#been working on this one here and there for a long while. i love drawing mello's scar >:) it's like a brain coral or a very shitty maze.
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Say My Name
Oscar Piastri x streamer!Reader
Summary: when fans mistake Oscar for your ex while he is hanging around in the background of your stream, you get introduced to a side of Oscar that you’ve never seen before
Warnings: 18+ content
Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you narrate the intense battle unfolding on your stream. “Oh damn, that was close! I almost got sniped there.” You lean in, eyes narrowed at the screen. “Gotta be more careful or this round is over.”
The chat explodes with messages cheering you on. Being one of the top female gaming streamers has its perks, like an incredibly loyal fanbase that hangs on your every word.
You glance at the viewer count — over 50,000 watching live. Not too shabby.
“Okay team, let’s rush B, I’ll try to draw their fire.” You move your character into position, heart pounding with anticipation.
Suddenly, a quiet thump comes from the living room behind you. You start, whipping your head around, but see nothing amiss through the open doorway. Must have been your imagination.
You refocus on the game, calling out tactics to your teammates. Another muffled sound, like something soft hitting the floor, catches your attention. You turn off your video and hit mute on your mic. “Hello? Is someone there?”
No response. You’re just about to unmute when a very familiar face pops into view from the hallway. It’s your boyfriend of nearly two years.
Your face splits into a huge grin as you take in his messy hair and the rumpled clothes he slept in on the flight. “Oscar! You’re back early!”
He crosses to you, bending to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Missed you,” he mumbles against your hair.
You tilt your face up for a proper kiss, “I missed you too, ba-”
But you’re cut off as his lips crash into yours, insistent and heated. Heat blooms in your cheeks at the sudden, passionate embrace. Far too soon, Oscar pulls away, leaving you flustered and breathless.
“Sorry,” he says with a smirk that suggests he’s anything but. “Couldn’t help myself.”
You shake your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous. I’m working, you know.”
“So I noticed.” Oscar settles onto the couch just off-camera, casual as can be. “Don’t mind me, keep going.”
“You sure?” You eye him skeptically. The stream has been on a short period without your commentary and the chat is getting restless. “I can take a break if you want.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’m just going to hang out here for a bit. Go ahead.”
Hesitating only a moment, you turn your video back on and unmute your mic. “Alright folks, sorry about that little pause. I, uh, got a surprise visitor.” You gesture vaguely toward where Oscar lounges behind you.
The chat instantly lights up with questions about who was there. Smiling to yourself, you ignore them for now, re-focusing on the game.
Over the next hour, it becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate. Oscar keeps distracting you, making silly faces and gestures whenever you glance his way. More than once you have to stifle a laugh after catching sight of him. Your fans seem to find your giggly mood delightful, though they remain oblivious to the cause.
Finally, in a rare break between matches, you swivel in your chair to face him. “You’re being so disruptive,” you stage-whisper. “Don’t you have better things to do than pester me?”
Oscar feigns innocence. “Who, me? I’m just sitting here, love.”
Rolling your eyes, you stretch your arms overhead with a groan, back popping from sitting so long. Oscar’s gaze shamelessly rakes over you, darkening.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, fighting a smile.
“Like what?” His eyes glint with mischief.
You open your mouth to respond, but a new donation notification pops up on your stream, cutting you off. “Oh, wow, thanks for the ten thousand bits, Legend27!” The expensive donation isn’t that unusual, but the comment attached gives you pause.
I’m so happy you and Eric made up! You two are couple goals for real.
Frowning, you scan the new barrage of messages flooding the chat … and find dozens echoing similar sentiments.
Your stomach drops as you finally realize what your viewers think is happening. They assume Oscar is actually your ex, the one you briefly dated and had an awful breakup with over two years ago. Apparently his surprise appearance has led them to believe you two have reconciled.
Heat floods your face at the misunderstanding. Objecting seems pointless though — you’ve learned it’s better not to discuss your private romantic life on stream. “Ah, thanks guys, you’re too kind,” you finally say, aiming for a neutral tone.
Beside you, Oscar stiffens, catching the implications of the messages. His jaw clenches and you watch as his face cycles through a series of micro-expressions — first surprise, then confusion, quickly followed by displeasure and … jealousy?
Uh oh. This could get messy fast if he gets worked up. You try to subtly shake your head at him in a silent plea to ignore the chat.
No such luck. His brow furrows deeper and you can practically see the tension ratcheting up in his shoulders.
Suddenly, Oscar surges to his feet with a muttered curse. Before you can react, he’s stalking around the side of your chair until he’s directly in view of the camera’s frame.
“Oscar, what are you-”
But he cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands and kissing you hard. Your startled squeak is smothered by his fierce, possessive mouth moving over yours.
Powerless to resist the onslaught of sensations, you melt bonelessly against him as the kiss stretches on and on. Only the escalating number of notifications showing the shock and exclamations from your viewers finally breaks through the heady fog.
With extreme reluctance, Oscar ends the kiss, both of you panting. He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your flushed skin as he growls, “She’s mine.”
Then, before you can respond, he reaches past you and slams his palm into the power button of your streaming setup, shutting everything down.
The simultaneous howl of outrage from tens of thousands of confused fans cuts off abruptly as the screen goes black. Only the two of you are left in the ringing silence that follows.
“Oscar!” You finally manage. “What was that?”
He pulls away enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his brown eyes blazing with an intensity that steals your breath.
“I got … jealous,” he admits, seeming almost surprised at his own vehement reaction. “When they thought I was your ex. I didn’t like that at all.”
Your expression softens at his uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. Reaching out, you trace his sharp cheekbone with gentle fingers. “You have no reason to be jealous, silly man. It’s only ever been you.”
Some of the blazing heat in his stare banks into smoldering embers at your reassurance. “Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Good.”
He leans in again until his lips are a hairsbreadth from yours. “Because you’re mine, okay? And I’m yours.”
“Yeah,” you breathe out, dizzy with wanting him. “I’m all yours, Oscar.”
The possessive words seem to flip a switch in him. With a low, rumbling sound of approval, his mouth slants over yours once more in a searing, demanding kiss that makes your toes curl.
The abrupt ending to your stream is already causing a social media firestorm of epic proportions. But surrounded by the circle of Oscar’s arms, his familiar warmth and love, you can’t find it in yourself to care even a little bit.
After all, you think dizzily as he deepens the kiss, your fans should have recognized that you two were a couple from the very start — because Oscar Piastri is most definitely not your ex.
He’s your everything.
***
Oscar’s hands are everywhere, seemingly unable to get enough of you as his kisses grow more and more fervent. Your back hits the wall with a gentle thump as he crowds closer, caging you in with the solid warmth of his body.
“Missed you so much, love,” he rasps against the heated skin of your neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
A whimper escapes your lips at the scorching path his mouth blazes over your pulse point. “I m-missed you too, Oscar.”
His name falls from your lips like a prayer and he rewards you by sucking a mark into the sensitive spot just below your ear. Pleasure zings along your nerves at the hint of delicious possession in the act.
When he finally pulls back to gaze at you with dark, hooded eyes, his lips are reddened from enthusiastic use. The sight sends a molten flare of desire arrowing straight to your core.
“Say it again,” he commands roughly, voice gone low and gritty in that way that never fails to make you melt.
You blink up at him, momentarily lost in a lust-fueled haze. “W-What?”
“My name.” His large hands skim over the curve of your waist, bunching the fabric of your shirt. “Say my name again.”
“Oscar,” you breathe without hesitation, watching raptly as his pupils blow wider at the sound. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...”
Each breathy iteration seems to stoke his hunger hotter. His fingers flex against your sides like he’s holding himself back from something.
On a daring whim, you slant your mouth near his ear, letting your lips brush the shell with every word. “Oscar Piastri,” you practically purr. “My Oscar.”
A broken groan is your only warning before he’s on you again, mouths crashing together in a heated crash of lips, teeth, and tangling tongues. His hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck, angling your face for deeper exploration.
When you finally manage to tear your lips away, you’re both panting harshly, chests heaving. “What’s … gotten into you?” You pant.
Rather than answer, Oscar just shakes his head and dives back in for more fervent kisses, like a man dying of thirst and you’re the most delicious drink he’s ever tasted.
It’s not until he suddenly grips your waist and spins the two of you around, depositing you on the desk with a surprising lack of finesse, that you realize just how wildly affected he is.
Oscar licks into the seam of your lips like he’s staking a claim and something within you shatters at the stark, naked wanting in his eyes when he pulls back the tiniest bit.
He just stares at you, chest heaving, gaze roving hungrily over your features like he’s memorizing you all over again. His pupils are blown wide, just thin rings of molten brown remaining around the black.
When he speaks, his voice is low and gravelly in a way that vibrates through you. “Say. My. Name.”
“Oscar,” you respond immediately, not even having to think. His hungry gaze burns over you and you feel stripped bare and vulnerable under the weight of it.
But rather than make you want to cover up, it has the opposite effect — you’re reeling him in, hands fisted in his shirt to pull him closer. You never want this delirious, frantic sense of possession and desire to end.
“Again,” he grinds out, sounding utterly wrecked already.
“Oscar.” You bare your neck for him as you say it, like presenting an offering. He groans low and deep, instantly ducking to mouth along the column of your throat.
His hands are everywhere, pushing up the hem of your top, kneading along your sides and ribs as he nips and sucks bruising paths across your collarbones and chest.
“Don’t stop saying it,” he orders, more plea than demand.
So you let his name become a breathless prayer falling from your lips, over and over between gasps and keening whimpers. You lose yourself in a heady feedback loop — the more you speak his name with naked wanting, the wilder it seems to drive him until his touch grows scattered and devouring.
At some point his hands finally succeed in tugging your shirt up and off. Your name doesn’t even register when his scorching mouth closes over one peaked bud, your back bowing at the shuddering bolt of sensation that lances through you.
All you can seem to process is the feel of his calloused palms mapping every inch of newly-exposed skin and the desperate mumble of “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...” spilling shameless and endless from your lips.
Eventually, the heated exploration of his mouth and hands becomes too much to simply lay there and take. With a low, guttural sound you haul Oscar upright and swing your legs around his hips, relishing his full body shudder.
“Not enough,” you accuse roughly, rolling your core against his in clear invitation. “Need you closer, Oscar.”
His heated groan at your wanton demand is music to your ears. Strong hands grasp your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist as he surges against you.
“So impatient, my darling girl,” he teases. This close, you can make out the faintest brush of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones that you’ve mapped and memorized with lips and fingertips a hundred times before.
You can’t help but reach out to graze them with your thumb, gazing up at him with naked adoration. “My Oscar,” you murmur reverently.
His eyes slip shut for a beat, jaw ticking as if your words have an unexpectedly profound effect on him. When he opens them again, his gaze is fierce and intent.
“Yours,” he vows simply, leaning in to seal the promise against the plush of your lips.
The kiss is somehow softer and headier than before. You get lost in the lush glide of his mouth, every sliding brush of lip and tongue shorting out whatever rational thoughts remain until all you know is his name — the shape and taste and weight of it against your own.
It’s the only thing that seems real, vital, until at some point Oscar’s mouth leaves yours to trail hot, openmouthed kisses down your chest and stomach and lower still.
Your back bows as you squirm incoherently against the press of his lips and tongue. His restraint seems to have finally snapped, movements growing hungry and rough as he works you steadily higher.
“Oscar,” you sob out his name like you’re breaking apart, pleading for something you can’t quite name. He answers with a rumbling sound of satisfaction that vibrates hotly against your sensitized flesh.
More, is all you can think as he redoubles his efforts.
At some point, you must have arched helplessly off the desk because suddenly his hands are at the small of your back, fingertips digging in hard as he holds you arched for his questing mouth.
The intimate angle of his positioning has your jaw dropping open on a silent scream of overwhelmed pleasure. All that escapes is a strangled gasp of, “Oscar!”
He growls something incoherent against you that might be praise, might be reassurance, might just be your name groaned out roughly in shared bliss. But you honestly can’t tell anymore — you’ve transcended far past coherent speech and rational thought.
Everything has devolved into just sensation and feeling and the endless loop of his name spilling over and over from your lips like a benediction.
Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...
Just when you think you might actually shatter into pieces from the intensity he’s wringing out of you, strong hands are abruptly hauling you up and off the desk in one smooth motion.
You cling to him with heavy limbs, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he staggers the few steps to your shared bedroom. At some point his shirt has vanished, allowing your hands free rein to roam over flexing muscle and heated skin.
When the backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses to claim your mouth in another searing, shattering kiss. He whispers something fervent and intense against your lips, your name perhaps intertwined with endearments or promises.
You can’t be sure. All you know is the shape of his name against your tongue, the only word your mind seems capable of holding onto as he lowers you reverently to the sheets and stretches out over you.
When he finally sinks into you with a harsh groan of relief, your back bows and you let out a broken, high keen — his name once more torn from your lips in breathless ecstasy.
“There you are, that’s it love,” he growls hoarsely as he begins to move, words interspersed between drugging, thorough thrusts. “Let me hear you, let me hear my name on those pretty lips.”
So you do, shamelessly loud and incoherent now as he gradually unravels you from the inside out. His name and gasped pleas and frantic praise all blur together in a continuous stream of blissful delirium.
At some point, his own control seems to splinter apart, hips snapping hard and deep as his pace turns utterly unrestrained. Still, you chase that shattering edge, crying out for Oscar as your whole world narrows to the merciless intensity of his driving thrusts and demanding hands kneading your flesh with staking ownership.
When you finally go soaring over that dizzying peak with his name torn hoarse from your throat, he follows you over almost violently with a ragged shout. Oscar’s arms shake dangerously as he holds his weight off of you, pupils swallowing up the copper of his eyes entirely in onyx pools of spent lust.
As you slowly float back down from that searing high, limbs heavy and sated, you reach up to trace the sharp line of his cheekbone. He turns his face into your palm with a shuddering exhale as if grounding himself.
For several long breaths, all that can be heard is your shaky inhales mingling together while your racing heartbeats gradually return to normal.
Finally, Oscar presses a warm, lingering kiss to the center of your palm before shifting to stretch out beside you, his weight dipping the mattress.
You immediately curl into the reassuring heat of him, despite the sweat still cooling along your skin. One of his arms bands around your waist, holding you flush against his side while his other hand comes up to card soothingly through your hair.
Nestling your face into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, you press a gentle kiss to the hollow of his throat and whisper, “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” he murmurs back, low and slightly scratchy in the aftermath. You can hear the smile in his voice as his fingers keep carding idly through your hair.
Silence falls again, comfortable and peaceful in the aftermath of your frantic passion, both of you simply basking in the warmth of shared nearness.
Eventually though, the question you’ve been avoiding asking slips out in a hazy murmur. “What brought all … that … on, Oscar?”
He’s quiet for so long, you begin to wonder if he fell asleep. Just when you’re about to shift to look at him though, he speaks up.
“When your fans assumed I was your ex … the way they were celebrating that the two of you got back together ...” His fingers stroke almost absentmindedly through your hair as he pauses. “I dunno, something in me just .. .snapped a little. Seeing them say over and over how perfect he was for you ...”
He trails off with a low chuckle, and you can’t resist craning your neck to glance up at him curiously. When your eyes meet his, his expression is rueful.
“I couldn’t stand the thought of any other name on your lips, love. Even your own.” His fingertips trace the line of your jaw with unbearable tenderness. “All I wanted was for you to say my name like that — like it’s the only word that matters in the entire world.”
Just like that, a fresh ember of want rekindles low in your belly at the slightly awed honesty in his voice. You exhale a shaky breath, searching his stormy gaze for … what? Evidence of how crazily affected you are by such a simple revelation?
Whatever he finds reflected in your stare seems to give him pause as well because his eyes almost immediately darken with renewed hunger.
“Say it again then,” he husks, rolling until he’s leaned over you, hands planted on either side of your head. There’s no demand in the words, just low, thrumming need thrilling between you both.
So you reach up to cup his face in your palms, rubbing your thumbs over the sandpapery stubble along his strong jawline as you gaze adoringly up at him.
“Oscar ...” you breathe out his name like a sacred invocation. “My Oscar.”
His eyes slip shut and he makes a low, ragged sound of pure satisfaction on an exhale that ghosts across your lips.
“Yeah,” he rasps, bending lower until his forehead rests against yours. “That’s it, love … that’s all I ever want to hear.”
You pull him back down to you then, unable and unwilling to resist sealing the promise of those words against his lips with your own.
And as everything inevitably dissolves into heat and need and formless ecstasy once more, you lose yourself to the endless chant of his name on your lips — your entire world whittled down to just that one exalted word, over and over and over.
Because really, what other name could ever matter when Oscar Piastri is the only name you’ll ever need?
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#oscar piastri#op81#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#oscar piastri x female reader#oscar piastri x y/n#mclaren#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri drabble
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to be a muse
Description: Benedict meets a fascinating young woman
Word Count: 0.9K
Warnings: I think I made Benedict a bit of a himbo but that's okay. the reader is still black and even though she's charlotte's daughter, I made it so she's any skin tone which lowkey makes sense given how wild genetics work
Benedict stared at the painfully blank canvas of his family's drawing room. Hyacinth's and Gregory's laughter could be heard running about in the family's home. Kate and Anthony were doing god knows what, honestly, he felt like he was going to throw up from the love that came from the both of them.
"Brother, I fear I'm in a rut," Benedict announced while plopping himself down in between Colin and Eloise. He reached over and stole one of Eloise's bonbons.
"I beg your pardon," Colin said as he jolted awake from Benedict's sudden appearance.
"Nothing, and I mean nothing, has inspired me. Idle hands," He waved his hands in the air for extra effort.
"You are out of inspiration and you woke me up to tell me this," Colin tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes but nothing was working as Benedict yapped on and on about art.
"Yes," Benedict shrugged.
"Have you tried going to the museum? I hear there is a new exhibit. It might spark something for you," Eloise just wanted to eat her bonbons in peace.
"That's why you are my favorite, " He ruffled her hair before dashing off to find his coat before heading to the museum.
-
He stood in front of a painting for what felt like hours. It seemed like he was waiting for something to come to him, his inspiration. Footsteps shuffled around him, yet, Benedict remained unmoved.
"I find his work to capture the inquisitive nature of who he paints," A melodic voice came from behind him. He turned a saw a woman around his age with the most beautiful features. Delectable lips, and round cheeks, and her skin looked like it was kissed by the gods themselves. The gorgeous shade of brown, he had ever seen.
"You do? That is a refreshing perspective. My family thinks them all to be faces on a canvas," He probably should have addressed her more formally but for now he was happy to have someone share interests with him.
"They are but they are also so much more. Each brush stroke is an attempt to capture a moment. No matter how imperfect it may be," She looked at him with a small smile playing on her lips. His eyes lingered there a little long before dragging down the rest of her body. She did not have the clothing of a commoner. She must be a lady, he thought to himself.
"Are you a painter?" He asked.
"I am talentless in art, I'm afraid but that doesn't stop me from enjoying it. And what about you?" She shook her head and he noticed the bouncy curls that fell from her scalp. He was becoming more and more entranced by the moment.
"I dabble. I am not great enough for a museum. My siblings believe it to be my hobby," He admitted rather shyly.
"Yet. You are not great enough for a museum, yet. Mister?" She asked for his name.
"Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton," Benedict gave her a small smile as he introduced himself. She chuckled slightly.
"It has been wonderful chatting with you, Mr. Bridgerton, but I fear I may have to leave." She looked disappointed that their conversation had come to an end. Benedict looked up at the painting and began to speak.
"What is your name so I may fin-" He looked down and she was gone. She had disappeared into the crowd before he could finish his statement. He pushed to the entrance of the museum but there was nothing.
-
"All of this happened and you did not catch the lady's name?" Colin asked as he and Benedict made their way away from the mothers who all wanted their daughters paired with a Bridgerton.
"She was perfect. I only entertained Mother's idea of me coming to the ball tonight in hopes of seeing her," Benedict said while adjusting his waistcoat and smiling at some of the season's eligible debutantes but none of them were her.
"And if she's not here?" Colin asked, his eyebrows squinted and a bit concerned by the potential answer.
"I will simply cease," He deadpanned.
"Cease what?"
"To exist," Benedict said and watched as more and more people arrived at the ball. Even the Queen was in attendance, but someone far more interesting trailed behind her.
"Stop hitting me. Mother, he's hitting me," Colin said as Benedict repeatedly tapped his brother's shoulder. Benedict's eyes were wide as they trailed the woman he met in the museum.
"That's her. That's the woman," Benedict said watching her gracefully walk across the room. She was dressed in the finest silks and her curls that were wild and free earlier were pinned back.
"Well, that cannot be," His mother started. Her son could not have been talking about her. That would have been impossible.
"What are you talking about? She is right there. Even more beautiful than when I saw her last," He noted her appearance before quickly bowing in the presence of Queen Charlotte. Sure, the family had her favor, but even they knew their place.
"Bridgertons, I do not think I have introduced my daughter. Princess Y/N, she takes after me in beauty of course," The Bridgertons turned and then bowed in front of the Princess who looked mortified.
"It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintances," She spoke softly as her gaze held Benedict's. He understood why she dashed away. The scandal of an unmarried princess wandering the museum alone. Especially, considering how long the two of them spoke together.
"A pleasure indeed," He would see her again. He had to find his muse.
Taglist: @flyestvenustrap@megamindsecretlair@blxckdesire @prettyvintageafternoon@lilbanas@certifiedloverwoman@melissa-ashe @hoyoooo @blckbarbiedoll idk if you guys wanna be here for this because it's a bit diff from my usual content but just let me know!!
#x black!reader#black!reader#x black reader#black reader#benedict x black!reader#benedict bridgerton x black reader#benedict bridgerton x black!reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict x princess!reader#benedict x reader#bridgerton x reader
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i like my body when it is with your
body.
#death note#meronia#near#mello#mihael keehl#nate river#mello dn#near dn#artists on tumblr#horreurart#been working on this one here and there for a long while. i love drawing mello's scar >:) it's like a brain coral or a very shitty maze.#also i cannot remember the last time i posted something even slightly racy so this feels rather scandalous#2024 is the year of posting sexy blorbo art i've decided...#anyway this literally happened in canon it just wasn't relevant to death note's journey. source: trust me#something kind of melancholic about this piece i think. it's like spying on them. it pulled that one ee cummings poem from the#deepest receses of my mind -- i hadn't thought about it in years. it's sooo romantique. to me#girl help the anime boys are in doomed love...#in my mind this forbidden rendezvous is happening in one of those abandoned love motels with heart shaped tubs and round mattresses and#mirrors on the ceiling and wall carpeting. it's kind of gross.#sometime between spk control room meeting and mello dying. rip king at least you got the love of your life laid once (1) one time
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For the Hound, his Birth name is III-V2CE and Then for his Role: Kolasis ( κόλασις - Kol'-as-is) - Correction : Chastisement, Torment, Punishment, and Deprivation
Now...when do you learn this name? potentially... chapter 17 lol. "mon-narc" and "chaffy ass" are more common for the first chunk of the story
#the kind of slow burn where#one half has a punching bag with a shitty drawing of their mech tapped to it#and the other keeps complimenting their fighting while trying to kill them and the "why not let my boss hire you???#they got a dynamic#that gets worse/better#worse in two thick skulls cracking together repeatedly#I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS STORY FOR SO LONG AND HAVE NOT KNOWN WHAT TO CALL HIM#i have confused...most of my loved ones#III-V2CE#oc#i put 16 at first i misremember my own fucking story#16 is cute tho#other gays talking to each other#one is definitely not a ...robot just a normal robot nothing else in t here
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Why I Love Hanamusa
I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:
First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.
I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!
Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!
It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.
Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.
Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.
All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs.
Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.
Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.
There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.
I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.
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Light On - single mom/neighbor fic
Simon Riley/female reader
🎄Simon has himself a merry little Christmas - for @glitterypirateduck's cod holiday challenge
Simon opens his eyes to an empty bed on Christmas morning.
His breath catches in his chest when his hand slides across the sheets, instinctively seeking the warmth of your body, only to discover your side of the bed empty.
His rational, tactical, professional mind tells him you've probably just gotten up with the baby. That for some reason, he slept too deeply and didn't wake up when she did this morning, like he usually does. You're in the guest room, Emmaline's room, now, or in the kitchen. Maybe you're already drinking your first cup of coffee. You're fine. The baby is fine. Nothing is wrong.
But his heart... his heart screams. Terror ices his veins, adrenaline and fear taking control of his gross motor skills, legs twisting beneath him as he stumbles out of bed and races for the door. They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine-
“Sweetheart?” His voice betrays him. He sounds stressed, anxiety piquing, frantically turning the corner into the kitchen. Not again, he can’t do this again, this can’t happen again…
It’s empty. The front door is still locked, and so is the patio’s, twinkling Christmas tree glowing in the late dawn light. His mind splits. Check Emmaline’s room, they’re probably in there, get control of yourself… and… the glock 19 is closest, should still be under the top shelf, call Price, mobilize the team-
“Simon?” He whirls at the sound of your voice, air rushing out of his lungs, drawing into a relieved laugh. Emmaline is on your hip in a green, white, and red striped elf costume, complete with a pointed hat, jingle bell dangling from the top. “Morning.” You smile, and so does the baby. “Santa’s elf wanted to surprise you.” You’re still a little sleepy, eyes tired, and he does a double take when he realizes you’re in your underwear and one of his t shirts.
“I’m… surprised.” Bloody hell. His brain isn’t working, his mouth rendering him stupid, still caught in fight or flight, and your lips subtly twist before your eyes soften, realization soft across your features.
“Are you okay?” You question, and he nods, not trusting himself to not say something else moronic, flailing in the silence, failing. It’s been weeks since he’s felt like this, inept, clumsy, senseless, too easily settled into a life with you after that pipe burst in your flat and practically delivered him a holiday miracle, a treasure deposited right into his lap. “Here,” you push Emma into his arms, soft fingers over top his as you hand her off, looking up at him with that level trust, adoration that you’re always providing him, in your eyes. Just holding Emmaline settles the anxiety in his heart, soothes the raw buzzing that’s tearing through his head, and you smile, butting your head into his shoulder and placing a kiss there. “Will you take her while I get dressed?”
“Yeah.” He croaks, as you squeeze his forearm, turning away. “Sweetheart,” he calls, stopping you in your tracks. He wants to tell you he thinks he loves you; he thinks he’d die without you; he thinks you’re the greatest thing he’s ever had, ever held, thinks you saved him, but nothing comes out. You hold his gaze for a second, and then two, before whispering.
“I know… me too.” Of course you do. You pause, cocking your head. “Could you make some coffee? Gonna be a long day.” You raise an eyebrow towards the Christmas tree, where all of Emma’s gifts sit perfectly arranged, and he nods. He can do that.
“Just three scoops of this,” he tells Emma, portioning out the coffee into the filter as she babbles at him from her perch in his other arm. “Mama likes it pretty strong, doesn’t she? And then some water, like this.” He pours the pitcher into the machine’s reservoir, flicking on the power and listening to the gurgle as he makes his way to the couch. He bounces Emma on his knee, little hands waving in the air, trying to grab the end of her hat and gnaw on it. The tree sparkles behind her, lights and ornaments all aglow, and she giggles when she tips herself forward, planting onto his chest with both hands. “Easy, baby girl.” Rolling onto her back in the crook of his arm, she squirms, smiling up at him, finger extended towards his chin. “What is it, eh?” He leans, and she pokes his cheek, cooing with a satisfied grunt. She fits so naturally in his side, just like you do, and he settles into the cushions, relaxing, allowing her to explore, tactile touch padding across his face, little fingernails scratching at his stubble.
“You two look cozy.” You murmur with a yawn, cup of coffee steaming in your palms. He smiles, and Emma lifts her head to look for you, tracking the sound of your voice. You perch at his other side, knees tucking up next to his hip, nestling your head against his shoulder, fingers tracing Emmaline’s cheek. “Whatcha doing sweet pea?” He brushes a kiss across the top of your head, and you sigh, arm wrapping around his stomach. "This is nice."
"It is." He agrees. It's more than nice, it's everything. Everything he didn't know was possible, everything he didn't know he wanted. It's nice, spending Christmas with his girls, cuddled up together on his couch in front of a Christmas tree that's loaded with presents for the baby. A Christmas, the holiday he used to shun… now brought back to life by you. Nice is a good word to describe it, but others flit through his mind as well: perfect, redeeming, salvation.
Purpose.
He takes a ragged breath, and you lean back to look at him, waiting.
"It's more than nice, sweetheart, it's... I... never thought, never dreamed this could happen in my life. You and Emmaline, you're... everything to me." He pauses, cradling your face, watching how your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I want," he swallows the lump in his throat. "I want you to stay. I want you to be here. Always." He needs you to stay, needs you like he needs air to breathe, needs you like he's never needed, never wanted, anything before in his life. He'd give you the world, if he could, wrap it up nicely and put it beneath the tree, but he doesn't know how to say that, how to explain.
He's grateful he doesn't have to.
"I'll be here, Simon. I'll be right here. With you." You take his hand, clutching onto him tightly. It's selfish, what he wants. Stupid. But he's not a good man... he's yours, and he'll be as wicked, as awful as he must to keep you and Emmaline safe. You're the only good thing about him now, and he'd dig himself free from a shallow grave all over again, just to crawl home to you. You've changed him, deeply. Fundamentally. Taught him the truth of love, of healing, your grief not so much different from his own, and he knows he'd die for you, he'd die for you ten thousand times.
Emmaline babbles at the sound of your voice, and you smile at her, not bothering to wipe away the tear that tracks down your cheek. "We're here. We'll stay. As long as you want us."
And christ, if that isn't the best Christmas gift he's ever be given.
#peaches writes#light on#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#codholiday2023
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Drabbles: First Kisses
Featuring Astarion, Halsin, Gale, Gortash, Raphael
Inspiration courtesy of @me-writes-prompts
Gortash
He’s quick to bind your hands. Something you knew was coming considering you were taken prisoner. Gortash wasn’t about to let a skilled warrior such as you be transported with your hands unbound.
His fingers work quickly to tie a knot in the rope holding your hands together. A fluttery feeling fills your stomach at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your hands.
He lowers your hands, tipping your chin up to look at him. “Try anything, and you won’t like the punishment.”
You can’t explain why, but your eyes travel to his lips. There’s something about him that draws you in, makes you wonder what he tastes like.
Before you can comprehend your movements, you step forward and kiss him.
His body tenses for a moment and you step away quickly to gauge his reaction. You can’t read him. He simply watches you.
Your breath leaves you. A part of you unbelieving you just did that. A burn blooms in your chest as you wait for him to react in a rage.
Then he stalks over to you, his long legs moving quickly. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly.
You ache to touch him, but your bound hands stop you. So you simply roll your hips into his so you can feel him as much as possible. He growls into your lips at your movements.
His hands fall to your ass. He grips you roughly as you continue to move your hips against him. Your heart is pounding. Your mind is unable to comprehend that you’re making out with Enver Gortash.
Astarion
Astarion has offered to help you practice your kissing technique. At first you were slightly offended that he even thinks you need practice, but after some contemplation, you realize it’s been a while. And you were hoping to find some company at a tavern tonight as well.
Which is how you find yourself sitting across from him. You both sit cross legged, as if you’re a couple teenagers about to play a dirty game. Tension laces your body. This isn’t exactly a comforting situation.
“Just try to focus on what I’m doing,” he instructs.
You nod, watching his lips as he tilts his head to kiss you. You nearly gasp as his skin meets yours. His lips are deliciously cold, and you have to restrain yourself from leaning into him. He’s the one taking the lead here.
His tongue runs along your bottom lip. You part your lips to grant him access. The smallest of whimpers escapes you as his practiced tongue glides against yours.
Your hands move on their own as they try to snake through his hair. His hands are quick to restrain you.
“No touching,” he says before resuming his work.
You feel lightheaded by the time he pulls away. He looks at you with a smug look on his face, clearly knowing the effect he has on you.
“Your turn,” he tells you. By the twinkle in his eyes, you can tell he can’t wait to taste you again.
Gale
The necklace Gale hands to you is gorgeous. The gem sitting on the chain glitters in such a way that it almost takes your breath away. No doubt he added some magical effect to it to make it that much more special.
“Gale, this is too much,” you tell him. You’ve had a crush on him since he joined your adventure, and things like this aren’t helping the growing affection you feel for him.
“The necklace would be going to waste if it was on anyone else,” he replies. “I want you to have it.”
You press it against your chest and grin at him. “I love it.”
The way he looks at you makes your heart flutter. “Let me put it on for you.”
He takes the necklace and you sweep your hair up so he can secure the clasp at the back of your neck. His fingers brush against your skin, causing a slight shiver to rush through you.
When he’s finished, you turn to kiss him on the cheek. But then he turns his head, and your lips meet.
A small gasp leaves you, and you step away. “Sorry about that, I just wanted to thank you for such a beautiful gift.” Your face suddenly feels unbelievably hot.
He moves closer. He tilts your chin up. You meet his gaze, butterflies dancing in your stomach.
“So thank me.”
He’s inviting you in. Your eyes fall to his lips. You admire the shape of them for a moment before leaning in to kiss him.
Lightning ignites in your belly when your lips meet his. Your body nearly jolts at the sensational feeling. His hands fall to your waist. His fingers press into you ever so slightly.
His tongue is certainly practiced. You nearly feel dizzy at the pleasure he’s able to ignite in you just from a kiss. But he holds you steady, and you’re grateful, because your knees feel like they could buckle at any moment.
Of course, Astarion is the one to ruin your moment.
“Please kill me now,” you hear his voice behind you. You both whip your head to the source, cheeks flushed.
“If I have to watch you two doing that from now on, I’m flinging myself off a cliff.”
Halsin
You never should’ve let Karlach pick for game night. But here you all are, sitting around the campfire playing truth or dare. Your mind is slightly fuzzy due to the wine you’ve been drinking, and the laughter that’s been bubbling in you for most of the night.
“Truth or dare?” Karlach asks when it’s your turn.
You're quick to pick dare. The alcohol in your system challenges you to do something dumb.
Karlach answers as if she’s been waiting all night for this. “I dare you to kiss Halsin.” She grins proudly.
A small twinge of anxiety pokes at you through your fuzzy haze. Your eyes flicker to Halsin, expecting him to look offended or hurt. But his expression is an open one, a light smile even graces his lips.
You shrug. “Alright.”
You make your way over to Halsin. Grateful for the drinks you’ve had, you sit on one of his thighs. You feel his hand slide up your back, earning tingles at the back of your neck.
You lean forward and carefully press your lips against his, as if testing if he’s okay with it. Then he leans into you, and you know you have permission to fall into him even more.
The gang hoots around the campfire, egging you on. You laugh against his lips. Part of you wishes you were in private so you could kiss other parts of him as well. Those large hands of his hold you so carefully. You want to feel them on your hips, your thighs, everywhere.
Karlach groans. “Okay enough. Before I get sick.”
Raphael
This was wrong. You knew that. Raphael is a devil. He just wants to manipulate you. Trick you into getting what he wants.
And now, as he corners you and presses himself against you, you know he’s playing your body. Using your reactions to weaken you and your state of mind. But his firm body continues to send waves of pleasure straight through you.
“What’s wrong, little mouse?” He asks, smirking. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”
He angles his face close to yours, eyes intense and alight with desire. A small voice in your head tells you to push him away. But it’s hard to listen when he looks so sinful.
His lips are on yours. You instinctively grind against him, cheeks flushing at how quickly your body gives in. Flames lick at your skin. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every dip and curve.
When his claws trace your bare skin, you gasp. His body tightens at the noises you make. You should stop this. You should push him away.
But every roll of his hips, every caress of his fingers, and you can’t help yourself from falling deeper into his haze.
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion#astarion imagine#astarion x reader#halsin#halsin x reader#halsin imagine#enver gortash#enver gortash x reader#enver gortash imagine#lord gortash#lord gortash x reader#gortash x reader#gale x reader#gale of waterdeep#raphael baldur's gate 3#raphael bg3#raphael x reader#Raphael imagine
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Welcome Home... Soldat? | Part III
That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.
Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra
Words: 5.2k++ (sorry y'all)
Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader
Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, fluffy stuff, tiny sprinkle of angst, soldat is heartbreakingly adorable until the very end, bucky not being very communicative, self-loathing, confusion, conflicted feelings between guilt and need, two idiots in love who are lost in a miscommunication, excessive use of the word 'fuck', and... what else? I'm not sure either lol.
P/S: This has been truly a journey. Thank you so much for the support y'all have been giving me. I really do appreciate all the comments and dms about my work regardless which one of them. Just wanna remind you that I won't be here without you; that's the degree of importance that you possess. Anyway, enjoy your reading.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
It's only been eight in the morning and the soldat had Y/N trapped between his arms as she focused on sifting the flour for the pancake batter. There were barely any space between them; not when he made sure that her soft plushy butt rests right against his crotch, while his fingers subtly move along her hips.
Those gentle trailings didn't last too long for comfort as he slipped his left hand under her sweatshirt. The soldat let his instinct took control as the metal of his touch draws invisible circles all across her bare stomach, while his lips peppered endless amount of butterfly kisses on the marks from last night; each one was now hidden under layers of color correcter and concealer.
"Wow." A raw sound of astonisment naturally slipped from Sam's lips as he found himself frozen in his spot at the corridor leading to the entrance of the kitchen.
Look at them. Acting like newlyweds on their honeymoon.
For a moment he forgot that the huge cuddly hunk in front of him was the winter soldier and not his fellow comrade.
But then again, it might as well made sense that it was not the Bucky he knew, because that man would've been a puddle of mess if he got the chance to touch Y/N like this.
Sam still remember that night when they had a Harry Potter movie marathon and Y/N ended up falling asleep on Bucky's shoulder. Even in the room that was scarce from light, Sam could clearly see the redness on Bucky's cheeks and ears.
It was an understatement to say that Sam had the best time of his life teasing the shit out of Bucky that night, knowing he can't do anything about it without waking Y/N from her comfy slumber.
"Soldat, please. I need to move around, you know?" Y/N's amused giggle pulled the soldat from his dreamy trance.
He shakes his head in the crook of her neck, snuggling deeper as he took a deep breath of her sweet scent, "No, you don't. You just need to stay here." The soldat huffed as he pouted and tighten his hold on her.
Y/N chuckled at his child-like antics, "You do know that you're not gonna get any breakfast any time soon if you keep doing this, right?"
Sometimes, she couldn't help but wondered if this is how it would feel like to have Bucky doting on her.
"Родная (darling), I'll gladly have you for breakfast. I'm sure I'd have a feast on that sweet little pussy of yours." He whispered seductively into her ears, as he sensed Sam's presence approaching the kitchen.
Y/N briefly fluttered her eyes shut as he purred in her ears, before slightly peel herself off from him, "Soldat." Her voice was stern and her eyes narrowed into a frown.
The soldat gaze down at her with a hazy grin on his lips, "Родная (darling)."
Unknowingly, the one-sided glaring battle began when Y/N refused to break their intense eye contact; each opponent uses a very contrasting approach, where one has a deep frown and a pair of blazing eyes while the other has the softest, droopy stare and literal hearts in his steel blues.
"Move." Y/N instructed as if it was a warning.
The brunnette let out a defeated laugh as he loosen his hold on her, "Okay, okay. Anything for you, sweet one."
"Thank you." She sighed. "Finally" she thought. She was worried that they gonna have breakfast for lunch if he refuses to let her go.
On the other hand, the soldat was unable to sit still on his own, so he continue to follow her around, like a hungry cat rubbing their forehead up their human's leg, mewling for attention.
"Morning, y/n and... her shadow." Sam finally make himself known as he greeted while naturally went to pour himself a cup of coffee.
"Good morning, Sam." she greeted back while the soldat swiftly put himself in between them like a barrier. He shot a menancing glare at Sam as the man was standing 'too close to Y/N' for the soldat's comfort.
Obviously offended, "Dude, calm down. I was just greeting her good morning." His voice raised as he defended himself for his rights, "Tell him y/n" he continued to tattle tail.
In which Y/N responded by patting the back of the soldat's shoulder as a reassurance before asking him to move away.
Let's just say that he begrudgingly agreed to just because it was Y/N's request.
"Unbeliveable." Sam rolled his eyes, "This your friend?" He asked as Steve entered the scene, greeting everyone a good morning before he quirked, "What?"
"Look at him." Sam accusingly pointed as the soldat, "He's hogging y/n." He continued to explain while purposely reach his hand to touch her. The soldat wordlessly pulled her away before he could reach any further, "See?" Sam pointed again.
Steve didn't defend anyone this time as he only laughed it off before finding his seat. His eyes sparkled with delight to the amount of pancake made by Y/N and the multiple choice of topping and sides; from the sickening sweet stuff to the oddly savoury ones.
He glanced over at his best friend, who was unsubtly trying to hog Y/N away from Sam and his baby blues soften as he thought maybe Shuri was right. Maybe Bucky was always present somewhere in this soldat's persona.
It was such a typical Bucky behaviour to be possessive as the soldat was being. Steve noticed that Bucky would always get a bit agitated when someone touch his girl, even if he doesn't actively show it as much. In the 40's he might've been able to hide it behind his charming smile and witty jokes, but nowdays anyone can see it on his ever-present frown and unintelligible grunts.
That applies for both Bucky and the soldat.
Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam as she pulled the soldat by the hand, "Ignore him, soldat. Now, come have breakfast with me." She sat him on one of the stool by the kitchen isle as she prepared his plate.
Perplexed by the lack response, Sam admitted his defeat for once and joined the isle to have his bite of the morning.
As soon as she settled on her own seat next to him, the soldat took her hand into his, briefly kissing her the back of it. "Thank you, darling." He whispered before placing their locked hands on his lap as they ate, casually rubbing his thumb on her for comfort.
If you thought Y/N was the only one who was blushing at the domestic show of affection, well you'd think again when you see the shade of red on the tip of his ears or the way Sam purposely looked away.
The morning went by with mostly three of them having a pleasant conversation and the soldat silently distract himself by playing with her hand, apparently enthralled by the size difference and how fragile looking hers was.
Meanwhile, the rest of the team came by the kitchen on their own time since some of them prefer to sleep off the pain from the previous mission.
Half an hour later, she felt as if she was caught in a dejavu when she found herself in the same position as before. She laughed softly as she washed dishes, while the soldat stuck himself to her like a oversize koala to a tiny tree.
"I smell pancakes." Tony spoke as he made a bee line towards the kitchen, looking like he just survived a bio hazard in the lab.
"I made extra. Help yourself." Y/N announced, not even trying to look back at them, especially when the soldat had her trapped in his tight embrace.
Tony peeked to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N, "Did you see her? I didn't even know she was here until she spoke." He asked, though he sounded more like he was teasing her.
Before Tony could reach out for his plate, Shuri stormed to the kitchen, catching everyone's attention, "Pancakes can wait, Tony." She stopped him which only cause him to whine dramatically.
It felt as if Y/N's heart completely dropped out of her body when Shuri nodded knowingly, "It's time."
There was a quick briefing of the process with everyone involved while they prep the soldat in the other side of the glassed section of the lab. Y/N tried to focus on watching the simple simulation video that was prepared by Tony.
And she heard every single words of Shuri's but all she could think was if the soldat knew what they were doing. If he felt like he was being thrown, being disposed of like some kind of object.
By the time they the explanation ended, Y/N didn't think twice as she marched towards the soldat. The team didn't questioned her motive as they can see the determination in her eyes.
She stopped on her tracks, right at the entrance when a thought ran across her mind.
Of course, she wanted Bucky back but why does this feel so wrong?
"How are you feeling, soldat?" She prompted as she walked over to him, passing the lab employee who scurried away leaving the couple to have some privacy.
The soldat brightened in her presence as he reached out to her with grabby hands, triggering a soft giggle from Y/N. She let her hands gravitate towards his, intertwining her fingers in his hold as he replied, "Much better now." He sighed in contentment the moment he felt her skin against his own.
There was a comforting silence in the room, but Y/N's mind was the complete opposite. There was only chaos of questions that felt so sinful and immoral to utter out loud.
The soldat grip tightens with tenderness, as if he could hear the loud havoc in her head. Moments later, he decided to break the silence with an honest confession.
"I know that I'm not welcomed here." He glanced at the other side of the glass, watching the team pacing around. "I know that you're trying to get rid of me." His ocean blues changed its tides to gaze up at her; the smile on his lips was soft and pure.
"You know, I have been many things in this life..." the soldat looked down where his hands were entangled with hers, "...a killer, a weapon, a monster, you name it." there was a hint of grudge in his voice but mostly it was woven with regret.
"But, worst of all, I have been a thief." It felt as if he has been holding his breath as he avowed.
"I have stolen decades worth of his life, robbed him of his freedom for so many years, every single happiness and hope he could ever experienced had been stripped away right before his eyes," the soldat chuckled ironically before looking up to meet her teary eyes, "...yet I'm still greedy for more days with you."
Y/N found herself unable to speak, afraid that her words would do nothing to coax him; or maybe she just couldn't trust that her voice won't crack in the middle of her sentence especially when she was damn sure that her heart was already cracking for him.
The soldat's eyes softens when he reached his hand to her face, "I never knew that I was capable to feel these futile emotions such as joy and love, until I felt it when he looks at you." Y/N didn't even notice she was crying until he wiped them away with the gentle caresses of his thumb.
"Everything I felt towards you were his to begin with." He confessed as he felt the guilt of stealing yet another precious thing from him again, "That's why, I don't deserve this." The said as he recalled every moment he got to spend with her, "I don't deserve you."
The soldat knows that very well, but that didn't stop the natural curiosity that resides from within him, "And I can't help but to wonder..." he hesitated as he tried to construct the most raw and truthful question to sum up whatever this emotion he was currently feeling.
"Will you remember me?" His voice was small and quiet, almost afraid of the answer that might come his way.
More tears were spilling out as she unhesitantly replied, "How could I not?" Her hands raised to his face, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her palms.
The soldat's eyes sightly wobbled when he asked again, "Will you miss me?" At that time, he didn't know that the feeling he felt was called 'heartache', yet he was handling it like he had been experiencing it all his life.
Y/N leaned as she pressed the most tender kiss on his forehead, "More than you know." Her answer made the soldat smile as he purred in her hold.
He peeled one away from his face and pressed a kiss of his own on the delicate palm of her hand. The same ones that had showed him nothing but so much love and kindness.
When Shuri came into the scene, they know it was time to say goodbye. But, both refused to say anything remotely close to it. So, they wordlessly walked out towards the cylinder shaped glass pod, located right in the middle of the lab.
Until the very end, Y/N stood by his side as he lay on the tight space of the pod. And just as the door was about the close, the soldat smiled lovingly at his precious person, as he called for her nickname one last time.
"So long, Родная (darling)."
Three weeks later. At Avenger's private gym.
Steve re-adjusted his stance as he took cautious step backwards, "Why are you avoiding her?" He asked straightforwardly.
Bucky huffed a heavy breath as he lunged forward for a strike, "What are you talking about?" He missed when Steve easily swerved away and countered back, "Don't play dumb, Buck. I'm not in a mood for that."
The brunette blocked his punch with his left forearm but Steve uses that as an opportunity to grab him and pushed him on the floor. Bucky groaned as he landed flat on his chest, left hand on his back.
"Well, I'm not in a mood to talk about it either." He growled as he swing his leg backwards, toppling Steve on his back and pushed his metal arm against his neck, choking him out of his breath, "So, drop it." He warned.
Steve tapped the floor as a sign of defeat and Bucky released his hold while retreat his arm away. Both of them was out of breath but for entirely different reason; Steve was literally choked, so that's fair, but Bucky was breathing heavily as soon as Y/N stepped into the gym.
He stood there with an intense frown on his face, glaring at the woman of his dreams. Literal dreams, or memories of the soldat that was left behind for Bucky after what happened with the winter soldier situation.
Thankfully the method worked, Shuri and Tony managed to bring Bucky back but just like before, he don't have any clear recollection what happened.
While Y/N made the team swore to never speak to Bucky about what he did when he relapsed, while Bucky himself also hides the fact that, much like his previous experience where the memories comes in a form of unsightly nightmares, his memories of those few days were also coming back in a form of dreams.
Though they were never linear. There was no way of knowing the actual flow of his memories.
It came more like snippets of certain moments, sometimes repetitive, sometimes glitchy but they were mostly such good dreams, beautiful even, however they didn't last very long.
At least, not according to Bucky.
Y/N stopped on her tracks as she saw Bucky, who blatantly throwing daggers at her through his eyes. She didn't know why but she didn't want to think of the worst, so she went towards him in hopes of proving her own mind that the negative instincts that she had was wrong.
But the moment she got close, "Hi Buck--" Bucky walked passed her as if she wasn't there in the first place. And she had to admit that, that shit was painful to go through.
And he had been acting like this for two weeks now. Avoiding her like a fucking plague. And she doesn't know why.
He was acting normal during the first week of his awakening, or maybe a little bit more reserved that he usually would be.
She doesn't know how else to explain it but he seemed to act really shy whenever Y/N accidently touched him.
Did someone told him about what happened? Is that why he's mad? She doesn't get it, and she wants to know why.
So before Bucky managed to walk further pass her, Y/N turned on her heels and tugged him by his right arm to stop him. Little did she knew, that might just be the one thing she shouldn't do.
It was like a pre-programmed reaction, when Bucky's body move on his own, as he harshly ripped himself from her grasps, almost dropping her to the ground.
Steve was second away from reaching out to catch her but luckily she found her balance back on her own.
Bucky leered down at her as he spoke, "Don't touch me." His voice came out much more venomous than he intended, making Y/N flinched to his command.
But if that what he needs to do to chase her away from him then so be it, "Just stay the fuck away from me." Bucky spat a cold warning before marching his way out.
Not only leaving Y/N in utter confusion, but with her heart torn to bled dry.
"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.
Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.
"Look at you. Look how well you're taking me. My darling is such a good girl, isn't she?" The soldat sounds sickeningly sweet when he murmured in her ears.
"Don't." she whispered quietly.
"p-please soldat, ahh." She mewled, scratching the metal of his arm.
"That's it darling, cum for your soldat. give it to me,, aahhh" He motioned, forming an 'O' with his mouth as she clamp down on his fingers; with his wide eyes looking down at her exposed pussy.
Bucky's eyes snapped open, ripping him out of the distorted memories only to leave him gasping in the darkness. He woke up swimming in his bed, drowning in the flood of sheets with his heart pounding as if it was desperate to tear out of his chest.
He looked around suspiciously as if he didn't recognized his own room, until strain of his crotch distracted him. His eyes pried downwards to see his cock struggling to fit in his pants and the images of his lucid dream flashes again.
Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, hoping the torture would stop reminding him of his sins, "You sick fuck." A deep frown formed as he muttered curses to himself.
After hours and hours of free falling tears in her room, letting herself drown in a sorrow that she never knew she would ever experience, she let herself wonder back to those lovely moments of her with the soldat.
She found it ironic that somehow the memories of his touch was also the cure to the wounds left by cruelty of his words.
It's hours passed midnight and her tears finally stopped, at least until her body was able physically form more tears in her glands, she took the time as a chance for her to rest.
Y/N laid on her back, letting the remaining tears to fall into her ears.
Worst part of all of this was not knowing why, and being left in the dark, yet he managed to effortlessly left her heart broken into shatters.
"Don't touch me."
"Just stay the fuck away from me."
Bucky's words had been circling her mind like a raging tornado. It felt like the spitefulness of his voice was mocking the flaws of her fragmented heart, toying with what's left behind after the storm.
Y/N didn't even realized when did she started to make her way towards the kitchen, but it was as if her body knew its own limit when her feet walked her out of the confinement of her room and her mind remind her to hydrate herself.
As she entered the kitchen area, she wasn't expecting to see Bucky standing in the middle of it, leaning forward towards the counter tops.
Even with the little source of light from the corridor, Y/N could see the tiredness in his face as he stare blankly into nothing. But, his expression soon changed when he saw her.
She didn't know what she had done to make him so agitated whenever he laid his eyes on her.
The silence between them was so loud that Y/N couldn't help but to approach him.
"I..." She truly didn't know what to say but it felt like it was her fault. She did take advantage of him when the soldat took over; endless use of his body, hands, lips and not to mention what happened that night. "I'm sorry."
Bucky was truly appalled to her words, even though he didn't show it on his expression. Why does she had to apologize to him when he was clearly the problem, "Why are you apologizing?" his anger naturally slipped through as he spoke.
But Y/N didn't know that he was frustrated at himself, and not at her, so the tone that he used stung her as much as it did prior, "I don't know." She simply said.
Lies.
She knew exactly why apologized but she wasn't sure if Bucky knew what happened when he blacked-out. "I just... I don't want to stay away from you. I don't like it."
She can't; not when her yearning for him had grew stronger than ever before.
"Well, you better get used to it because it won't change any time soon." Bucky spat harshly.
Y/N felt her own rage started to bubble from within.
Why is he being so hot-headed and stubborn like a sulking child? Can't he just act like a fucking adult and talk it out?
Her brows crunched into a frown as she held back her tone, "Why?"
Bucky let out a frustrated as he tried to walk away, shooting a demanding glare as he was passing her, "Just do as you're told, y/n"
"Oh no, you're not gonna run away from this."
She grabbed him by his arms and pulled him back into the conversation. "That's not fair, Bucky."
"Not fair?" His eyes narrowed, as he looked down at the smaller.
She puffed out an angry breath as she glared up, "No, it is not fair! It's not entirely your choice to make." She can feel the flames started to spread, "Especially when you refused to tell me why." She yelled accusingly as she shoved her finger to his chest.
Blood roaring in Bucky's ears as his heart pounded hard, pouring the concealed frustration out like a broken dam as he explodes, "He almost raped you, y/n!!"
There was a few milliseconds of non-movements as both them let those few words sink into their processing brain, "I... almost raped you." His voice shook in both anguish and anger, leaving Y/N frozen in a speechless shock.
"Or maybe I already did and I don't even fucking remember." His hands roughly tugged his long hair back as if he tried to go through the pieces of shattered memories in his wrecked mind.
"And if that is not a fucking sign for you stay away from me, I don't know what else I should do to make you see that." Bucky was breathing heavily that his breaths echoed through the silenced space.
Y/N's mind was running wild as everything slowly clicked. Did he thought that he... No. She blinked several times before she could form actual words, "Bucky, what are you saying? It's okay, it's okay. Just please calm down first and--" she tried to reach for him but that only made Bucky retorted, physically and mentally.
"It's okay? No, it's fucking not. Are you even listening to yourself? Can't you see? I'm dangerous y/n." He sounded as desperate as he was for air. "Especially to you. And if my messed up past was not enough to prove it, then what happened between us when I relapsed certainly did."
His heart rate increase rapidly, and his lungs seemed to work double time. Yet, he refused to let her see how badly he needed comfort.
"Bucky, please breathe. And just.. listen to me--" Y/N was hopeless trying to pull him out of the chaos of his mind but he just wouldn't listen.
Bucky's voice started to waver as the dark revelation continued to cloud him, "He assault you, y/n. I fucking assault you. And I can't let that happened again. So, just please, stay awa--"
"It was my choice!" Y/N snapped as she grabbed Bucky by his shoulder, forcing him to focus on her. "Bucky, I let him touch me. I could stop him if I want to, but I didn't."
Bucky didn't understand, "W-why?"
"Because I know he wouldn't hurt me. You wouldn't hurt me." Y/N tried to lay it out for him slowly but then she realized that maybe he didn't need that right now.
"Fuck, Bucky! I'm not a saint." She cursed after a few short moments of hesitation, "I have a lot of feelings I need to deal with like every other human being. Lust, love, you name it. And he..."
In a brief moment, she thought of the soldat, "He gave me the opportunity to feel the love that I always wanted from you. He showed me what we could've been." There was a sense of longing in her eyes, "It started small, soft touches and loving kisses." She smiled to the memories of it.
"And the moment that I thought that it could've been you who's kissing me, touching me. I knew it was over." She didn't know how many times she almost slipped out his name whenever she calls for the soldat; the name 'Bucky' was always at the tip of her tongue but never out.
"One thing led to another and we... I didn't mean to let it stray too far." She confessed, "Bucky, I admit it was wrong for me to take advatange of you, of the soldat, and I know there's no excuse to my behaviour than my own inability to control my feelings for you."
If the soldat thought that he was being greedy, then that makes the two of them.
"I understand if you want me to stay away from you, but just let me say this out loud." Her hands slid down to find his, thankfully he didn't repulsed this time, "Bucky... I love you." She finally spilled the truth as her soften gaze trained on his eyes, "I have loved you for a long time."
Afraid that this could be the end, she refused to look away. She didn't care if Bucky would plunge daggers to her through his words, she want him to know that her feelings for him was unconditional.
And Bucky really tried his best to let all her words sink in, even though most of them were somehow redacted and lost in his head.
But, thankfully the most important ones was so loud and clear for him to draw a simple conclusion that would ease his relentless worries, "You...I.. I didn't force it on you?"
Y/N didn't know why she wasn't expecting him to believe her but she was glad that he did, "No" she replied simply.
Bucky's voice strangled while his hand gripping tighter in her hold, "I didn't hurt you?" His teary eyes pleaded for the truth.
"Not a even close." She smiled kindly.
Bucky felt as the unbearable burden on his shoulders was lifted off completely just by those few simple words that Y/N just uttered. The tears he was desperately holding back broke freely as they stream down his face, his shoulders trembled with the force of his emotions running through his veins.
He whispered, "You don't hate me for it?" He pulled her hands closer to his face, fluttering his eyes shut as he kissed the knuckles of her fingers.
"Never." Y/N reassured, as she cupped his face; stroking her thumbs on his scruffy cheeks, wiping the warm, salty tears away.
Bucky sighed to her touch, it seemed that his body remembered her more than his mind did, "And you love me?" He blinked as he placed his hand on top of her.
Y/N nodded with a loving curve on her lips, "Always have."
Bucky didn't know how she does it but she really did managed to mend and melt his heart all at the same time. It was magic. Or, maybe it was sorcery. But even if she ended up leaving a curse behind, Bucky would still be glad that he let her bewitched him.
Bucky stared down at her, admiring her the kindness in her eyes despite the swolleness of them. He felt bad for breaking her heart, making her cry. It tore his heart just thinking about it.
His tongue darted out for a brief second as his metal hand fell, wrapping around her body.
Y/N maintained to lock her eyes on his as her hand slid down, and pressed on his chest. Despite being comfortable with his touches, and with the amount of kisses the soldat had generously gave her, she shouldn't be nervous anymore but she was.
After all, the soldat never kisses her on the lips and Bucky had his eyes on hers since the beginning.
She wanted his too.
Seeing the anticipation in her eyes, Bucky leaned in to press a kiss on her lips, his flesh hand came up to tilt her chin up, then gently cupped her face as he pulled her closer.
Her lips was so soft against his, that Bucky was sure that he will crave to this every single day.
He briefly pulled away from the kiss to whisper a soft, "I love you too, y/n." Before coming down for another chaste, "More than you could ever fucking imagine." He almost growled as he dipped for more.
Their innocent kiss soon turned into something deeper. They kissed passionately, lost in the bubble of time and space, ignoring the silenced ambiance as they were fixated on the sound of their beating hearts.
And when they pulled away for air, Y/N giggled as a silly thought went through her mind, "Well, I kinda see the glimpse of it in those few days with the soldat, so I think I got the gist of it."
That caused Bucky to let out a genuinely hearty laugh before humming playfully, "Hmm, do you now?" He went in for another kiss, knowing full well that he was already addicted to the taste of her lips.
He just can't get enough of it.
Y/N answered briefly in between his kisses, "Yes."
Bucky smirked as he smoothly guided her backwards, until the back of her waist met with the cold tile of the kitchen isle, "Three times, was it?" his eyes glint with mischieve when he leaned again to steal another kiss.
"What is?" Y/N titled her head to the side, unknowingly giving access for Bucky to lead his kisses from her soft cheek down to her exposed neck.
His lips trailed along the crook of it as he whispered, "Was it three times that he made you cum?" If his goal was to seduce her; well it was safe to say that he did it rather flawlessly.
Y/N thanked god that the kitchen was dim-litted, because the redness on her cheek was rather embarrassing, "I-I'm not sure."
She lied. But, Bucky didn't need to know that.
Bucky chuckled lowly as he murmured, "It's okay, babydoll. We have all the time in the world to beat that record." his naughty hands had already made their way toward her ass before she even have the time to register what he suggested.
Lust decorated the blues in his eyes as he whispered, "Starting now."
End.
<< Part II || Extra >>
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: Yeay, we have reached the end but I might have more of the couple in the future. Though I don't know when will it happen but I have hopes for it. Meanwhile, why don't you tell me what you think of the series and checkout my other work!
#winterarmyyfics#welcome home soldat au#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#winter soldier x you#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier!bucky
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🌸Sorry for the long ass absent guys 🫠 family and holidays have been crazy😮💨
I recently came across this short monkie kid wild West AU fanfic
It's short but it's really good, And it sort of got me in the mood to sketch or at least redraw the two mystic monkeys cowboy outfits again
I really wasn't sure whether to give Mac, purple boots or just black boots you can kind of see it in the first pick faded Mac.
🌸🐎🐴✨But I don't think I've seen anyone draw them with horses or write something about it, so I'm going to be the first one to do it! (I don't know how to draw them sitting on horses, so bear with me here.)😗💦 I know I put the scar on the wrong side of the Smokey Horse. My bad, let's just pretend it's on the right side.LOL😅🪷
😽💕I headCannon that when those two summon their horses together, they get really affectionate. The sheriff's horse is more like a big old golden retriever, playful and mischievous, and rarely ever listens to its owner. While over here, Mac's is more well-behaved and obedient, and they can get quite sassy sometimes. I'm not sure what to call it. It's hard to separate those two, so they try not to summon them at the same time.
They're also very affectionate to the monkeys especially the opposite ones.🐶🐎✨💕
😄I want a scenario where they let the horses stay instead of just poofing them out of existence so MK/MEI can play with the horses just a bit longer since they were begging them by giving them the puppy dog eyes (especially on Mei's side; she's a horse girl fan), and after a long while, the sheriff notices that his horse Nimbus was acting a little more strange and protective over the Smokey horse, letting them eat first, and just never leaving their side. All sorts of strange behavior on the Nimbus side. All he ever notices from the shadow horse is that they were a little sluggish, but he doesn't think too much of it.😗🤠🐵
🌟Until one day, BAM! This little cutie came into the world as a precious, adorable little cinnamon roll, prancing around like it owns the world.🧁😽🌎✨
🐎There's stupidly protective over this little guy.👿😡🦄🐴☀️🌙🌠
🐴And there's a huge problem. This little guy is clumsy as heck. He's new and everything, so of course he is, but he likes to adventure out without his horsey parents knowing or anyone else, and he loves playing games like tag his favorite, but because he's so clumsy, he causes damage that MK or his mentors have to fix, so everyone has to be on high alert and watch over the little rascal. LMAO 🐎🍼💥💕✨
🌸I hope you enjoyed this, I certainly had fun drawing this I wish there was more wild West monkeys fics there's some freaking cute💕✨
💥Aaaah! I love these freaking cow monkeys 😆💖
#monkie kid#lego monkie kid#lmk#sun wukong#six eared macaque#doodle#monkey king#macaque#mk#wild west au#monkie kid au#shadowpeach#horsey Shadowpeach#scenario / headcanon#cowboy monkeys#Journey to the wild west AU#cinnamon roll horsey ✨
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hi! you're great I love your work! I've got a weirdly specific archery question and thought I'd send it to you in case you'd find it fun to have a crack at
say you're an expert archer originally from Vietnam sometime in the late bronze age. say you're a super duper expert archer because it turns out you're immortal, and so you do your archery across Eurasia through the first millennium BCE and the first millennium CE and into the age where gunpowder weapons are evolving into cannons. that's a long time to be alive and you do lots of hunting and fighting with all kinds of bows and shooting styles, especially war archery on horseback. then you're out of the picture for a while, let's say you're peacefully sleeping for a handful of centuries. (this is about Quynh from The Old Guard who alas was not peacefully sleeping)
all of a sudden you blink and you've gone from the era where firearms were just starting to develop and maybe with this new flintlock thing guns could eventually get good enough to rival a bow and arrows— bam, now you're in the 21st century. what kinds of modern archery tech would you be most excited to try out? what would you think of a compound bow? Olympic style archery? plastic fletching?? how about the modern reproductions of what are now considered historical bows and shooting styles? is there anything about 21st century archery that you'd want to rant about at length? other opinions about these newfangled takes on your trusty old bow and arrows you care to share?
This is a phenomenal question, and thank you for asking it! Here’s my 2 cents:
The thing about modern archery is that for the most part, modern bows are designed to make it easier to be accurate, to the stage that modern target accuracy is probably better than it’s ever been historically.
BUT, if we assume Quynh is capable of feats of archery that match the level of melee combat skill that e.g. Andy has, then she doesn’t NEED it to be easier to be accurate.
My guess is that someone like her would actually find most modern archery developments needlessly slow and awkward. Compound bows and Olympic recurves are NOT designed for instinctive, fast shooting, and would probably feel quite restrictive once she got over how easy they made accuracy.
BUT, I imagine she would be blown away by the range and arrow speed that modern bows can generate, and there are some recurves (and at least one compound bow), that have been designed to make use of the efficiency of modern materials and bow design, while still allowing traditional shooting styles, and those, THOSE are something an ancient immortal archer might fall in love with! (FWIW, my own go-to is a horsebow made with carbon-fibre limbs and a modern limb profile, and for impact energy it can match some traditional bows with a draw weight that’s 50% greater. The Oneida eagle compound could trump that).
So yeah, it might take her a bit, but once she gets her hands on the right equipment, she’d be (even more) TERRIFYING!
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hii!! i’m in love w your writing!!❤️❤️❤️ can i please request one where it’s azriel x reader. Feyre sees azriel wearing a ring on his left finger and asks,
” i’ve seen you wear that ring forever azriel, what does it mean? ”
” it’s my wedding ring ”
and her jaw drops bc she didn’t know he even had a lover.
” who is she? do i know her? what is she like? ”
he smiles faintly and says
” her name is y/n, she’s my mate and wife and she isn’t a warrior like us, she works at a library downtown. you don’t know her, only rhys and cassian do. we have a house in the outskirts in velaris. she is very sweet and i love her more than anything, our daughter is- ”
” YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER ????? ”
he nods and tells them all about her, he asks if feyre wants to meet reader and their daughter and feyre smiles and nods. He asks reader in the mating bond if it’s okay to bring her, nyx, rhys and cassian to dinner. reader says yes and azriel tells feyre he’ll pick them all up tonight before leaving to help his wife prepare. Reader meets feyre and become friends instantly, nyx and their daughter become friends aswell.
” how did i not know this?? this makes so much sense now. How he never sleeps here and he’s gone for days sometimes but not on missions. ” feyre asks rhysand.
”don’t worry i didn’t know for a long time either, Az is a very private person, he is extremely protective of his family. i’m glad he told me at all. either way he’s still a mystery sometimes, i learn new things about him all the time and i’ve known him for over 500 years” rhys says and laughs knowing your perfect for his brother 🧎♀️🧎♀️😭🥹😍
Haven
Warnings - none
A/n - I played with this for a while, rewrote it several times, and then made something that met in the middle of what came to mind, but still stuck with the request. Hopefully, you love it, dear 💜
Feyre had been in Velaris for 5 years. 5 long years and she had yet to figure out why Azriel kept a simple black band on his left ring finger at all times.
The two of them were on the couch, Rhys across from them, as they looked over maps of a few of the Illyrian Camps that had been recently renovated. The new cabins, mess halls, and dorms were a huge success, and figuring out the same layout for the remaining few was a huge topic of interest for the three smaller camps.
She glanced at the ring one more time before tapping it. Rhys and Azriel both looked at her, brows raised. "So, not magic," she muttered to herself. She tried spell cleaving it, "And not a ward or shield."
Azriel blinked at her, brows knit in silent question. Rhys had his hand over his mouth, hiding his amusement. Leave it to his wife to provide entertainment without knowing it was needed. "I-" she sighed. "You wear this ring all the time. I'm trying to figure out why."
Both of the males chuckled. "Probably the same reason you wear your wedding ring, Feyre Darling."
The High Lady made face, tapping the ring again. "Don't be ridiculous, Rhys. I would know if Azriel was married."
"Evidently not, my love."
Feyre and Azriel held eye contact, the male then going back to the maps. "Since I have extensive time in Steppes Peak, I think it would be easiest to move the mess hall here, at the base of the mountain, maintain the warroom in the carved out cave, and build better dorms here," he pointed to an empty part of the map.
Rhys nodded, drawing it out on the empty map he had. "I'm sure y/n will agree with whatever you say."
"Okay, stop." Feyre crossed her arms, pouting slightly at the two of them. "Azriel isn't married, and making up some name to make me feel stupid isn't kind."
Azriel sighed. He leaned back while dropping the scent ward he kept on himself at all times. He watched as her face fell. He knew his scent, chilled air and cedar, was the predominant one in the mateship, but now a soft floral scent, something like lavender and warm honey clung there softly.
"I've been married for longer than you have been alive, Fey." Azriel patted her hand. "I have a daughter older than you and another younger than Nyx."
He watched as her face fell, a small amount of hurt flashing across it. "Why didn't you tell me?" She paused, looking at the sleeping heir in his craddle. "We could be having play dates. I could have a friend who understands."
Guilt settled into his face as he pulled her into him. "I torture people for living, sweet sister. I execute people on your orders. I imprison people with a flick of your wrist." He tilted Feyre's head up. "Y/n has no combat training and refused to learn. She likes to sit at home writing poetry, baking, and cuddling our children. I do not bring her around or introduce them to anyone to keep them safe." His face held the ghost of a rare smile. "I think I've brought her to meet Rhys and Cassian once."
Rhys nodded. "I've met her once here and several times behind your back in town. Especially after my first niece was born."
Feyre kept her gaze on Nyx. "He could have a friend," her voice was distant.
Azriel stood, placing a kiss on her forehead as he did. "I'll be right back." Rhysand's smile grew wide. Folding the maps and putting them away. He moved to the liquor cabinet, bringing down one of his more expensive wines.
Azriel reappeared with you and both daughters in tow. Your oldest ran to Rhys, jumping on him and holding him tightly, her wings fluttering with joy as she did. "Hello, Amara," he nuzzled into her hair. "Missed you so much, baby girl. Cassian is on his way."
He walked with her in his arms to the table, setting the wine down and then carried her over to Feyre. "Would you like to meet your aunt?" She allowed Rhys to set her down and turned toward Feyre.
There was little question she was Azriel's. She was the beautiful artists dreamed of painting. Soft classic features framed with inky black hair that fell in gorgeous curls. "Feyre, this is our niece Amara. She's 56. She was my favorite suprise when I got home from the mountain."
She smiled shyly, keeping close to Rhysand. "Hi."
"Hi," Feyre didn't know what came over her, pulling the Illyrian female close to her and holding her. "I'm so excited to meet you."
Amara wrapped her arms around Feyre, returning the gesture. "Me too. Mom and I have been BEGGING dad for a while. But you know how the bats are."
The door slammed open, rushed loud footsteps and a panting filling the hall. "Where's my baby?!"
Amara pulled away from Feyre, smiling softly before moving away from all of them. She was rushed by Cassian, lifted up into his arms as he spun her.
Feyre looked to her side, noticing Azriel next to her, holding a swaddled bundle. "This is Iris. She's a month younger than Nyx." Azriel wouldn't look away from his daughter and her peaceful sleeping face. "I fear the day she loses her chipmunk cheeks."
Feyre looked around the room, trying to find the reason this was happening and felt her heart shift when she saw you, arm wrapped around Rhysand's bicep, looking at Nyx.
You were wingless, long dark hair braided back. Soft leggings and a sweater that was a few sizes too big covering your frame. Cassian had moved next to you, bumping you with his arm and smiling down at you. "He's so beautiful," your voice was a melody, a soft echo that brought calm to the room. "And so sweet. Look at those rosy cheeks."
Rhysand pulled you away, moving you back to Feyre. He handed you to Azriel, arms out expectedly. "Don't make me command it."
The shadowsinger placed his youngest in Rhysand's arms, hands shaking despite the trust between them, "Be careful with her. Please." Rhys nodded, moving over to Cassian. "Feyre, this is y/n, my wife and mat-"
Feyre didn't allow him to finish, hugging you instantly, tears lining her eyes as she did. "Please tell me we can be friends and cry about our babies together."
"I didn't realize that would even be a question. Of course we will be friends, and of course we will cry about all of the things. Our mates don't get it. Cassian, though, Cassian will join us."
The warlord stuck one finger in your direction. "Let me love them in peace, y/n."
You leaned into Feyre, "Has he cried while holding Nyx yet?"
She nodded. "Oh yeah. Big illyrian baby."
"The worst, aren't they? Rhysand, did you want me to make dinner?"
The High lord looked at Azriel, a small look of guilt on his face, "Please."
You squeezed Feyre's arm, kissing Azriel as you moved towards the kitchen. "You know where to find me if she needs me." He nodded.
Azriel moved to Cassian, watching like a hawk as the general snuggled the small babe in his arms. Amara was sitting by Nyx a look of love and adoration on her face as she sighed.
"She's perfect for Azriel in every way," Rhys stroked Feyre's hand. "I was nervous at first too when he brought her home. I was even more nervous when his fears manifested in the form of being deeply private with her. But she is perfect for him."
Feyre nodded, watching as Azriel glared as Cassian due to the loud squeak his baby had just let out.
"His girls are beautiful." Rhys hummed in agreement. "Y/n is beautiful."
Feyre moved to Amara's side, sitting next to her and smiling as her niece started asking questions.
She didn't realize it until now, but this was the missing piece. The part of the puzzle that had sat empty despite every thing around it being done. You and your girls were that lost center.
Now she just had to convince Azriel to keep bringing you around.
General tag list:
@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers
#acotar#acotar x reader#azriel acotar#send asks#send anons#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#girldad!azriel x reader
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yes, really ✰ m. riddle
prompt: “i knew you’d be here”
summary: you’re drawing in the astronomy tower to clear your head & mattheo finds you
pairing/dynamic: best friend!mattheo x reader, mutual pining but they don’t really talk about it???? just two oblivious besties in love w each other
warnings: mentions of smoking (cigarettes), very very mild innuendo?? not even??? idk i think that’s pretty much it
note: i’m actually very happy with this one (i think) so i hope y’all enjoy :) i’m still planning on working on some requests, but i just wanted to start w something cute n fun while i had the inspo
masterlist
comments & reblogs are so appreciated!! <3
✰ ✰ ✰
“can’t sleep?”
in other circumstances, you might’ve been startled - but you recognize the voice in a second.
mattheo stands just inches away from you - the scuffed toes of his black chucks nearly touching your own.
with a soft little sigh, you set aside your sketchbook. “no. what about you?”
mattheo shrugs, before moving to sit beside you. “haven’t even bothered to try yet.” he slides down the wall, letting his long legs sprawl in front of him. then - with his thigh pressed up against your own, he begins fishing around in his jacket pocket. you watch him curiously, lips quirking upwards in understanding when he produces a familiar gold zippo and a pack of smokes.
even though it’s a miserably cold night, the heat of mattheo’s leg against your own is enough to make you dizzy. in a vain attempt to calm your quickly beating heart, you draw your legs up against your chest, before wrapping your arms around them. you watch as mattheo slots a cigarette between his lips, letting your cheek fall against your knees. “you know those are bad for you, right?”
he offers you a familiar little grin, cigarette bobbing between his lips as he responds. “i had no idea.”
you roll your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his. “you should quit.”
“maybe you should pick it up.”
a quiet little giggle slips past your lips. “could you imagine me smoking?”
mattheo laughs softly as he exhales, and you pretend not to notice how he blows the smoke away from you. “not really.” he takes another slow drag, and you watch distractedly as the cherry illuminates his handsome features. “it’d be hot though.” he says the words casually, through a mouthful of smoke, and your cheeks suddenly feel like they’re on fire.
“mattheo!”
he shrugs with his lips tugged upwards in an infuriating smirk. “what?”
you roll your eyes fondly, suddenly unable to look at anything but your shoes. “you are such an arse.”
for a few moments, the two of you slip into a comfortable silence. while mattheo finishes his half-smoked cigarette, you gaze distractedly up at the stars. eventually, you grow tired of the quiet - opting to ask the question you’d been mulling over since he turned up in front of you. “why’d you come up here, anyways?”
mattheo’s quiet for a second and your mind races anxiously in wait. then, he stubs out the end of his cigarette with a shrug. “i knew you’d be here.”
your heart aches fondly in your chest. “really?”
another shrug, and then he’s turning to you with this soft little smile that seems to be reserved for you and you alone. “yes, really.”
he says it as if it’s obvious - maybe it is - and you can hardly contain your stupid little giggle. “oh.”
“oh?” mattheo’s eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, but his knowing-grin never wavers.
it’s your turn to shrug - you’re not sure if you can bring yourself to do anything more at this point.
he bumps his shoulder against yours, leaning in to look at you. “is it a good “oh” at least?”
he’s being awful on purpose and you pretend to hate it. with a meek little nod, you finally meet his eyes. “it’s a good “oh””
mattheo grins, dropping his arm across your shoulders. “good.”
#ageofstarkey writing <3#ageofstarkey harry potter <3#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo riddle fanfic#matteo riddle blurb#mattheo riddle drabble#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle fanfiction#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#slytherin boys#slytherin boys blurb#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin boys fanfic#slytherin boys fanfiction#harry potter
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could you tell us more about the gift? :D
Oh, sure! I can stick some of my Gift drawing backlog in here while I'm at it~
The Gift is an unruly creature whose presence begets chewed wires and headaches wherever it goes. It's spunky and mischievous with a penchant for violence, and it revels in its job: to kill as much rot as it can without getting eaten by it first.
It exists only in an alternate universe where Pebbles is stopped before Moon collapses. Moon is damaged but alive - and after many long talks, Pebbles begrudgingly allows the other iterators to assist him with his rot.
The Gift's campaign uses the points system with an emphasis on rot kills. The gross cyan mixture on its spears is - via interacting with their stomach, in true slugcat fashion - weird altered barf. On contact with targets, "immunospears" explode like a spore puff and damage everything Five Pebbles related within their radius. This means you can kill even Mother Long Legs with good aim and enough food pips. Unfortunately, this does also kill neurons and inspectors, so the Gift has to be a little bit careful on its path of carnage.
Notably, Gift's goal isn't to eradicate the rot, just to help control it. If there's a way to cure the rot, this one silly creature can't do it for a whole superstructure.
It's been specially made (with love and care) by the other iterators so that Pebbles' inspectors don't target it. This is also why Pebbles won't murder it unless it shows direct violence towards him. His local group worked hard on this wretched being and they'll be very upset with him if he kills it. Plus it is actually good at its intended purpose. He just has to count the days until it keels over on its own.
Gift probably has some scavenger in there somewhere too, and maybe a bit of lizard. They're strong, but outside of fighting, I wouldn't say they're the smartest slugcat...
I've also played with the possibility of Arti and Spearmaster existing in this timeline. It ends as well as you'd expect. (I thought it would be funny if you could team up with Spearmaster and piggyback them around as your living spear generator though.)
There's some other stuff to the idea, such as a repeatable campaign where your strength and food requirement goes up every time you replay it, and a random pool of pearls you spawn with addressed to either Moon or Pebbles. I might go ahead and post that old campaign writeup still, so there'll be more in that!
#I feel like some of this would be a headache to code in an actual campaign#But I would have no way of knowing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#flickerdoodles#rain world#art#ask#anon#text#long post#the gift#ocs
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12:25 A.M.
word count: 1.7k
summary: eddie calls you late one night while he’s looking at your photos…. ;)
cw: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut smut smut. this entire thing is just filth from the get-go, sorry not sorry. lots of swearing, eddie & reader masturbate over the phone, lots of dirty talking - eddie and reader are bein nastyyyyy, daddy kink on the low, mention of explicit photos/nudes, if I forgot anything lmk!
author’s note: yeah so uhhhh the eddie sluts discord was having a convo about eddie keeping dirty polaroids of you and thus, this piece of filth was born. i’m so serious there’s barely a plot this is just nastiness, enjoy!!! also: the photos in the photo set above are not meant to represent what reader looks like - they’re just aesthetically pleasing.
*Rriiiiiiiing Rriiiiiiing*
The sound of the phone startles you from your half-asleep state. You’d unintentionally almost fallen asleep sitting up in your bed, television still playing softly in the background. You rub your bleary eyes and turn to the clock as you grab the phone. 12:25am. Who would be calling at this hour?
“Hello?” you say into the receiver, voice a little groggy.
“Hey, sweets. I’m sorry for calling so late,” you hear your boyfriend’s voice on the other end.
“Eds, hi. What’s up, are you alright?” you sit more alert now, wondering why he’s calling you after midnight.
“I’m fine sweet thing, just had a long day at work and I missed you,” his voice sounds breathy, not his usual tone of voice. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“I had kind of dozed off, but it’s fine. What are you up to over there, baby?” you ask him, curling the phone cord around your fingers.
“Oh, y’know… just looking through those sexy Polaroids I took of you. Touching myself a little bit,” you can hear the smirk in his voice, and you feel yourself shudder a little at his words.
Throughout the time you’ve been dating Eddie, he’s gathered quite the collection of explicit photos of you. He loves to take pictures of you in all sorts of positions, snapping shots of you naked on his bed, you split wide open on his cock, you sticking your tongue out while he presses his cock to your mouth, one of your face covered in his cum. You’ve even taken some of your own to sneak into his stash, photos of your tits squished together, or your fingers buried deep in your cunt. Eddie loves them, he looks at them all the time. He keeps the safe-for-work photos of you in his wallet and in his car, but the raunchy ones sit in a box under his bed - for his eyes only.
“Touching yourself to little old me, handsome?” you tease him, pulling your lip between your teeth.
“Fuck yeah baby, it’s like I’ve got my own personal porn star to look at, how could I resist?”
Your cheeks heat up at his response, and you clench your thighs together involuntarily. You know what he wants, know he needs to get off, so you take the bait.
“Mm, wish I was there to touch you instead, Eddie,” you giggle, feeling heat rush to your core at the thought of him spread out in bed, jerking his cock to you.
“Shit, baby, you know I love your hands on me,” there’s a pause, and then, “What are you wearing right now, sweets?”
“One of your t-shirts, you know - the blue and black tie dye one, and a pair of black panties….” you speak slowly, drawing out the words.
“No bra?” he asks, his voice husky.
“No bra, baby. In fact, you can see my nipples through the fabric of the shirt….” you trail off, knowing what you’re doing to him. One of your hands reaches up to toy with your breasts as you speak, as if you’re doing him a favor by touching the parts of you that he can’t right now.
“Fuuuuuuck, I need my hands on you baby. Wish I was there with you right now,” you can detect the strain in his voice, can faintly hear the schlick schlick of his hand moving up and down his cock.
It only turns you on further, and you slowly slip your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, ghosting circles over your clit. “Mmm, Eds, I need you here right now,” your voice is seductive, pleading.
“Yeah, baby? What would you have me do if I was there with you?” Eddie purrs.
“I’d have you finger my soaking pussy…. two fingers, maybe three… need you to stretch me out,” you’re dipping your own fingers past your entrance as you get the words out, your fingers not reaching even close to the places Eddie’s can reach. “I love when you curl your fingers inside me, you know how to play with me, baby.”
“Fuck yeah I do, sweetheart, shit-” Eddie grunts, and you can tell he’s picking up his pace on his cock. “Wish I was fingering you, hitting that spot you love, getting those pretty sounds out of you-”
“Please, baby, love how you touch me…” you’re begging even though he’s not there with you.
“Would you suck my cock for me, baby? Fit my fat cock down your throat, hm?” he continues on, and his words have your head spinning. Imagining his fingers inside you instead of your own as you work to get yourself off. You’ve never engaged in phone sex before this, really, but with Eddie it feels so natural. It’s a different kind of turn-on to hear him talk to you while you know he’s got his thick fingers around his cock, pretending that it’s you.
“Y-yes, daddy. Love having your cock in my mouth, need you to fuck my face…” you’re practically moaning into the phone, head lolling backwards. “Wanna taste you, please Eddie please…”
“That’s my good fucking girl, need to cum in that pretty mouth of yours, baby. Love when you swallow my load,” his breath is staggered as he speaks through gritted teeth. “Are you touching yourself for me, baby? Got your fingers deep in that pussy?”
“Yeah, ‘m so wet for you, Eds. Doesn’t feel as good as when you do it, though,” you pout, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy, the coil in your stomach tightening gradually.
“Aw, I know sweet thing. Need daddy to take care of you, yeah?” Eddie knows exactly how to talk to you to send you reeling, your eyes screwing shut as you finger yourself, movements growing sloppier.
“Yeah babe, fuck, need you inside me. Want you so bad,” your fingers have set a brutal pace fucking into your dripping cunt, and you're almost positive Eddie can hear how soaked you are as you please yourself.
“Got me rock fucking hard for you, baby, can you hear me stroking my cock to your pretty pictures?” he taunts, but you absolutely can hear the filthy noises in the background - quieting your moans so you can listen better.
There’s a beat, and then you hear him spit into his hand, the sloshing sounds picking up speed and intensity as he presumably starts to pump his cock faster. You plunge your fingers as deep as they’ll go inside of you, curling them desperately to hit that delicious soft spot.
“Yes, fuck, it’s so fucking hot listening to you touch yourself for me,” you’re breathing heavy as you work yourself to orgasm, “Wish my fingers were wrapped around your dick right now.”
“Mmmhhh, I love when you wrap those delicate little hands around me, baby. I’m so big they barely hold me, princess,” he’s smirking as he speaks, loves riling you up thinking about the size of him.
“Yeah, Eds, you’re s’fucking big. Love how you fill me up, daddy,” he revels in the praise, and you hear him chuckle on the other end.
“My little cockslut, loves getting stretched by me, hm?” Eddie’s voice is low, sending electricity right to your core. “Shit, baby, my cock’s twitching just thinking about you… ‘M so worked up.”
“Want you to cum for me, Eds. Are you close? Love it when you cum for me,” you’re whining, fingers now circling your clit in rapid movements, getting closer and closer to your release.
“So close, sweetheart, wish I could cum all over that pretty face of yours,” Eddie moans into the speaker, little whispers of shitshitshit falling from his lips. “This picture’s one of my favorites, baby… my cock buried deep in your pussy from behind… my hand gripping your hair. Pretty ass of yours on perfect display f’me, fuck-” he’s tugging desperately on his cock at this point, whimpering into the phone.
“What about the one with me in handcuffs? Legs spread on your bed, waiting for you?” you hum, egging him on, getting him right to the edge of release as you describe the lewd photo.
Eddie doesn’t answer, just lets out a strangled moan on the other end of the line. The two of you go on like that for a little, mewls slipping past your lips, getting wetter as you listen to him cursing, panting, moaning your name. The soft pads of your fingers work on your clit, your insides feeling like they’re on fire with how worked up you are. Your eyes are shut tight, imagining Eddie settling you on his lap as he fucks up into you.
“Baby - fuck - I’m gonna fucking cum, shit,” Eddie whines, bringing you back to reality for a moment.
“Cum for me, baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you coax him, listening closely to hear the way his breath hitches as he finally lets go.
His moans are short and sporadic as he finishes all over his chest and stomach, and you continue to rub your swollen clit as he catches his breath.
“How you doing over there? Gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Gonna cum while you think about me? Bet you wish I was filling you up real good, huh?” Eddie’s relentless, talking you through the entire thing.
“Yes, daddy - fuck! Gonna cum, gonna cum for you, oh my god…” the coil in your stomach snaps finally, feeling yourself plummet into bliss. You’re clenching around nothing, moaning ‘EddieEddieEddie’ as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure coursing through you.
“That’s my good girl, you okay sweet thing?” Eddie coos, listening to you pant as your body calms down.
“Yeah, baby, I’m good. How’re you?” you say softly into the phone once you’ve regained some composure, body spent as you lay back onto your pillows. You feel like you’re floating.
“I made a fuckin’ mess of myself, sweetheart, came so hard,” Eddie huffs a laugh, and you smile.
“Hey, Eds?”
“Yeah, sweets?”
“Take a Polaroid of you all messy with your cum. Wanna start a photo collection of my own,” you chew at your lip, getting flustered thinking about how he must look right now.
“Oh, yeah? And why do you want my photos, sweetheart? Wanna get yourself off to them?” Eddie asks, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from you.
“Maybe….” you giggle, suddenly feeling shy.
“Fuck, baby. Can I come stay the night? I need to be inside you right now, no way I can wait till tomorrow,” you can picture the puppy dog eyes Eddie would be giving you if he was next to you right now, and you laugh.
“Yeah, Eds, get over here. Gotta live up to all that talk,” you reply, knowing he’s gonna live up to that talk and then some.
“Want me to bring the camera?” he asks.
“Duh.”
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𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬? | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚
you have a bad habit and miguel finds a solution —a begrudgingly in love miguel deals with his gf’s oral fixation. 1k. requested here
cw mildly mature themes/love bites. mdni
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Miguel knew when he passed you his hand that you'd start some weird shit like this. You withhold for a while, but eventually his fingertips end up by your mouth. You brush them against your lips absent-mindedly. He knows you like the feeling, knows you draw an unconscious comfort from being able to chew on something, and he's not interested in demonising you for something you can't help.
What he can't abide is your using him like a dollar store chew toy. The second he feels your breath against his fingers, he pulls your joined hands down into the gap between your thighs on the workbench and warns, "Don't."
"Sorry, Miguel," you say, blinking back to attention.
"Can't you chew on a pencil like a normal person?"
"Sorry," you say again, not really sorry. Miguel's not really mad. "I forget that it's you."
He likes the sound of that, even if he's still disapproving. It's hard to be mad when the level of trust you have for him extends so far, the comfort he gets from your mere presence reflected in you and your lack of shame surrounding a bad habit. Miguel sighs and goes back to his sketching. You squeeze his hand twice and do the same.
If you can't bite him, you'll bite yourself. It starts with your nails and stretches to your cuticles. You've hurt yourself doing it before, and Miguel doesn't want to see you do it again. He winces at way you nibble your skin.
"Could you cut it out?" he asks.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're trying to start the next apocalypse."
"It's not hurting anyone," you insist.
"It's hurting you."
You let go of his hand to take the computer mouse, dragging and dropping a file from the first monitor onto his. He doesn't bother opening it. It's some flirtatious drivel or tech he doesn't want to deal with, undoubtedly.
"It's okay," you sing-song quietly. "You're such a worrier."
He thinks, Fine. Leaves you to your work, gets on with his own, and tries not to worry about your poor fingertips. Ten minutes become an hour, and he forgets what you'd been squabbling about, distracted by work. You drop file after file onto his screen until he gives in and opens one, finds a note drawing done with a jagged cursor of him, he assumes, frowny-faced with a bright red heart drawn around himself. The majority are the same, though the first one you sent him is Miguel with a smile, his cartoon version captioned, "secret softie :3". He puts a couple in his files and the rest in the recycling basket.
He's retrieving the ones he deleted guiltily when you hiss. He checks on you from the corner of his eye, and notices the little red line of blood building in your cuticle.
"There's actually something wrong with you."
"Ouch," you murmur, waving your finger around. "Stings."
"I told you."
"D'you have a bandaid?"
Miguel doesn't have a bandaid in the workshop. His first aid kit is half nano tech, half traditional wrap around bandages, all overkill for your surface wound. He takes pit on you and your crinkled face and pulls your hand toward eye level to inspect the damage. You've pulled the cuticle skin up toward the bed and torn skin that should be left alone, blood quick to congeal in the air. He should've just let you bite him.
"Idiot," he says, and kisses the side of your hand. "Don't do it again."
You grumble at his name calling but seem otherwise appeased. It's not long before your hand is going back to your mouth, but you must remember his demand, choosing to tuck your hands between your thighs. You squirm in your seat and can't focus on your work.
Miguel thinks, Fuck it.
"Alright, come here."
You wheel your chair closer.
"What, I have to do all the work?" he asks, holding out his arms. "Come here."
You stand and slide between the desk and his legs. His thighs are big, and your own press to the top of the desk from the lack of space. You put a hand on his arm curiously.
"Kiss me," he says.
You lean in quickly and kiss him. A tentative thing where you're usually confident laying one on him.
"What was that?" he asks.
"A kiss?"
"Kiss me properly," he says. He bracelets your elbow in a big hand, a soft touch to reassure you. "You've wanted to all day."
You have the decency to pretend (albeit weakly) that he's wrong. "Whaaaat? Who told you that?"
Miguel sighs and takes your face into his hands instead. He takes in your expression slowly, your eyes, your pupils like black dimes, lashes kissing in the outer corners as you look down to his mouth. You bite the inside of your lip and he loses it —Miguel tugs you against his chest and kisses you firmly, hand at the small of your back and pulling urgently upward in an attempt to bring you closer.
He can feel the little line from your own biting on your lips as he presses against the seam of them, and he doesn't know what he's going to do with you besides kiss you: he won't let you chew on him, no matter how nice your mouth is. He'll just have to kiss you until you can cope.
Or you could always bite him in other places.
"Wait, wait, I can't breathe," you say, pulling away.
Miguel works his fingertips under the back of your shirt, feeling the slope of bare skin there absentmindedly. "My bad. How's your compulsion?"
"Wanna play vampires?" you ask.
He laughs and leans away from you, a feigned disapproval. "Wanna play get a grip?"
"Grip on your neck?" you ask.
"How about I bite you? See how you like it."
You pull your knee up, socked foot digging into his thigh as you lay your cheek on his collar, straining up every time you want to kiss his neck. You press sweet, chaste kisses into his skin, seemingly unbothered by the pretzel-like position you've twisted yourself into.
"You act like I'm a chair."
"You told me," —kiss, kiss— "to sit here, Miguel, I don't know what you want from me." Third kiss, then a fourth.
He tamps down goosebumps and gives up. "Can you chill out while I work?"
"... I can keep kissing you?"
"Do what you like. I need to finish this net."
You lounge. Miguel struggles to keep it together, but at least you aren't biting your nails anymore.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!! if you did and you have the time, please think about reblogging <3
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fanfic#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara drabble#miguel o’hara scenario#miguel o’hara blurb#miguel o’hara oneshot#spider-man: across the spider-verse#spider-man: across the spider-verse spoilers#spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction#across the spider-verse spoilers#across the spider verse spoilers#across the spiderverse spoilers#spiderman across the spider-verse spoilers#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel ohara x fem!reader#miguel ohara#miguel ohara fanfiction#miguel ohara fanfic#miguel ohara fic#miguel ohara drabble#miguel ohara scenario#miguel ohara blurb
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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.
— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.
words・7.7k
pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader
genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math
warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl
playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6
a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you
One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.
Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.
And now, there is him.
“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”
His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?
And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.
You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.
But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.
“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.
Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.
That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.
Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.
You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.
“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.
“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.
When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?
“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.
“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.
“Wanna take a walk?”
“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”
This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.
“As long as you need me,” you say.
You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.
There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.
Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.
The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)
By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.
“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”
“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”
Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.
You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.
How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.
“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”
And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.
“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”
You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.
Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.
You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.
But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.
When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.
From: Lix 🐣
Hey hey
From: Lix 🐣
We still on for dinner tonight?
From: Lix 🐣
Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson
From: Lix 🐣
Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH
You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.
From: Y/N 🌙
ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold
From: Y/N 🌙
no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now
From: Y/N 🌙
sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days?
From: Y/N 🌙
(that way jeongin can come too!!!)
Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.
From: Lix 🐣
Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize
From: Lix 🐣
Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah?
From: Y/N 🌙
sleeping, YES.
From: Y/N 🌙
eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways
From: Y/N 🌙
don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two
Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.
Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.
Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.
There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.
Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."
But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.
“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”
There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.
And then he moves.
“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.
Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.
“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?
“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”
At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)
The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.
Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!
When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.
From: Lix 🐣
I’ll drop by tonight to check on you
From: Lix 🐣
Wait for me, okay?
And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.
Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.
“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”
A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.
“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”
The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.
“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.
The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.
Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.
In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.
Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.
The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.
You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."
“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”
“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”
Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.
“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”
“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.
Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.
“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”
“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.
You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.
To: Chan 🐺
we got back safe!!
To: Chan 🐺
lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him
A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.
From: Chan 🐺
Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay?
From: Chan 🐺
Bro tore that sake UP
You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.
“What's up?” You answer.
“I think I’m...stuck.”
Now what the hell does that mean?
“Can I come in?”
“Mhm.”
You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.
“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.
“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”
Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.
He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.
“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”
“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”
For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.
“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.
You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.
“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”
In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.
Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.
Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.
But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.
You reach your conclusion a second after he does.
Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.
A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.
Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.
“I love you,” he whispers.
A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.
But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.
An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.
You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.
But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.
You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.
And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.
Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.
“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”
“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”
“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”
Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.
When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.
But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”
With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.
“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”
“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."
(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)
“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”
“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."
He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.
A month has passed since that night.
You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.
You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.
Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.
You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.
“We’re here,” Felix says.
The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.
Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.
“Not bad, huh?”
“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”
“C’mon.”
Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.
(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)
“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”
“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”
Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.
“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”
Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.
Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.
You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.
When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"
And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.
“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.
Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.
“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”
“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”
You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.
“Okay.” And the stage is yours.
You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.
It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.
So you take a deep breath.
“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.
“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”
You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.
“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”
Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.
“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.
“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”
You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.
“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”
Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.
“—please.”
And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.
When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.
The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.
And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.
One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.
It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.
You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.
You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.
Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.
Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.
This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.
Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.
A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.
There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.
You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.
The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.
Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.
When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.
The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.
“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.
“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”
And so you do.
You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.
“Hey, Lix—"
When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.
“—I love you.”
Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.
Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”
He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”
“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”
Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.
© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡
#lee felix x reader#felix x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#lee felix#felix#stray kids#skz#lee felix imagines#lee felix fluff#felix imagines#felix fluff#stray kids imagines#stray kids fluff#skz imagines#skz fluff#stray kids scenarios#felix scenarios#*oneshot#*writing#IT'S DONEEEE IT IS FINALLY DONEE#i hope you like reading as much as i loved writing it!#i'm ngl i'm quite nervous because this is the first full-length fic i've posted on this blog so#any and all feedback would be so so appreciated! much love <3
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