#and how no it cant be cured with forgiveness and solitude

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i have to remember when i critique star wars as being v liberal my def of liberal is farther right i think than other people's definitions of it are

[delicrieux]

my little world

PAIRING: felix rosier x reader

summary: (name) has finally graduated Hogwarts and has invited some close friends to celebrate!

this is a concontion i’ve created by combining sevral requests and @wispila ‘s beautiful art:   Helloo,, can I request a fic of Felix Rosier (aaahh sorry, a lot of people are probably requesting for him, but the way you portrayed him extremely caught my heart) If possible, just a little one shot, after Felix' graduation from hogwarts and mc would write to him during summer and eventually, they go out exploring the muggle world, and going out on dates. They're supposed to lay off magic because (this must be corny but,) the magic is already their love for each other ??? / plz plz plz some felix x mc cuteness!!! / Hello! Love your felix x mc fics. Can you maybe write more? Maybe something after mc graduates Hogwarts?

a/n: the letters are my favorite part to write. also, the bit abt the russian scarf: i actually saw this girl wearing it when i was @ theatre and it opened my eyes to all new fashion possibilities. AND, felix knows french that’s a hc and you cant prove me otherwise. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @slytherin-princess1 FOR COMING THRUUUU WITH THIS AESTHETIC!!!!!!!!!!!! <3  ily babes<3 

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

MASTERLIST. ko-fi (i chug coffee as i write these fics, and another cup would make me happy <3)

Felix Rosier is unnaturally nervous when he knocks on your door; your neighbourhood is lively and full of young children playing in their yards, cars passing by to find a free parking space, and animals running around for a more secluded place to nap in. It is all a stark contrast to his home - wrapped up in solitude - as yours is the epitome of rowdy British life. He notes your muggle neighbours watching football on the telly from where he stands; the window is open and they are screaming profanities and cheers alike. The sky, golden and rosy, casts a dim glow on the world. His hand, holding a carefully picked batch of colourful flowers, sweats. He overhears some teens rave about an unfamiliar punk band. Felix Rosier, in all his glory, has never felt more out of place. He looks posh and feels ridiculous. Perhaps he should just leave?

This ongoing train of thought, more of doubt than anything, promptly stops when you swing the door open, your small frame draped over by a black Russian scarf with ornaments and flowers adoring its back. He inhales sharply at the sight, his lips, much to his displeasure as he can no longer hold his cool façade, quirk into a smile. It is the same gift he had sent you many moons ago, when he was touring Russia with his family. He figures, due to the two of you exchanging letters every week for years now, that it would only be natural, if not a bit forward, to bring back a souvenir. Though, Felix could hardly help himself. The scarf simply reminded him of you, and he had no choice but to purchase it. But…now that he thinks of it, thinks how beautiful you look wearing something he gifted, something that he very clearly indented you to wear, everything that he saw in Russia, everything ringing true to beauty – paintings, statues, a little flowers – always reminded him of you.

“You made it.” You beam, stepping aside to let him enter your humble abode, though not missing the chance to eye the pretty flowers in his grasp. You blush lightly, already anticipating as to when he will give them to you. You momentarily rack your mind for where your mother hid all the vases. “The rest are in the garden.” You say as you close the door with a soft click.

His eyes stop wandering around your humble palace – it is more muggle like than he had expected, but somehow it makes it all the more cosy. Magic is a double sided coin, after all. Some, like his parents, and many other pureblood families chose to view it as a tool of power, manipulation, and calculation. However, the more humane ones, like your family, like you, use it to enhance the human aspects; the soft aspects, per se, making the lights not as glaring, or the washing machine not as loud. Again, he feels alien to your world, but is strangely content with being a part of it.

You walk past him, most likely to lead the way, but he grabs your wrist and you promptly stop. Curious, you turn to him. Blasted nerves, got the best of him again. He would rather do this here, alone, with you. He does not want probing eyes. Your friends are a favourable bunch, you had insisted on it, but he is much older than you, and this is awkward enough as it is. The two of you had only really become close in your sixth year, when he was stressed from work and you of upcoming graduation, curses, and Jacob being back. You had always been a pupil to him, but now…It would be hard to imagine you in that same image. He does not wish to, either.

“(Name) (Lastname),” Felix addresses you formally, as if to give a grand speech. You refrain from snorting. His look of refinement soon shifts to careful admiration, “Or simply… Mon Petit Monde [1] .” Your heart swells in your chest and you grin; he lets go of you to take out his wand. Whispering a few spells under his breath, the flowers he had been holding swirl and turn and link to one another to make a crown that, after floating in the air for a few short seconds, slowly lands onto your head, “Congratulations on completing seven dangerous years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and only losing a handful of House points I could complain about. You have been, and continue to be, an outstanding witch, trusted friend, and loving woman. “He never breaks eye contacts as he says this, “I am immensely proud of you. And…I love you.”

“Oh, Felix…” You pull him into a tight embrace, “You absolute…you…sweetheart! The distain for other is just a facade, isn’t it?”

“…Sure.” He replies awkwardly after a pause, and you snicker.

Standing on your tippy-toes you kiss the side of his lips, whispering, “And I love you, as well…” Grasping his hand firmly, with no intention of letting go, you say, “Come, I’ll introduce you to my friends. Also, Jacob wants to meet you.”

“Should I be worried?”

You look him dead in the eye, “Only if you have something to hide.”

“Just your many misbehavings and foolish adventures during your first few years at Hogwarts. Oh, and your embarrassing love confession.”

“What was embarrassing about my confession?”

“You sent me a Howler.”

“…I’m just…really… passionate…”

 BONUS:

Mon Petit Monde,

You have a way with words like no other. It is troubling to admit how deeply they had affected me. I would be lying if I said that I do not miss your letters, and that they do not make me happy when they finally come. I would also be lying if I said that I do not keep and cherish every single one of them, no matter their coherency. Even if it is one sentence only. The most letters I get are from my friends and colleagues, and they all are dull in comparison. Perhaps I am…blinded. Perhaps your letters mean so much because you write them. Forgive me, I am rambling.

I have been greatly distracted these past few months and I have desperately tried to find a cure for this madness. I feel as if there is a weight on my chest that must be lifted. I have thought hard about it on many sleepless nights, and concluded that, and please do not hate me for this, I am completely enraptured by you. I wish I could say this to you in person. But I am too far away and you are still but a student at the end of your school adventure, and I cannot visit Hogwarts, and you cannot visit me. I wished to see your eyes when I confess. You have the prettiest ones, and I feel as if I can tell no lie when I am in your presence and therefore I would be strict, coherent, to the point. I would not dawdle. Alas, I have no choice but to tell you, because I feel as if I will drown if I do not. Last summer, when we met after so many years, was when something awoke in me, something I myself cannot explain. What I did know is that I could not look at you too much, because if I would I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes away from you at all. I tried to fight this feeling, yet to no avail. Only you can douse it if you wish, or let it burn freely if that is what you desire.

I understand if you do not return my feelings. A part of me thinks that is for the best. Yet another, the one I am slipping to deeper and deeper, wishes for nothing more than to hold you close, day and night. I wait anxiously for your letter, if you chose me to grace me with an answer at all. Either way, I am glad I told you.

Yours, forever,

Felix

[1] mon petit monde - my little world (french)

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