

None of it ever reflected the time, the effort, or the pieces of yourself you poured into every illustration. 

At some point, you’d begun to wonder: if you couldn’t draw, if you couldn’t find joy in creation, had you already reached your expiration date? 

It was a morbid thought—one that clung to you like a shadow. But now, hilariously, pathetically, sitting across from Luci, a stranger you’d known for less than an hour, a flicker of something stirred. For the first time in a long time, you wanted to draw. Not for a paycheck, not for numbers on a spreadsheet, but simply because it might make someone else happy. 

Because it might make him happy. 

You almost laughed as you reached into your purse, finding the small drawing notepad you still carried. Half its pages were filled with scribbles—angry, chaotic lines etched so deeply they scarred the next page. Proof of countless attempts to destroy your own work, to obliterate the things you hated about yourself. 

Flipping to the back, you grabbed a pen and hesitated. 

“I, uh… if y-you don’t mind,” you stammered, your heart racing in your chest, “I-I could draw that trio of ducks for you?” 

The words were out before you could stop them, and regret hit you like a wave. Why had you offered to draw something so… mundane? Why not Count Duckula, the ultra-rare? Why would a stranger even want your scribbles? Heat rose in your cheeks, and you forced a trembling smile as you flipped the notepad shut, shrinking into yourself. 

You should take the muffin to go, you thought bitterly. Make your excuses and return to the solitude of your home where no one could see your failures. 

Before you could muster the courage to leave, Luci slapped his hands to his cheeks, his eyes widening with delight. “Oh, are you an artist?” he asked, his voice brimming with wonder. He leaned forward, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his expression—a shadow of pain, perhaps, or maybe it was just the light. 

“I… guess I’m somewhat of an artist,” you mumbled, the words faltering as they left your lips. 

He squealed like a delighted child, his feet tapping against the floor. Clasping his hands together, he grinned. “Can you draw a trio of ducks, but it’s Lucifer, Lilith, and their daughter?” 

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

“That’s… an interesting request,” you murmured, tilting your head. Was he serious? Perhaps he was a Satanist? Would drawing demons as ducks count as blasphemy? And did Lucifer and Lilith even have a daughter? 

“Uhm…” you hesitated, glancing up at his expectant face. His excitement was so genuine, so infectious, that you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. “Do you, uh, have a specific idea for how they should look, or…?” 

“Oh no,” Luci waved a hand dismissively. “I’m more interested in how you envision them!” 

Drawing from the dry well of your creativity felt like squeezing water from a stone. You started with the horns—predictable—and then added wings and a smattering of devilish details. The lines felt shaky, the proportions wrong, the designs uninspired. 

The pen trembled in your hand as doubt crept in. This isn’t good enough, the voice in your head hissed. The shapes are off. The lines are wonky. The urge to scribble over the drawing, to obliterate it into oblivion, burned in your chest. You needed to start over. 

Again and again. 

Again. Until it was perfect. 

Again. Until it was worthy. 

You simply had to get better, do better, be better. 

But Luci’s voice broke through the storm in your mind. “I love it!” he exclaimed, leaning so close you thought he might fall into the table. His eyes sparkled as he admired the doodle. “Oh, gosh, this is wonderful!” 

Your throat tightened as you fought back tears. Why? Why did he like it? Couldn’t he see the flaws, the imperfections? 

“Can I keep it?” he asked, his voice soft with a childlike eagerness. 

You couldn’t speak. The words refused to come, so you gave him a faint nod, you tore the sheet of paper from your notepad, the sound sharp and final, and handed it to him with trembling fingers. Luci accepted it like it was the most precious thing in the world, holding it gently as if it might crumble in his hands. He studied your drawing with a small, wistful smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“I really do… love it when humans create,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. The words seemed to carry more weight than they should, as though they held the remnants of a truth too fragile to speak aloud. 

“Truly,” he added, his lower lip quivering. He cleared his throat quickly, blinking rapidly before replacing the moment of vulnerability with a wide, goofy grin. 

Luci was an enigma. There was something off about him—an air, a presence—that felt out of place in your ordinary, grey world. It was as if he didn’t belong here, as if he were a splash of colour painted into a monochrome existence. 

Perhaps...

...that was why you were drawn to him. 

To the warmth he seemed to radiate so effortlessly. It was gentle, inviting, and for the first time in a long time, the relentless voices in your mind—the ones that berated you for every perceived failure—began to dim. Their harsh accusations softened to murmurs, then to silence. 

Time blurred. The two of you sat there in the café, opening booster packs side by side. Cups of coffee were ordered and refilled, their rich aroma mingling with the sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon. The banana nut muffin you’d shared lingered on your tongue, a surprising comfort. The bell above the door tinkled softly as customers came and went, yet the world beyond your table felt distant, unimportant. 

It was... odd. 

But it wasn’t unpleasant. 

Luci’s laughter, clear and joyful, broke through your defences. Each genuine compliment he gave, each silly comment, seemed to chip away at the invisible weight pressing down on you. By the time you reached the last booster pack, you felt lighter—like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you believed. 

“You should open it,” Luci said, handing you the final pack. His grin was as bright as ever. 

“I… don’t think I should,” you hesitated, glancing at the disappointing stack of cards you’d already opened. Your luck had been abysmal—nearly all duplicates, with the best being a single uncommon card. 

“Oh, don't be a silly goose!” Luci declared, snapping his fingers with dramatic flair before pointing at the foil-wrapped pack in your hand. “I have a feeling you’re going to pull the ultra-super-rare card!” He nodded to himself, then added a playful wink that made you giggle despite yourself. 

“Really?” you asked, your voice coloured with disbelief but softened by his contagious enthusiasm. 

“Really,” he said with the conviction of someone who had already seen the future. 

His persistence left you with little choice. “Alright,” you sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. You opened the pack, shuffling through the cards one by one until you froze. 

Your breath caught in your throat. 

There, in your hands, was the card. 

The Angelic Duck. 

Its pastel sky shimmered under the café’s light, the holographic wings moving as you tilted the card back and forth. You remembered the company mentioning this card—a one-in-a-million rarity, with only two released in the entire wave. It was surreal, almost impossible. 

“See!” Luci beamed, his eyes sparkling with triumph. “You’re not unlucky, sweetie.” His voice softened, and his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long. “Trust me.” 

For a second, you felt his words meant something more than they seemed. That he wasn’t just talking about the card but about you. About the parts of yourself you couldn’t see, the worth you struggled to believe in. 

But the feeling slipped away, ephemeral as sand through your fingers. It was wishful thinking. 

Nothing more. 

You wet your lips, hesitating, the words caught in your throat. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat deafening in your ears. Finally, you managed to whisper, “W-Will... could I see you again?” 

His eyes flickered with surprise, and heat flooded your cheeks. You pressed on, stumbling over your words. “I-I could sh-show you around. If… if you’re not leaving right away.” 

Your voice wavered, trembling under the weight of your certainty that he would say no. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? To ask something so personal of a stranger? Your body tensed, bracing for rejection, for the polite but distant smile, for the inevitable goodbye that would leave you sitting alone with nothing but your thoughts. 

Luci paused, his brows knitting together, the cheerful light in his expression dimming ever so slightly. For the first time, his bright, untroubled smile faltered, casting a shadow on the radiance you had marvelled at moments ago. 

You panicked, stumbling over your words. “I-it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice trembling with embarrassment. “I-if you’re busy, it’s...” You laughed softly, awkwardly, trying to ease the tension you felt growing between you. “It’s alright, really.” 

But he shook his head almost immediately, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “N-no, no,” he said, his tone hesitant but earnest. “I… I’m sure I can extend my stay a little bit.” 

You blinked, the breath catching in your throat as his words sank in. Then, slowly, you smiled. Not the kind of smile you had grown so accustomed to—a mask to hide the tumult of insecurities and self-loathing inside—but a real, unguarded smile. 

It was a smile born from something tender and fragile, a memory of warmth long buried beneath years of disappointment. 

It reminded you of the joy you felt when your parents had first framed one of your paintings, proudly displaying it for all to see. 

It reminded you of painting freely as a child, the way you used to let your imagination spill onto the canvas without fear or doubt. 

It reminded you of the times when creating wasn’t a burden but a blessing, a purpose you held close to your heart. 

It was a smile you thought you had lost forever. 

When you returned home after bidding Luci farewell at the café—his phone number now scrawled in your notepad—you immediately shivered. The icy chill of the wooden floors seeped into your bare feet, the house as unwelcoming as ever. 

The space was barren, devoid of life or personality. Discarded papers littered the floor, mingling with pencil shavings and eraser bits. It wasn’t a home. It was a prison—a hollow shell where the bare necessities existed, but nothing more. 

Your eyes caught the calendar hanging crookedly on the wall. A bold red X marked a date two days away, stark against the empty squares around it. 

You stared at it, your stomach twisting. That day had been carefully planned. It was supposed to be the day. 

But then you thought of Luci. Of his warmth, his light, and the promise you made to show him around. The thought of breaking that promise filled you with an unfamiliar pang of guilt. 

Surely, a week longer would be fine… right? 

Your fingers closed around a red marker that had laid lifelessly on the floor. Emotionlessly, mechanically, your hand hovered over December 26, a week from now, then moved with deliberate finality, slashing a thick red X over the date. 

The pen clattered back to the floor as you dropped it, its sound echoing in the silence. 

You turned to the cluttered table in the corner, the surface buried under half-finished sketches of ducks and crumpled ideas. With a heavy sigh, you sank into the chair, your head bowing as you stared at the blank page in front of you. 

The company had asked for designs for their third wave of cards—450 different ones. An impossible task, but one you had taken on regardless. 

Your hand hovered over the paper, but the creative well inside you was dry. Empty. Still, you pushed forward, forcing your pencil to move, if only to keep the ghosts at bay. 

Because if you stopped—if you allowed yourself to pause—the memories would come rushing back. Memories of your parents and their loss. 

Every stroke of the pencil felt like punishment, every failed attempt a reminder of the guilt you carried. 

You weren’t creating. You were clawing at the past, trying to hold on to something that had long since slipped through your fingers. 

It was torture. 

It was hell. 

But it was atonement. 

Wasn't it?

The pencil felt heavier in your hand than it should have, its faded, rusted-red stains—a macabre memory of past desperation—serving as a quiet reminder of the nights you'd forced yourself, body and soul, into the art that held no meaning. You dragged its lead across the paper, each stroke tightening the invisible noose around your neck, suffocating and relentless, as though you were walking the gallows with your head bowed low, awaiting the final drop. 

But then, something shifted. A tiny ember deep inside you flickered to life. It wasn’t much—just a faint warmth, a whisper of desire that whispered of blank canvases and fingers slick with the lush texture of oil paint. 

That ember refused to extinguish, no matter how much you tried to snuff it out. Instead, it smouldered and grew, stubborn and unrelenting. With each passing moment, it began to consume you, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving in its place a yearning you couldn’t fully understand, a desire to create again—not for the world, but for yourself.

The next day, you met Luci at the café, your tentative hope hidden beneath layers of polite conversation and practised smiles. You found yourself embellishing the truth as you spoke of your life, weaving together a tapestry of glamour and artistic success. He listened, nodding and laughing in all the right places, but his openness soon made you feel small for your half-truths. 

Luci, in contrast, spoke of his family with a palpable fondness. He described his daughter Charlie - or Char Char - with a wry chuckle and a hint of exasperation, as only a loving father could. 

But then your eyes caught the glint of his wedding ring, and the question slipped out before you could stop yourself. “How come your daughter and wife aren’t here with you?” 

Luci froze, the piece of fruit crêpe halfway to his mouth. His cheeks flushed, and his gaze dropped, suddenly unable to meet yours. 

“S-sorry,” you stammered, shrinking into yourself. “Forget I asked.” 

“No, no, it’s okay.” He cleared his throat, forcing a shaky smile. “Char Char and I are… going through a rough patch. Teenagers, you know?” He nudged your shoulder lightly with his elbow, attempting a laugh that fell flat. 

You gave him a weak smile in return, unsure how to respond. 

“And Lili…” His voice faltered, his forced smile fading as his gaze fixed on some distant point on the ground. “Lili and I… we’re in a complicated situation, I guess.” 

His shoulders slumped, and the crêpe in his hand tilted, sending a dollop of whipped cream tumbling to the pavement. 

The sight of his sadness twisted something inside you. Acting on instinct, you reached out, placing your hand over his. “T-there’s a Duck Battle tournament today,” you blurted, your voice trembling. “Sh-shall we go see that?” 

You didn’t know how to comfort someone. No one had ever taught you how. Love and admiration in your life had always been conditional, tied to your ability to produce something extraordinary. You had learned early on that when the art stopped, so too did the affection. 

But as Luci blinked back unshed tears and gave you a small, grateful smile, nodding in agreement, you hoped—desperately—that this gesture, clumsy as it was, might bring him some solace. 

The days passed, bringing you ever closer to December 26, the ominous red X on your calendar looming larger with each tick of the clock. In that time, you learned more about Luci. 

Like you, he was an artist, his creativity moulded by the same soil of yearning and expression. But while you painted, he built—strange contraptions and devices, all themed around ducks. When he discovered you were the artist behind Duck Battle, his praise came in a flood, each word more sincere than any compliment you had ever received. 

For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, his admiration felt different. 

It felt… real. 

You spent hours talking, sharing sweets, laughing over shared struggles. His presence warmed you in ways you hadn’t felt in years, filling an emptiness you hadn’t even realized was there. Perhaps it was loneliness that made every smile and fleeting touch so precious to you, but whatever the reason, you treasured those moments fiercely. 

Three days before December 26, you did something you never imagined you would do. 

You went to an art supply store. 

You purchased a blank canvas, crisp and new. You unearthed your old easel from the depths of your supply closet, wiping away years of dust with trembling hands. And then, you bought a fresh set of oil paints, their vivid colours gleaming like precious jewels in their pristine tubes. 

As you carried the supplies home, the ember within you flared, its warmth spreading through your chest. You weren’t sure what had changed, or why. 

But for the first time in years, you felt… alive.

Every night, as if driven by some unseen force, you painted. Your hands moved with a desperate urgency, scraping vibrant colours across the canvas, colours that seemed so alive, so full of life—colours that you had once believed were lost to you. But now, as if the very act of creation had summoned them back, they flowed freely once again. You painted him—Luci—the way his golden silk hair had caught the light the first time you saw him, the way his sapphire eyes gleamed with kindness and warmth, the way his smile had made everything else fade into insignificance. 

A smile tugged at your lips, mimicking his. The sound of the metal brush on canvas filled the room, a steady rhythm that echoed in the silence. You painted him not just as he appeared, but as the warmth he had ignited within you. Every stroke, every layer of colour, felt like a piece of your soul reawakening, a fragment of the person you thought you had lost forever. You wanted to give this to him—before he had to leave, before the days ran out. 

As the colours blended and blossomed on the canvas, joy bubbled up within you, filling you with a warmth so sweet and intoxicating that it seemed to take over your very being. You wondered if he would be shocked, if he would be surprised by the depth of feeling you poured into the painting. 

Would he cry? 

Would he understand? 

But you didn’t care. All you wanted, above all else, was for him to be happy with what you had created, for him to cherish it as something that came from the deepest part of you. You poured your heart, shattered and broken as it was, into each stroke, creating something beautiful out of the pieces that had once felt irreparably lost. 

Perhaps it was inevitable, this warmth that had bloomed between you—this connection that had grown from the simplest of beginnings. Christmas day seemed to be the turning point, when you walked with Luci through the park, the air crisp and cold around you. The Christmas lights twinkled in all their colours, casting a soft glow across the snow-covered landscape, and the world felt like a dream. The snowflakes drifted down gently, catching the light like tiny stars, and everything seemed perfect—peaceful. You laughed at his silly stories, your voice mingling with the soft rustle of the falling snow. 

But when the laughter subsided, when you found yourselves walking side by side, fingers brushing in the cold, something shifted. Something deep within you, something you hadn’t expected, bloomed like a flower in the quiet night. It was a palpable change, a feeling that went beyond friendship, beyond the strange bond that had formed over Duck Battle cards. 

His hand brushed yours, and without thinking, you curled your fingers around his, tightening your grip, clinging to the warmth he offered. His hand squeezed back.

You didn’t realize how desperately you had needed this connection until it was there, alive and pulsing between the two of you. 

Even when you reached your door, when the moment to say goodbye loomed, neither of you let go. Your fingers remained intertwined, stubbornly, as if neither of you was ready to let the moment end. 

“It’s cold outside,” you murmured shyly, your voice soft, almost timid, as you tugged him closer to you, stepping back until your back was pressed against the door. 

“Yea, i-it is,” Luci whispered, his breath visible in the frigid air. His presence seemed to fill the space between you, his warmth a contrast to the chill that surrounded you both. 

Despite the coldness of his wedding ring pressing against your skin, despite the knowledge that this was wrong, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. You didn’t want to. There was something undeniable between you, something that drew you both together, like the pull of gravity itself. 

And then, as the door creaked open, Luci’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you down to him. His kiss was firm, urgent, and it burned with a fierce need, a desire that neither of you could ignore. It was quick, instinctual, the rush of bodies and breath as you both succumbed to the moment, letting go of everything—of doubts, of fears, of the consequences that would come after. 

In that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours, there was no more space for regret, for hesitation. You both indulged, fully and without restraint. 

And in that moment, you...

...and him... 

His lips, warm and insistent, traced the curve of your jaw, the soft, heated pressure sending shivers down your spine. The world felt suspended in time as he moved lower, his mouth gliding over the delicate skin of your neck, his breath a soft, intoxicating warmth. The surrounding space was filled with discarded clothes, the remnants of passion now tainted with the weight of guilt—of something that could never be, yet you both gravitated toward it nonetheless. Your back pressed against the cold wooden floor, contrasting the heat building between your legs. Your hands lay helplessly on your chest, not knowing where to place them, unsure how to ground yourself in a moment that felt so wrong and yet, so deeply, desperately right. 

His lips continued their descent, a slow, deliberate path toward the apex of your thighs, each touch igniting a fire deep within you. There were no words—none spoken, none needed—because any utterance would break the fragile illusion between you, the delicate balance of a sin too dangerous to acknowledge. 

He has a daughter.The thought was distant, almost unreal, a fleeting notion as his tongue traced a slow, agonizing path between your folds. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, the sound of it muffled by the overwhelming sensation of him, of the way his mouth and tongue moved against your skin. 

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, heavy, desperate, as the cold moonlight spilled through the half-circle window above the door, casting an ethereal glow on the scene below. Dust motes danced in the beams, swirling lazily, like snowflakes drifting in the still air. They mocked you, a silent reminder of the falsity of this moment, a moment so desperately wrong—and yet... 

He has a wife, you thought in sudden dismay, as the reality of the situation crashed in once more. His head lifted, eyes half-lidded, the remnants of your taste lingering on his lips. His wedding ring gleamed, cold and out of place, as he slipped two fingers inside you, the fourth finger encased in the cool metal pressing against your heated skin. The dichotomy of it all—of this stolen moment and the life he had outside this room, outside of you—twisted something inside you. His fingers moved slowly, deeply, each thrust deliberate, drawing lewd, wet noises that mingled with your breath, filling the room with the unmistakable sounds of desire. 

You gasped again, your hand instinctively covering your lips, the pressure of it barely able to contain the sounds of pleasure that slipped through. The way his fingers found the perfect rhythm, the way his touch coaxed you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. Every touch, every press, felt like it was drawing you to a peak too quickly, too easily. 

"A-ah..." The sound was barely a whisper, your breath catching as his lips descended again, his mouth on your clit now, ravaging, relentless. His tongue flicked and teased, making your body tremble, your breath quickened with a desperation you couldn't control. His moan was low, guttural, and it only spurred you on, the pressure building to an unbearable crescendo. 

One last, powerful suck before he withdrew. Your vision blurred as you were dangerously on the precipice of falling. He stood over you, his cock hard and gleaming with pre-cum, the moonlight catching it just so, marking it as the final sin in this forbidden encounter. 

You hadn’t even made it past the foyer—the door still unlocked, the peephole an unblinking eye, silently condemning you. It was too much to bear, too much to reconcile with the reality of it all, yet you couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop yourself from tracing his bare chest with your eyes. His skin, smooth and flawless, seemed almost sculpted from marble, a perfection that should never have been so close to you. The thought flitted through your mind, If I were to paint this..., how would I capture the colour of him? 

But then, in the depths of your gaze, his blue eyes flashed—just for a moment—blurring into two crimson rubies, gleaming with something darker, something possessive. It was gone before you could make sense of it, just an illusion, a trick of the light, or maybe of your own spiralling mind. 

Luci hovered over you, his body trembling with restraint as the tip of his cock, weeping with need, pressed against the raw, desperate part of you. His lips brushed against yours, gentle, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the storm building between you. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, as your legs curled around his waist, aching for the connection that only this moment of raw vulnerability could offer. 

You needed him—needed this closeness that was both comforting and terrifying, the warmth of his skin against yours, the desperate push for something deeper, something more than just physical. 

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch, thick with hesitation. His gaze was distant, clouded with something you couldn't quite read. But then, with a quiet breath, you pressed your heels into his lower back, urging him forward, urging him to bridge the gap between you. To finally give in. His eyes fluttered shut, and in that instant, he took the plunge. 

The feeling of him filling you—filling you completely—was overwhelming, a rush of sensation so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp escaped you, and tears sprang to your eyes, the sting of both pleasure and the emptiness that came with it. You searched for him, for his eyes, for the depth of connection that had drawn you to him in the first place. His blue eyes, vast and endless like the sky and sea, should have been there to anchor you, but they were gone, hidden behind the veil of his closed lids. 

His face dropped to the crook of your neck, his breath uneven, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that bordered on frantic. His hips rocked into you with a steady, punishing pace. The feeling of his skin against yours, the heat building between you, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, each one more intense than the last. But it wasn't enough—not enough to fill the emptiness that gnawed inside you, not enough to keep the bond you thought you'd found from slipping away. 

The front of his hips slapped against your sensitive clit, pulling strangled cries from your throat, but as each thrust drove deeper, the warmth you had so desperately craved began to cool. The connection you thought you'd felt—the intimacy, the closeness—seemed to flicker and fade, slipping between your fingers like sand. You grit your teeth, your chest tight with the panic of losing something so fragile, and you willed it to stay, to drown you, to anchor you in this moment, in this feeling. 

With everything you had, you opened yourself up, all of it—the vulnerability, the insecurities, the need for more, for him, for this. Open, open, open... 

"L-Luci," you whispered, your voice thick and hoarse, a near sob caught in your throat. "Luci..." The words, laced with want, with desperate need, tangled in your chest, lodged there like barbed wire. All you could do was cry out his name, over and over, until it became a broken prayer. 

His hips moved faster, harder, each thrust sending you sliding across the floor beneath him, your hair a tangled mess as his fingers wrapped around your strands, pulling you closer, deeper into the frenzied heat. But even then, his eyes never opened. He never responded to your cries, never acknowledged the way your body trembled beneath him, the way you shattered, piece by piece, beneath the weight of your desire and disappointment. 

He never looked at you when you broke. 

And when he finally shattered above you, his body collapsing against yours, it was as though the connection you had so desperately wanted, the bond you had yearned for, never existed beyond your mind. It was never real. Just a fleeting moment, a whisper in the dark. A hope unfulfilled, a dream never meant to be. 

Like the countless paintings you had created, destroyed, and burned. 

Your breath and his were sharp, uneven, a discordant rhythm echoing in the silence between you. Your hands, once gripping him with desperate need, slipped away, falling limply to your sides as though they no longer knew their place. Luci pulled away from you slowly, his body trembling, his seed spilling from you, staining the space between you both. He knelt in the mess of discarded clothes, panting, his eyes distant and hollow, as if he had lost something vital in the moment. His lips quivered, but no words came. 

There was nothing but the heavy silence, thick and suffocating. 

You stared at him, eyes wide, searching for something—anything—in his expression, but all you found was an emptiness, a vastness that seemed to stretch endlessly. He stared upward, his gaze unfocused, as though trying to see beyond you, beyond this moment, beyond everything that had just transpired. 

“Lu—” Your voice cracked on his name, raw and trembling. You could barely speak, the words suffocated by the weight of everything you felt. Your body, exposed and bare, felt fragile, as if the barest breath would shatter you. Your heart felt like it was lying open before him, brittle and vulnerable, delicate as glass. 

“Oh God.” Luci’s voice was broken, strained with something you couldn’t name. His hands dropped to his face, the yellow band on his wedding finger blinking erratically—mocking the turmoil in his mind. “Oh God,” he whispered again, his voice trembling, thick with pain. It was a pain that mirrored your own, something raw, something impossible to put into words. 

You couldn’t look away. You glanced around the room, eyes falling to the discarded clothing that lay strewn about, evidence of what had happened, the evidence of what you had done. His seed pooled beneath you, mixing with your own body, your own shame. The sight burned in your chest, a raw, aching grief that gnawed at you from the inside. Slowly, you pulled yourself upright, curling your knees to your chest, your arms wrapping around your body as though you could protect yourself from the brokenness of it all. 

You had slept with a married man. 

A father. 

A man who had a life—who had a family. 

That bond you thought you felt? 

It wasn’t real, was it? 

It was a lie. Empty. Hollow. Just like his praises. Just like the smiles that never reached his eyes. 

Your vision blurred with tears, and the weight of everything—the regret, the loss, the crushing shame—became too much. You blinked, trying to push the pain back, but it was impossible. With shaky hands, you began to collect his clothes, each article a weight added to the burden of your guilt. The silence in the room was oppressive, heavy with the unspoken truth. Regret hung in the air like a cloud, suffocating you both. 

“L-Luci,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse from unshed tears. You looked at the pile of his discarded clothes, waiting in the silence between you. “I—I’m s-sorry.” The words tasted like ash in your mouth, but they were all you had. “I... I still want to...” Your lips parted, but the words caught, tangled in the emotion that flooded you. You searched his face, your eyes desperate for any sign that he was still there, that you hadn’t lost him completely. You didn’t want him to leave you. 

Loneliness crushed you in a way you had never known. It was suffocating, cold, all-encompassing. And the warmth of another, even one that was so fleeting, only made the emptiness in your chest worse. 

"I... I should go," Luci muttered, his voice strained, almost detached. He rushed to pull on his clothes, fumbling with the buttons, his usually pristine attire now a wrinkled mess. His hair, once neatly styled, now fell haphazardly across his face, a chaotic reflection of the scene that had just unfolded. He looked so different from the man who had once seemed so certain, so confident. 

"Wi... Will I see you again?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, fragile, unsure. 

He stopped for a moment, his body tense, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Then, with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he answered, "I... maybe, kiddo." The nickname he used when you were nothing more than strangers, back when you hadn’t known the depths of each other. 

Or maybe, you thought, we were always just strangers.

You had never reached his heart. 

"Okay," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion, still raw, still exposed, your bare body aching in the emptiness he left behind. 

Without another word, without a second glance, he left you there. The door clicked shut softly, the sound echoing in the hollow space between you, sealing the finality of it all. 

A suffocating silence filled the room. You sat there, numb, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and hurt, unsure of what to do next. The isolation crept in, slowly at first, then all at once. It filled you with disgust, with shame, and worst of all, with self-hatred. 

It grew. 

It grew, like a poisonous vine wrapping around your chest, tightening with each breath, until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The weight of it became unbearable. Your heart pounded, each beat louder, more frantic than the last. Your hands gripped your hair, yanking at the strands, pulling, anything to escape the suffocating feelings. You pressed your lips together tightly, stifling the screams, the sobs that fought to escape. 

"A-ah..." your voice cracked, trembling as the floodgates finally opened, hot tears spilling down your face, mingling with the remnants of what had happened. 

You ruined it. 

You ruined everything. 

Once again. 

You ruined it. 

Everything you touched, everything you let yourself believe in, it was worthless. Everything you were... it was all for nothing. 

Do better. 

Get better. 

Be better. 

And if you couldn’t? 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, the passage of time lost in the haze of your broken thoughts. Long enough for the evidence of your mistake, of your sin, to cool against your skin, to harden like the guilt inside you. Slowly, numbly, you stood, your body heavy with shame, and began to dress yourself. Each piece of clothing felt like another layer of self-loathing being added, an attempt to cover up the truth that had been laid bare. 

But no matter how many layers you put on, you couldn’t hide the emptiness inside. 

You wandered aimlessly through your house, your feet carrying you without purpose until your gaze landed on the painting of him. His blue eyes stared back at you, gleaming with an intensity that seemed to hold you captive. The clothes he wore when you first met—the ones from that day at the café—were captured so perfectly, so vividly. His smile was gentle, warm, as though it could melt away every bit of the coldness inside you. But as you stared, the painting felt like nothing more than a pale imitation of him, a sad mockery of the person you thought you knew. 

Hot tears welled in your eyes, then spilled over, trickling down your face like a silent confession. You could almost hear it, distant and fading—his voice praising you, his words of encouragement when you drew the silly ducks for him. The memory was a soft echo, a reminder of something you thought was real. 

A part of you, a pathetic, desperate part, still clung to the hope that maybe—just maybe—you could make things right. You grabbed the portrait, cradling it like a fragile lifeline, and dashed toward your car. You didn’t know what you were hoping for, what you thought you could fix, but you were sure, naive in your belief, that there was still a chance. 

Once inside the car, your hands gripped the steering wheel, and the engine hummed to life, the vibration beneath you a stark contrast to the numbness that had settled in your chest. But as you shifted in the seat, you paused. 

You hadn’t even asked where he was staying. Every time you met, it was somewhere public, somewhere neutral—a park, a café, a random point of interest. Your gaze drifted to the passenger seat, where the painting sat.

It was incomplete. 

It was imperfect. 

It was worthless. 

Would he even want it? 

Would he even want you? 

No. You had to believe he did. He told you he liked your work. He said it with that genuine smile, that warmth in his voice. Before he knew your name, before he knew you were the artist behind the silly card game—he liked you. He was kind to you. You clung to that truth like a lifeline, like it could save you from the crushing weight of the doubt beginning to swallow you whole. 

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking as you dialed his number, hoping for something—anything—that would make sense of this mess. Your heart pounded, your breath shallow, as the phone rang. 

But then, the words came. The voice on the other end was cold, indifferent, and robotic. "I’m sorry, the number you are trying to dial is not available..." 

Confusion bloomed in your chest. Maybe you’d dialed it wrong. So you tried again. And again. Each time, the same dispassionate voice greeted you, the same unfeeling message cutting through your fragile hope. 

It couldn’t be real. 

It couldn’t. 

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen, hearing the repetitive, cold message before it faded into the silence of your car. The hum of the engine, the quiet drip of your tears, it all felt distant—unnerving. 

You didn’t turn off the ignition. The weight of everything felt too heavy to move, to even breathe. 

And then you saw it—the clock on your phone, a cruel reminder that it was December 26th. Midnight had passed. 

Your hand hovered near the keys for a moment, but it fell limp, back into your lap, like your body was too exhausted to hold on. The air in the car grew thick, suffocating, as you opened the window, and the smell of gasoline filled your nostrils. 

You didn’t look away. Your eyes never left the phone, not even as it dimmed, not even as it reflected the face of a girl—broken, bruised by her own thoughts, who had given up too much. 

“Did you really think he would like your painting?” The voice echoed in your mind, louder now, sharper than before. It wasn’t a thought—it was a command, a judgment. 

You closed your eyes, tears slipping from beneath your lids as the air grew heavier, thicker with every breath you took. 

“Did you really think any of this was real?” the voice asked again, a question, an accusation. 

“No…” you whispered, your voice breaking, your hands covering your ears in a futile attempt to shut out the truth. But it didn’t work. The voice was clearer than ever, its presence suffocating you from all sides. 

Tears flowed freely now, your body wracked with silent sobs as you clung to the empty hope that you could somehow make things right. But you knew, deep down, that you were only fooling yourself. 

“You’re nothing without your parents,” the voice whispered cruelly, slicing through the silence like a blade. 

“They shouldn’t have ever given birth to you,” it continued, each word dripping with venom. 

“A worthless investment,” it droned on, the words echoing, growing louder, more suffocating. 

The voice, harsh and mocking, grated against your ears, each syllable sharp and jagged. Your body trembled, your breath shallow and erratic as tears spilled down your face, your chest heaving in desperate gasps. The pain was raw, like a wound that would never heal, and still, the voice mocked you, relentless. 

When you finally opened your eyes, the sight that greeted you was more than you could bear. The shadows of your parents stood before your car, looming figures bathed in the dim light, their forms indistinct, yet painfully familiar. 

Your father’s voice rang out, his laughter echoing in the hollow air. “Look at my girl, look how talented she is!” The words were coated with a false warmth, but the undertone was sharp, a mocking cruelty that only deepened the ache inside you. 

Your mother joined in, her voice a saccharine hum that made your insides twist. “I knew her artistic talent ran in the family. We’re so proud of you, winning first prize again!” Her praise, once a balm, now felt like a blade, each word a reminder of everything you couldn’t be. 

“M-mom… d-dad,” you croaked, your voice weak, barely a whisper. Another cough wracked your lungs, the pain seizing them as the car’s engine continued to rumble beneath you, as if it, too, was trapped in the crushing weight of this moment. 

Your father’s tone shifted, turning cold and distant. “What happened? Why aren’t you working harder?” His disappointment was palpable, the sharp edge of his words digging into you. “It’s like you don’t care.” He turned away from you, his back a final, unforgiving gesture. 

“N-no, d-dad,” you pleaded, your voice breaking, raw and desperate. “I’ll try harder. I’ll be first always, always. Just… just don’t leave me.” Tears streamed down your face, an unstoppable flood of regret and shame. “I’m sorry, I’m so-sorry…” The words spilled from your lips, but they felt hollow, like they could never be enough. 

“Where did I go wrong?” Your mother’s voice cracked, her sorrow sharp, cutting through you like a jagged edge. “I gave you the best tutors, the best supplies, and you lost—lost to that… that no-name kid?” Her voice shook with guilt, her sobs breaking the air. “It was my fault, my fault.” 

Your own voice climbed, a shrill, desperate scream that tore at your throat. “It’s not—" you gasped, choking on the words, "It’s not your fault! I’ll do better, I’ll get better, I’ll be better,” you begged, your body convulsing with the force of your sobs. “Just don’t—don’t leave me!” Your voice cracked as the tears continued to pour, your breath ragged, your heart screaming for salvation, for release. 

Your memories, each one a fractured shard of your past, flashed before your eyes like ruined paintings—each one marred by angry, black streaks, defiled, violated. Your art, your passion, each one shattered beyond repair. One by one, they fell apart, until… 

Until Luci’s face appeared, burned into your mind with a cruel, unrelenting clarity. His eyes were wide, filled with pure agony, regret, disappointment, and sadness—emotions that mirrored your parents’ gazes, emotions that haunted you endlessly. 

You saw it.  

You felt it.  

Over and over again, the repetition of regret, of loss, of failure. It all crashed down on you like a tidal wave, drowning you in its weight. 

“Ah… ah…” you gasped, your words strangled in your throat, each breath a labour, each sob a crude edge of a dagger. The overwhelming wave of emotions consumed you, suffocated you, until… 

The void you had poured over your art, the darkness that had swallowed every ounce of your soul, finally consumed you. It was an endless abyss, engulfing everything whole—your thoughts, your dreams, your very existence. 

Ah... 

There was beauty in darkness, wasn’t there? A beauty so pure, so suffocating, that it consumes every breath, every thought, every ounce of life you had once clung to. 

You had been told it over and over again, like a cruel promise whispered into your soul. And now, here you are, standing at the edge of it all. You have finally reached the pinnacle of your existence. 

The word settles over you like a heavy shroud, cold and unforgiving, a final verdict on everything you have ever been. All that you were, all you had hoped to become, is swallowed by the abyss. There is no turning back now. There is no room left for redemption, no space for regret, no lingering chance for salvation. 

It is over. 

The truth cuts deeper than you ever imagined. The ache in your chest is not just sorrow—it is the emptiness of everything finally falling away, leaving you hollow, unimportant. A fleeting, insignificant speck in a universe that does not care, that will not remember. 

You feel the last of your strength slipping away, the slow, inevitable pull of nothingness dragging you under.  

No more struggles. No more cries for help. No more hopes.  

Just... nothing. 

And in that stillness, you are gone, as if you had never existed at all. 

[clare-875]

Hey Clare😙 love your writing so much! Could I request a shanks x jealous!reader, where the reader feels as though their love for is unrequited due to shanks’ many flings (but it’s actually not)? Thank u so much, muah!❤️

Envy (Shanks x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Shanks x Female Reader Summary: You think your love for him is unrequited. Warnings: Jealous reader, harassment, alcohol, angst/fluff A/N: I'm so glad you like my stories <3 I hope you enjoy this one! [One Piece Masterlist] _____

There he goes again.

You watch your Captain from where you sit in a dimly lit bar, lips pulled into a tight frown. The feeling bubbles up within you before filling you so much, you could suffocate. Jealousy. Shanks has a wide grin on his face as once again, beautiful women gravitate towards the red-haired man. Who wouldn't? Your Captain, who was so powerful and skilled he upheld the status of an emperor. Your Captain, the famous leader of the Red-Haired Pirates. Your Captain, so charismatic and charming and frustratingly attractive. You let out a deep, decrepit sigh.

Why did you have to fall for him?

He has an arm wrapped loosely around a blond-haired woman with a model-like body, cradling a drink in his other hand. Two more women sit by him and linger, fighting for his attention. You can faintly hear them laugh at something he said in the distance. Gritting your teeth, you force your gaze to the drink in your hand, swirling it periodically like it could help the turmoil you feel now. It had been the same cycle over and over the past few months, with Shanks flirting and bringing a woman to bed each night you were ashore. Then, that same woman would leave the next morning, his form nowhere to be seen.

With his flings came his distance.

He could barely meet your gaze the following day, and it had felt like there was a greater space between you since his cycle of women had started. It hurt you. Not only because the man you were in love with paid more attention to someone who wasn't yourself, but because he didn't even seem to care about the women he brought to his bed. You felt as though he cherished time with faceless women more than you. You thought the two of you had been friends, maybe even inkling to the beginnings of something more. Countless times have you stayed up late, talking about your dreams. Countless times have you drunk and danced together, laughing uncontrollably. Countless times had you bantered, and smiled and gazed at the other.

All for it to be suddenly lost. Like you hadn't meant anything to him.

This one-sided love, his carelessness. You had been holding out hope that maybe he would look to you like he used to all those months ago. But now you start to see that it is getting helpless, and you feel like you are going crazy. He had entrapped you in your feelings. You knew you had to move on - you can't bear this a second longer - you just didn't know if you could. Faint tears sting your eyes but you force them away. You can't cry for him anymore.

"Hey, you alright?"

Your eyes travel upwards are you are met with the knowing gaze of Benn Beckham. "You know he's an idiot right?" Maybe it was the way he too, was good with women and frequently brought them to bed, but he had somehow seen so clearly that Shanks's flings were getting to you. Maybe you hadn't been hiding your feelings well enough, but you could barely care anymore. "I'm fine Benn, I'm just gonna go get another drink." You smile to the best of your ability and leave him be, walking up to the bartender, hoping you could just drink your troubles away.

It is your turn to order when a man approaches you.

"Hey, I'll get that for you." The voice of a stranger reaches your ears and you look up surprised to see a man offering to pay for the drink you ordered. You weren't necessarily scarse of men approaching you, but you hadn't found the courage to pursue anything amid your feelings for Shanks. Maybe it was time to move on. Maybe it was time for a change. "Thank you." You try to push your inner turmoil aside and force your lingering gaze away from your Captain. "No problem." The man is surprisingly attractive, and a polite smile reaches the corners of your face.

His gaze holds keen interest. "You know, you caught my eye the minute you walked in." You smile at the man's sudden boldness, raising a brow as you hold your drink in one hand. "Really?" He grins wide at your amusement. "You don't happen to have a boyfriend, do you?" You feel your heart tug sharply in your chest at his words and suddenly you're fighting a frown. You spare one last glance at your Captain. He was distracted by the woman under his arm and grinning wide. Your eyes dart back to the man in front of you waiting expectantly.

"No, there's no one in my life."

Moments pass well enough, and the man who sits in front of you is nice at least. He just wasn't the man you wanted. Maybe moving on wasn't that easy. You smile and nod and listen intently, you shake your head and pitch into conversation. But soon, you fight a yawn as he speaks mainly of himself and his glory, barely showing the interest he claimed to have had in you. What's more, you realise his boldness quickly, as he closes the space between you with each minute that passes. Maybe it wasn't interest you saw earlier in his eyes, but lust. The smile you keep on your face starts to strain against your skin.

"Hey," your gaze snaps forward as you realise you have been lost in your thoughts, most likely looking into the void. The man in front of you doesn't seem to notice, however, as there is no change in his attitude. "Do you wanna get out of here?" His hand reaches out to touch your thigh, and you suddenly feel ill. You see it then so clearly, that he simply wanted you in his bed from the beginning, most likely to be discarded the morning after. What was it with men these days? You try to maintain your composure and you reach for the hand that touches your skin, removing it promptly from your thigh.

"Actually, I'm good thanks."

You go to stand, placing an empty glass on the counter. "This was nice," you say, "but I should go now." As you move, however, his hand that lingers reaches for your arm. You freeze at the contact, but he is all up in your space again, and his sudden actions take you back. "What-" But he interrupts moving closer to your face. "I don't think so, sweetheart. I like what I see. I want to see where this goes..." A frown instantly marks your face, as your blood pumps hot within you. Does he know who he's talking to? Yes, you may seem like any other woman at the bar, but you were a pirate. A pirate on an Emporer's crew. "Why, you-"

"What's going on here?"

The man freezes. There is darkness that fills the air along with the suddenly dangerous atmosphere. A figure looms behind you.

"I- I-," the man drops your arm instantly, stuttering as fear creeps up on his features. Who wouldn't in the face of an emperor? You don't turn, but you know it is Shanks who stands behind you, and his sharp eyes are trained on where the man had touched your skin. Though you do not see, Shank's face morphs into one of unusual, pure fury. It has the man in front of you basically falling to your feet. "Get out of here." Your Captain's words are spoken low and he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back into him.

The man all but runs from your side.

There is a tension that lingers in the aftermath, but it is broken by your movements, shrugging off Shanks's hand. There is a brief silence that follows. "I was fine." Your words are muttered softly, and there is a pain that lingers in your chest. Why did it have to be he who came? Didn't he know how painful this was for you already? Shanks watches your darkened expression carefully and lets out a deep sigh. "Look [y/n], I won't stop you from pursuing guys but at least pick better ones-" You turn as your facade cracks, bringing forth anger.

"You're the last person I need to hear that from Shanks. Why don't you go back to your little group, I'm sure they're missing you."

Shanks freezes under the weight of your glare and sharp words. He had never seen you look at him in such a way. You fight your emotions as you look at the surprise in your Captain's face, and you move. You need air, there was no oxygen in this bar and it felt like you were suffocating. "Wait, [y/n]-" But you don't stop, you were tired and hurt and envy filled your senses. Why couldn't he see how much you loved him? Why can't he see how much he hurts you?

"[y/n]!"

Finally feeling like you can breathe in the crisp evening air, Shanks has caught up to you before barely a moment passes. "[y/n], is there something wrong?" His words are what make you break completely. With alcohol still burning in your system and your raging feelings, you finally let it spill. A laugh of disbelief escapes you. "Wrong? You're really asking me if something's wrong Shanks, now?!" Shanks watches wide-eyed as you eye him with a mixture of sadness and anger.

"You've barely spoken to me, let alone looked at me these past few weeks! You have a new woman in your bed every other day! There's nothing here anymore. What happened to friendship? What happened to-" You pause, realising you've spoken too much of your mind, but Shanks's eyes only widen further in surprise. "I liked you, Shanks. I actually thought you-" A tear slips from your eye that you wipe harshly from your cheek, turning away. But Shanks reacts before you can take a single step, and a hand holds you to him before you are engulfed in his embrace.

You struggle in his arms, tears now pouring as you tell him to let you go. "I don't want your pity Shanks! Go! You have people waiting for you inside-" But Shanks doesn't budge an inch, instead all that fills him is utter regret, and shame, and pain. All this time, you liked him too? All this time he had spent trying to push his feelings aside with nameless women, only to feel deep remorse when he saw your face the next morning. All this time he had pushed away your friendship, and the inkling of something more. He had pushed you away because, for the first time, the Red-Haired Shanks were scared. Scared of losing you.

He was a coward.

"Shanks-" The red-haired Emporer can feel his heart clench against his chest at your words to leave you be, but he can't let you go. He won't let you go, he doesn't think he can bear your absence any longer. What torture had he put the both of you through, for no reason at all but his stupidity? Would you even forgive him? "[y/n]... I'm sorry." You freeze suddenly at his words, feeling your heart drop even further within you. Of course, here it comes, the rejection. But Shanks's words are beyond what you thought they would be.

"I like you too... no, I'm in love with you." You feel your breath caught in your throat as you start to shake your head against his chest, fighting to move from his arms once more. "Liar! Then what about all those women you slept with! You wouldn't even look at me-" Shanks quickly interrupts before you spill your words once more. "I thought that pushing you away would make the feeling fade. All those women, they were part of that too. But, [y/n], they're nothing compared to you. Believe me." Shanks finally releases you from his embrace and you scramble back a few steps watching his pleading expression with wide eyes.

"Forgive me."

You meet his burning red eyes with trepidation, but all you see is his sincerity, his regret. You are utterly speechless. Shanks was in love with you? Shanks returned your feelings? You move forward, anger suddenly filling you as you move closer and you swing, one punch right into his chest. Shanks doesn't move or flinch, he merely takes the brunt of your attack though it barely does anything to the emperor. "You, you're telling the truth?" Your words are spoken as though still unsure, and you let your arm fall to your side. Shanks observes your darkened expression, but his remorse does nothing to fade.

"Yes."

One step forward, followed by another, you move once more. Holding the collar of his shirt you pull him down to you with what strength you can muster, and suddenly your lips are on his. Shanks stops in surprise but is quick to pull you close to him and return your fervour. The kiss is angry and passionate and all you had dreamt it would be. Your hands move deep into his hair, and his arms wind themselves around your waist. You feel his warmth and want against you. When you part, it is only because you need a breath.

"You're stupid."

You speak low, but with the lingering joy that fills your senses. You had kissed him.

"You were jealous."

Shanks retorts, murmuring his words into your skin, but you don't miss the teasing undertone. You frown, hitting him lightly in mock irritation. "Shanks, do you really want to be-" But he quickly cuts you off with another kiss to your lips.

"I still haven't forgiven you, you know."

Shanks leans his head against yours, finally content.

"I know."

Let's just say the following weeks are spent with Shanks bending to your every will and want. It takes a while for you to get over the flings that put a gap between the two of you, but soon you forgive him. He couldn't be happier with you by his side. You were all he wanted, and all he could ever want.

[h3r4life]

✧ THINGS TO SCRIPT: UNATTAINABLE PERFECTION AND A BEAUTY THAT DESTROYS ALL STANDARDS

— When you walk into a room, it’s like the world can’t breathe for a moment. Every single eye locks onto you as if your very existence is an event no one was prepared for.

— You’re not just beautiful, you’re perfection personified. So flawless that it’s almost impossible to grasp.

— People can’t help but stare, completely mesmerized by the surreal, almost unholy harmony of your face, your body. It’s not even real, they think, because no one could possibly look like that. And yet, there you are.

— People can’t quite put their finger on it, yet they know, deep down, that this beauty is something they will never see again.

— You make everything and everyone else seem insignificant, like a faded dream in comparison to your undeniable presence.

— Your beauty does not simply meet conventional standards, it obliterates them. All the norms that once shaped the definition of beauty crumble in your presence.

— The world doesn’t just stop and stare, it rewrites itself because of you. Everyone around you, no matter how attractive they might be, now feels like a ghost of what beauty used to mean.

— No one, no matter how hard they try, can come close to the chaos your beauty causes. It’s like a storm that doesn’t just touch down, it redefines what beauty even means.

— There’s something about you that cannot be contained, something that refuses to be truly comprehended by anyone. It’s as if you’re not confined to this world at all, but belong to a realm far beyond human understanding.

— When people lay eyes on you, they’re flooded with awe and confusion, as if they’re witnessing the impossible in real time.

— You exude the kind of beauty that could only exist in dreams or maybe in a parallel universe, just out of reach. It’s short lived, slipping through their fingers like mist, yet undeniably real.

— Your presence leaves people questioning their reality, wondering if you were a vision that their minds created just to torment them with the sheer beauty of you.

— The moment others see you, a cold, hard truth settles deep inside them. Your beauty is unattainable. No amount of effort, no kind of training or transformation will bring them anywhere close to what you embody.

— It’s as though you were born with a privilege that no one else will ever experience. Your beauty is a cosmic injustice, a reminder that the universe chose you to hold something irreplaceable.

— When people look at you, they can’t help but feel humbled, why weren’t they granted the same divine favor? There’s an unspoken bitterness in the air, as they come face to face with the realization that some things are beyond their reach.

— When you enter a room, the air shifts. People feel it before they even see you, their breath catches, their hearts skip, and then they turn, completely hypnotized.

— There’s no escaping it. The room belongs to you. Your beauty is like a gravitational force, pulling everyone into your orbit. They’re frozen in place, not just because of your looks, but because of the overwhelming weight of your presence.

— You don’t just walk into a space. You claim it, owning every corner, every inch, with a quiet confidence that feels almost unreal.

— Though your beauty is overwhelming, there’s nothing plain or over dramatic about it. It doesn’t need to shout, it simply is.

— You carry yourself with such quiet confidence that others can feel the power radiating off of you without a word or gesture.

— You are so at peace with your presence that it feels as if it doesn’t even belong to you. It just exists, simply because it does.

— You don’t seek attention, it seeks you. The act of being near you makes others tremble, not out of fear, but because they recognize something so much bigger than themselves standing before them. You are the living embodiment of quiet, unshakable dominance.

— There’s an unsettling quality to your beauty, a sense of injustice that it exists at all. People feel cheated when they see you, because they realize they will never reach the same level of perfection.

— There’s something inherently unfair about it, as if the universe has played favorites by granting you such exceptional beauty. Even the most beautiful people, those who once considered themselves the epitome of attractiveness, find themselves questioning their own worth when in your presence.

— Your beauty makes others feel invisible, and it’s not intentional. It’s simply the effect you have on those around you. They can’t compete with what you represent, and it feels like an impossible standard they can never meet.

— When people lock eyes with you, they aren’t just staring, they’re transfixed. There’s something about you that stops people in their tracks, really stops them. It’s like staring into the face of divinity itself, unable to look away, yet too stunned to move.

— Your beauty is almost otherworldly, as though it’s not even possible for a human to possess such an aura. They’re swept up in the impossibility of your beauty, unable to comprehend how something so perfect can exist right in front of them.

— People forget where they are when they look at you, as if they’ve entered another realm. Every glance feels like it’s in slow motion, every moment with you feels like an eternity. You make the impossible feel like it’s happening in real time.

— Your presence rewrites reality, and in the moments you inhabit, everything is felt more deeply, more intensely.

— Your beauty has the ability to destroy expectations. When people see you, they are forced to reconsider everything they thought they knew about beauty. Your features don’t simply meet conventional standards, they tear them apart, surpassing them.

— The more others try to understand you, the more elusive you become, as though there’s no way to quantify what makes you so extraordinary. It leaves people disoriented, unsure of themselves and their own appearance.

— You shatter every illusion of what is “acceptable” or “normal” in beauty. It’s almost as if your beauty is a mirror, reflecting back to others their own inadequacies, not through cruelty, but through the presence of something far beyond what they’ve ever known.

— Looking at you is like gazing at an impossible work of art, like a vision that shouldn’t be real. Yet, no matter how much it seems like a dream, the truth is undeniable, you are real.

— But this perfection, this unreachable level of attractiveness, is something no one could ever replicate. Your beauty isn’t just an illusion, it’s a fact that people can’t seem to escape.

— You exist in a realm that belongs to the gods/godesses, something untouched by time, untouchable by others.

— Your beauty doesn’t just belong to this world, it transcends it entirely, leaving everyone who sees it to wonder how such perfection could exist in a place so flawed.

[moomine]

backwash | daisuke

author's note: part one of a future series... the mouthwashing brainrot is real... if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) The first day on the Tulpar is short as the reader and the rest of the crew adjust to their new day-to-day life in space. While settling in, she gravitates to Daisuke, the ship's impromptu intern, during a brief but meaningful encounter

word count: 1,153

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: Mook - "Malmo"

⋆⁺₊��� ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 001—

My mom wasn’t happy I accepted this job. She knows —like all of us do— that space transit is a dying market. She said: “It’s all automated now. People don’t belong out there anyway.” And yet, Pony Express is still afloat, despite it all. Why did I want to go? I don’t really know. This is all I seem to understand. I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to do with this degree? With my piloting certification? This has been my dream my entire life. If you can tell me that there’s anything better, then, please, let me know. I know I’m under contract now, and there’s no backing out. I don’t plan on it. This is what I love, isn’t it?

DAY ONE—

You would never forget the feeling of the Tulpar taking off. The shaking. The back and forth of force and resistance rocking the old ship as it exited Earth’s atmosphere, launching itself into space. It was similar to riding a rollercoaster. The build up in your torso as your stomach seemed to rise, lifting up and up until it felt like it was bulging at the base of your throat. Then it fell deep into your belly, as if trying to push itself out of your body all together, tipping over the peak of a tall slope. After a moment of nausea, there was nothing. A staggering stillness as the ship settled within the embrace of zero gravity. The persistent rocking ceased. The whining of metal warping hushed to a whisper, and then into a chilling silence. The adrenaline which had built up blended with something else. Something almost euphoric.

The cockpit was a sickly green, illuminated by the various nearby screens that signaled the take-off was a success. Under the tight grip of your seat belt, you shifted in your chair, attempting to loosen the rough fabric fastens.

Captain Curly leaned into the microphone and spoke over the intercom: “All right, folks. Thank you for flying with Pony Express,” he laughed at his own joke. “You’re free to walk around and get yourself acquainted with our lovely ship. Afterall, she’ll be housing us for another three hundred eighty one days. Let’s make this haul a good one. Cheers.”

He looked over his shoulder from where he sat, a proud smile gracing his lips. It was an almost cocky expression. He appeared proud of himself, maybe even happy to get to show off in front of a new pilot.

“How was that?” Curly asked in your direction.

“Incredible,” you said breathlessly. Your eyes were still wide from the excitement.

The pilot let out a low belly laugh. His smile stretched from ear to ear. “Always happy to please.” He turned to his co-pilot, Jimmy, whose face was almost as green as the screens that surrounded you. “How about you, Jim? Doing okay?”

“Never better,” Jimmy croaked, his eyes closed as he focused on not being sick.

Curly’s smile transformed into a smirk. A rough, friendly hand landed on Jimmy’s shoulder as Curly gave it a good squeeze.

“Still acting like a first time flier,” Curly teased him, eyes flicking back to you. “Go ahead and get settled in. Make some friends. All of that good stuff. Tomorrow the real work begins.”

“Right. Thank you.” You nodded in response. There was a quiet click as you unfastened your seatbelt and stood up straight. Your legs swayed beneath you, still adjusting to the feeling of being upright again.

The walk to the sleeping quarters from the cockpit was a short one. As you ventured down the hall —drawn deeper within the belly of the Tulpar by the sound of distant conversation— the rib-like pipes groaned as if greeting you. The door opened with a low hiss, revealing a short hallway with two rooms on either side and one at the end of the hall. In comparison to the cold, metallic halls from room to room, the sleeping quarters were a warm and welcoming sight. Out-dated wood paneling stretched up the walls, the floor a tacky linoleum in a similar tone. Inside of that tiny hallway, you started to forget you were on the ship at all.

“Listen, kid.” You saw an older man, Swansea, standing in a doorway, his north-eastern accent heavy as he spoke. “It’s all right to take it easy today, but tomorrow I’m gonna need you to take this seriously. It won’t be all coloring books and cartoons out here, you understand?”

“You got it, sir! You won’t have to worry about me one bit, I’m pretty self sufficient. Y’know, my friends back home say I’m the best-” Another younger voice spoke from inside of the room before quickly getting cut off.

“I don’t need your life’s story, kid. I just need you to pull your weight,” Swansea said.

You walked down the hall quietly, trying not to disturb the two as they continued back and forth. Each door had a last name displayed on the front, with yours at the very end of the hall. As you passed, Swansea looked over his shoulder at you and offered a small nod of acknowledgement. Just past him, you could see Daisuke who stood in the middle of his room, saying something about how he would do his best.

Daisuke’s gaze shifted from the older man in his doorway to you. Although it was only for a moment, his eyes seemed locked on yours as a soft smile spread on his lips. He stopped what he was saying, and raised a hand to wave at you. A short, but sweet gesture, which you happily returned.

“We’ll see about that,” Swansea spoke up, grabbing Daisuke’s attention once more. “I’m gonna nap until dinner’s ready. Your first task is to leave me the hell alone. Think you can do that?”

“No problemo,” Daisuke responded. He raised his hands into finger guns, shooting two shots at Swansea.

Shaking his head, the older man rolled his eyes while trying to suppress his obvious annoyance. “God, what did I get myself into…”

You entered your room as Swansea entered his, closing your door behind you. The room glowed with soft, yellow light. It was small, and almost clinical, but somehow cozy at the same time. In one corner sat a twin sized bed with a red blanket and golden sheets, and in the other was a mid-century dresser. Your bags and belongings rested in a less than neat pile in the middle of the room, clearly shaken from take off.

The high of your adrenaline had fizzled out significantly. Although you knew it would be wise to finish unpacking, your head felt heavy and your body ached, yearning to lay down for a bit. You kicked off your boots and crawled on top of the scarlet comforter. Before you knew it, you were like old Swansea, napping just before dinner.