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landopoet · 3 months ago

Text

somewhere in between.

pairing lando x reader, university au

synopsis in which lando falls victim to an irresistible and mysterious girl, who knows nothing about love or how to keep it around. not until it’s too late, anyway.

warnings angsty fic, no use of y/n

author’s note wrote this fic in three days, new record! hope you enjoy, and as always, thank you to @clovermoters for being my little cheerleader and bestie 5eva <3 love u millions!

₊ ⊹

You first met Lando in a cramped lecture hall during the first semester of university.

The professor was talking about something that you paid no mind to, mindlessly transcribing as much of the information as you heard. You knew you could find the full lecture online later, anyway, as this professor made it convenient for students to slack off by sending all his PowerPoints and Word documents to them.

As your fingers flickered over the keyboard, your attention became divided between what the professor was saying and the curious personality that just bursted in through the door.

He was something of a mess— damp curls stuck to his forehead as a wide grin spread across his face, below his lips were speckled hairs that looked like a sad version of a goatee. His breathless and grinning self found you in the third row from the front, and he took a seat without asking for permission.

“I hate the rain,” he whispered as he unzipped his damp jacket.

You glanced briefly at him, noticing how much more vibrant he seemed up close. He seemed like the type of person that exudes warmth just by being, like you didn’t have to go outside to get warmed up by the sun and merely sitting next to him would grow even the smallest spark into a flame.

It made you nervous.

Without saying a word, and instead choosing to hold an uncomfortable amount of eye contact, you turned back to your laptop and realised you missed about half the lecture by now.

The stranger pulled out a notepad and a pen, and scribbled down a few words before pushing the paper towards you.

What did I miss? It read, in surprisingly neat handwriting.

You had half a mind to ignore him again, to simply pay attention to the class and pretend he didn’t exist. He hadn’t existed in your orbit before and there was no reason for him to join now, so there was no reason for why you would pick that pen up and write a response.

Despite your hesitation, you picked up his pen and wrote back: Nothing important. He’ll send you the whole lecture in an e-mail later anyway.

The man watched as your fingers pushed the notebook back towards him, a small smile playing on his lips once he realised he had put a tiny crack in your shell.

There was something about you that made him curious, intrigued, despite spending barely ten minutes in your presence.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the man grin at your reply, and something in your stomach tightened.

—

Amidst the noise of the campus cafeteria, at a table in the farthest corner you could find, you found yourself nestled between a pile of books and electronics. Sure, it’d be more convenient to go to the library and study there, but you actually found the cacophonous sound of mixed conversations quite soothing to your mind.

It reminded you that you were alone in your space but not lonely, whereas a library would only discourage you from doing any work because everyone there is always quiet, there’s no distant chatter about the guys from the university football team or the professor who grades work based on handwriting.

And at the cafeteria, you could be in your own orbit, surrounded by glimmering stars that made you feel less alone. It was just you, your books and your uninterrupted study.

You continued to write down the main notes of a lecture you skipped last week due to a sick day. The flu was going around and you managed to catch a weak case of it, and today was your first day back from bedrotting in your dorm.

The discordant feeling of your studying was interrupted by a familiar voice. “Hey,” you raised your head to look at who exactly it was.

A small look of surprise flashed across your face when you realised it’s the stranger from the lecture a few weeks ago. He looked a lot less messy now and, instead of a damp jacket and dripping curls, he was dressed in a knit sweater over a button-up shirt and black dress pants with his curls in a neat bunch on his head. It’s only now you noticed that they cascaded down his neck into a mullet. You never really liked the look of them, but he seemed to suit it well.

You realise you hadn’t answered him and he was just standing there awkwardly, two paper cups in hand. When he noticed you glancing over at the items he held, he cleared his throat. “I got an extra by accident, want it?”

After a moment of hesitation you curtly nodded your head and he took that as an invitation to sit across from you as he slid the cup to your side of the table. “It’s green tea with honey and lemon. Heard it’s good for brain power or something, and I noticed you weren’t in lectures the past week so,” he explained.

“Thanks,” you brought the cup up to your lips and took a small sip, the warmth and flavour of green tea caressing your tongue. It clicks in your brain that he noticed your absence and a warmth spreads across your chest. You’re not sure if it’s from the tea anymore.

It was also then that you realised you didn’t know his name and glanced over at the cup across from yours— the one his slender fingers were holding for warmth— in hopes of catching a glimpse of who the stranger was.

It wasn’t cold enough outside for coats and scarves, but chilly enough to seek out heat in any possible place. Many couples on campus found themselves holding hands in each other’s pockets or sharing those two person gloves, but you, and the stranger across from you, found yourselves caressing paper cups full of warm liquids. You wondered what his drink of choice was and glanced at the cup for far too long, he noticed.

“Peppermint tea, it’s my favourite.” He gives you a soft smile before nudging his chin towards your stack of books. “What’re you reading?”

“Just something for class,” you explain in your usual calm and quiet voice. He found it endearing— the way you didn’t stand out or try to be known. You were quiet, focused and driven, and that was something he never knew he was attracted to until he met you.

You didn’t remember him from before the lecture he was late for, but he always observed you from across campus. The way your hair fell over your face in gentle waves and you stuck your tongue out, focused on scribbling down whatever you had in your mind.

Maybe it was the intelligence he was attracted to, or maybe it was just you.

He taunted. “You always read for class. Don’t you read books just for fun sometimes?”

“I do,” you shrug. You didn’t feel like explaining every detail of your life to him, and it maybe even bothered you a little that he expected you to be an open book that he could flip through and learn whatever he wanted to.

“Alright,” a challenging tone outlines his voice as it hits your ears. “What’s the best book you’ve read recently? Not including whatever’s in your stack right now.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth and thought about it for a second. “The Bell Jar.”

“Pssh,” he huffed. “Bleak.”

Your eyebrows drew in closer, face riddled with confusion as you tilted your head to the side. “Some people like bleak things.”

The stranger nodded, taking a moment to glance around your set up— the laptop your fingers had so hastily typed lecture notes on was covered in various stickers; your hair was put up in a flower claw clip; your hoodie had a graphic and some words that he could figure came from a song of some sorts. He noticed you added a little blue eyeshadow to the inner corner of your eye and your eyeliner wasn’t sharp, but it was noticeable and suited you well.

He doesn’t know you well enough to draw solid conclusions, but his voice hums in your ears when he says, “yeah, but you don’t seem like the type to.”

—

You kept running into each other— at the library, in lectures, in the campus cafe. It wasn’t intentional, you two just happened to be there, but Lando— you finally learnt his name— took it as fate. He kept trying to convince you that the universe gifted him to you as a way to crack open your shell. You began to believe him.

Over time, you two became friends and you weren’t really sure how it happened. It’s just that Lando never stopped talking to you, never let you fully retreat back into yourself. He made you feel like being quiet wasn’t the same as being invisible.

“You like me,” Lando said one night, as you sat on the steps outside a party neither of you wanted to be at.

You told him that you’d most likely end up leaving early, and he teased you for it. But you went anyway, for no other reason than to spend more time with him. Lando thought it was endearing how you came to the party, despite scowling the whole time.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re tolerable.”

He laughed, nudging his shoulder against yours as his eyes looked over at you trying to hide your smile. “Admit it, you like me.”

You exhale through your nose and let your lips curl up into a little smile. “Fine. You’re not awful.’

Lando smiled at you like you had handed him something precious. He looked out at the street and watched how the night slowly creeped its shadows over the peaceful scenery ahead. There was a feeling in the air that felt awkward, scary and comforting all at once. “Well, for the record, I like you, too.”

You tucked your hands into the pockets of your coat to hide how anxiety had crawled down your spine and nestled in the tremoring taps of your fingers. Lando watched as you stood up and insisted on walking you back to your dorm. As the cold of autumn air creeped down your neck, you found yourselves outside the campus dorms, on the stairs, neither of you making a move to go inside.

Lando’s hands were anxiously balling into fists by his side, and then his fingers stretched out. You noticed his hands a lot. How they were always so present when he’s speaking and trying to explain topics that you didn’t understand or how he would casually touch the arm or back of someone he was speaking to. You noticed it because you noticed everything. He never did that to you.

The question left your mouth before you could stop it. “Why don’t you touch me like you do to everyone else?”

Lando blinked, genuine surprise flashing across his face as he thought of the answer. “I didn’t think you’d like that.”

“I wouldn’t,” you admitted, chin resting on your knees as your arms wrapped around your bent legs. “But still.”

Lando hesitated. He gently observed you— your scarf hid most of your face and your hands were so softly pressed against your calves. Eventually, you felt the soft caress of his knuckles against yours. It was light, barely there, but you felt it in your chest.

“Better?” His green eyes locked on yours as you turned to look at him.

You nodded and he didn’t pull away.

—

You kissed for the first time in his apartment, after an argument.

In the small kitchen of his apartment, as he leaned back against the electric stove and you leaned back on the counter across from him, Lando pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you even like me?”

You looked up at him with a glint of uncertainty in your eye that pierced him right in the chest. It was all so quick— the feather-soft touches on your waist as he walked past you; late-night study sessions at each other’s apartment or dorm, that usually ended up with the other person staying over for the night; the ‘accidental’ scooting closer to you whenever you sat next to each other during bonding events with your coursemates.

Somewhere in all of that— in the longing gaze at you from across the lecture hall, in the casual inclusion of you in the conversations with his mates, in the words spoken while drowsy with sleep— you started feeling it, too. And your first instinct wasn’t to embrace the feelings and allow your friendship to evolve into something more.

The most logical thing you could’ve thought to do was deny and pull away.

There’s no way Lando actually likes you. You spoke to your best friends, who lived on opposite sides of town, but could tell that Lando genuinely did like you. For some odd reason, you wouldn’t let yourself believe it. You had a habit of pulling away when things got too real, and Lando was a victim of it.

It was unexpected, but the flurry of unexpressed feelings and you pulling away as soon as everything got too real made Lando insecure, scared and lost.

A few weeks ago, he noticed you ignoring his texts, avoiding his eyes when you caught a glimpse of him entering the lecture hall, excusing yourself from activities he’d usually bring you to.

When he finally caught you alone in the halls of your university, he grabbed you by the elbow— gently, of course, but harsh enough to pull you away from the group of people next to you– and forced you to look at him. “You’re avoiding me,” he stated, a slight hint of anger and worry in his voice. “Why?”

“I’m not avoiding you, Lando.” You shook his hands off of your elbows. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy with what? I know your daily routine like the back of my hand, and at some point, I was part of it.” He sounded hurt, like you pushing him away and distancing yourself actually meant something to him. You thought he wouldn’t notice and that he’d let you go, and things would go back to how they were— you’d be two strangers again.

“You are,” you bit your lip and tried to come up with something to say. “I’ve just been busy, Lando. I took up extra assignments from our professor, I need my grade up.”

“And that’s really it?” Lando crosses his arms over his chest.

You sighed and slumped your shoulders. “Can we please not do this here? People are watching.”

Lando scoffed and shook his head. “Fine. Come over for dinner and then we’ll talk.”

You watched him walk away, knowing you had hurt him more than anticipated. Obviously you pushing him away would’ve upset him, you just never thought that he’d actually care enough to try and pull you back in.

And, fortunately for him, it worked, because now you’re in his tiny kitchen that seems to get smaller every second you don’t speak.

You fiddled with your entwined fingers as you looked down, feeling Lando’s gaze burning into you. Finally, you look up at him. “I do.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” He begs, hands in the air as he steps closer to you. “Why don’t you show that you like me?”

Something inside you cracked, like a part of your soul has been revealed to him and you had no choice but to let him see it. “I… I don’t know how.”

Lando exhaled sharply before taking your face into his hands and pulling you in. His lips were gentle and softly moulded against yours, not moving until he was sure you wouldn’t pull away.

Meanwhile, you felt like the ground had disappeared beneath your feet. You kissed him back as if you were making up for the time you spent distancing yourself and pushing him away, and Lando smiled against your teeth before pulling you in closer.

—

A week later you found yourself at another party, this time accompanied not only by Lando but also your friend, Blair, who was a good friend of Lando’s as well.

You sat on the kitchen counter with Blair right next to you in her neat, maroon dress and mary janes on her feet. Lando had left you two half an hour ago to go find some of his other friends and catch up, so you weren’t worried about having to leave alone at the end of the night.

Alcohol tasted bitter on your tongue, but even more so when you finally caught a glimpse of the curly head of hair you had begun to miss. He sat snugly on the couch with a girl in his lap, Lando’s lips moving hungrily against hers— completely opposite to all the times he’s kissed you.

You watch them for a minute, then three, then five, and when your ogling reached half an hour, Blair nudged your shoulder. “You could say something, y’know?”

You shook your head. “It’s not like that.”

It’s true. You weren’t together, not really. You two never defined it, never talked about what it was. Lando kissed other people. You pretended it didn’t bother you.

Blair gave you a look. It did bother you. “But it is.”

That night, you went home early. Lando didn’t follow you.

—

You found yourself at his apartment the very next evening. He had asked you to come over and help him study for an upcoming exam, and you weren’t one to turn down someone in need, especially not Lando.

The study session was as normal as usual— Lando’s touch lingered on your arm when he finally understood what he needed to write down; he nudged your shoulder when he noticed you were spacing out; he kept saying sweet things and stealing kisses.

And, as per usual, you two lost track of time and it was too late for you to take a train back to your campus. You were sure the security guards would give you a hard time about coming back to your dorm at one in the morning.

You ended up in Lando’s bed again. Although you two were never intimate. The most that’s ever happened between you two was Lando’s hands up your shirt, before you stopped him. It got too real, you got scared and Lando let it go.

Lando was sleeping soundly beside you as you stared at the ceiling. Except he wasn’t— he watched the silhouette of your face, barely illuminated by the moon behind the curtains.

“Are you in love with me?” He asked, half-asleep beside you. Lando’s not sure what prompted the question, but something in him needed to know that your jealousy last night wasn’t just because.

You just stared at the ceiling. “No.”

It was a while before he responded. Then, in a barely-there whisper, “liar.”

You turned to face away from him, pressing your face into the pillow.

The two of you kept doing this— circling each other, never quite holding on, never quite letting go.

You mustered up the courage to turn around and face him again. He was already looking at you as if he expected it. “Why do you put up with me?”

“What do you mean?”

You exhale deeply. “I’m a difficult person to be friends with, let alone be… whatever we are. Why don’t you just let that go?”

“Because I love you, obviously.” He said it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your throat tightened. “You don’t have to.”

Under the dim moonlight, still shadowed by thin curtains, you could see Lando’s expression soften as his hand came up to caress your cheek. “I know. But I do.”

You fell asleep before saying it back. Lando didn’t need you to.

—

When it all became too real again— when Lando told you he loved you everyday and you felt the pressure of reciprocation weighing on your shoulders— you started to pull away again. This time, he let you.

Things ended slowly, like a candle burning out and you were the wax dripping into different squiggled shapes until neither of you merged together anymore.

You told yourself that it was for the best. That you were too difficult, too closed off for someone like him. That he deserved someone who could love him, without hesitation or fear.

It’s been a few weeks now, but some nights you lay awake thinking about him. The way he could make anyone feel like they belonged by simply talking to them. The way he had told you he loved you like it wasn’t the hardest thing for you to handle and like it was the simplest truth he could ever have told.

You continued to tell yourself that you did the right thing.

You told yourself this every time you sat in lectures and glanced over at the empty seat beside you, where Lando would slide in all breathless and charming. You told yourself this as you walked past the campus cafe, ignoring how the corner booth you two had claimed as your own was now taken by a couple— one much happier than you ever were.

You told yourself this as you lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself that you felt free rather than lost.

And you were beginning to believe it. Until he called.

It was late—past midnight—and you were half asleep, blurry eyes watching as Lando’s contact lit up your screen.

Your finger hovered over the screen, hesitant, before pressing accept. For a moment, all you heard was shallow breathing. Then his voice, quiet, unsure. “Hey.”

You sat up, anxiously gripping your blanket. When your silence extended past his expectation, he let out a laugh. Breathy and sad. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Are you drunk?” Your eyebrows furrowed, a pang in your heart so strong that it made you nauseous.

After a while, he admitted. “Yeah, but that’s not why I called.”

You closed your eyes, rubbing your temple. “Lando-“

“No. Just… Just let me say this, okay?” His voice wavered, either with a cry or due to him being drunk. “I know you don’t want this. I know you don’t want me. But, fuck, I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

Lando heard your breath hitch.

“I keep thinking that one day I’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore,” Lando continued, his voice thick with something you couldn’t name. “That I’ll wake up, get dressed, see you in class and it won’t sting anymore. But it does. It always does.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Lando.” Your plea goes unnoticed as he continues.

“I keep replaying it all.” He admitted, voice trembling, a little quieter. “All the times I could’ve said something different, something better. All the times we stayed up at my apartment talking, and you looked at me like I was something you couldn’t figure out.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as your back plopped down against your pillows, tears running down your cheeks and into the fabric beneath you.

“And I wonder if I had just held on a little tighter, would you have stayed? Because I would have stayed for you,” he whispered. “I would’ve chosen you every single time.”

A silence stretched out between the two of you— fragile, breaking, endless.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath. “That’s all from me.”

He expected you to say something. To ramble on and on about how he’s wrong, how you wouldn’t have stayed, or maybe how you would’ve but he just didn’t try hard enough.

Instead, you gripped your phone, knuckles white. There were so many things you could say— that you missed him, that you were sorry, that you had loved him, too— loved him so much that it terrified you.

And fear had always been the loudest in your mind. So you did what you always do, you stayed silent. Lando exhaled, a sound that broke something inside you. “Goodbye, then.”

You were left in the silence and dark of your room, only the ghost of his voice still ringing in your ear. You told yourself that this was the right thing.

—

The next time you saw him was completely unexpected. It was a week after the call.

You had avoided places where you might run into him. Your routine— the one that previously contained Lando— was now a careful and predictable thing. You had meticulously planned it out— arrive to class early, leave early, avoid people who reminded you of him. You thought that if you stayed out of his orbit— that if you were just a distant star— the space between you two could be filled with anything but regret. But that didn’t work.

It was a Tuesday, the sun starting to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the campus. You had just finished an afternoon seminar and were heading toward the library, your bag slung over your shoulder, mind focused on the reading you had to catch up on.

As you turned a corner, you almost collided with someone.

Lando.

His eyes widened as he stepped back, as if surprised to see you. There was an awkward beat, a brief second where you both just stood there, locked in a kind of frozen disbelief.

You didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t planned for this moment. You hadn’t expected to see him again—certainly not so soon, and certainly not with that look on his face, the kind of look that made you realize how much distance had formed between you.

“Hey,” Lando said, his voice flat, like he was unsure of what else to say.

“Hey,” you managed, heart racing.

There was a long silence. You tried to read his expression, but it was difficult—like he was hiding something. Or maybe it was just that he was different now.

“I…” Lando started, then stopped himself. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m not gonna be around much longer.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “I’m leaving the university.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You’re what?”

“Leaving,” he repeated, quieter this time. He finally looked up at you, his eyes heavy with something—something you couldn’t quite place. “I’m transferring. Going somewhere else.”

Your stomach dropped. “When?”

“A few weeks.” He shrugged, like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his voice wavered. He wasn’t as casual as he pretended to be.

You felt your chest tighten. “Why?”

Lando looked at you, then away again. “It’s just… not working here anymore. With everything. The classes, the people, the—” He exhaled, cutting himself off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need a change. I just… need something different.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You had so many questions, so many things you wanted to say. But the words felt stuck in your throat, like they couldn’t escape, like they’d been buried under the weight of too many unsaid things.

“I didn’t tell anyone yet,” Lando continued, glancing at you, then quickly looking away again. “But I thought you should know. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

You shook your head slowly, trying to process the weight of his words. “So… you’re just leaving?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. I think it’s for the best.”

For the best. You felt like you had been punched in the gut. There was no anger in his voice, no bitterness—only resignation, like he had already made peace with something you couldn’t understand.

A lump formed in your throat. “I didn’t know you were unhappy here.”

“I wasn’t. Not at first,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was confessing something. “But… things changed. I changed.”

Your heart twisted. You had been too caught up in your own fears, your own decisions, to see how much he had been struggling. You had let him go without realizing how far he had already drifted.

“I just thought you should know,” Lando repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before I go.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts spinning. There was so much you wanted to say, but you couldn’t. You didn’t know how to make him understand. How could you explain that you never meant to push him away? That it had been your own fear, your own inability to deal with what was happening between you two that had caused all this?

But you couldn’t say any of that.

Instead, you said something simpler, something that felt inadequate but necessary.

“I’m sorry.”

Lando shook his head quickly, as if brushing off your words. “Don’t apologize.”

A silence stretched out, heavy and suffocating. You felt like you were losing him all over again, but this time, it was different. This time, it wasn’t just about distance. It was about the reality of him choosing to leave.

After a long pause, Lando sighed, his voice breaking through the quiet. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not even…” He stopped, as if he couldn’t finish the sentence. Then, with a small, sad smile, he added, “I just wish things had been different.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You couldn’t find the strength to say anything more.

Lando looked at you one last time, his gaze lingering for a moment, like he was waiting for something. Then, he turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading as he disappeared into the crowd.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, as the world continued to move around you.

And for the first time in a long while, you understood what it meant to truly lose someone.

#lando norris #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula one #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x y/n #lando angst #lando norris angst

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beartitled · 5 days ago

Text

HIVE belongs to @braisedhoney

Canon HIVE blog 👉 @talesaboardthehive

‼️ATTENTION HIVE CREW‼️

I BRING U

✨HIVE megadrawing✨

Bc tumblr cannot comprehend the glory of our ship/silly image size and pixel limit >:(

You can view the quality version of the art with all the numbers 👉here👈

The quality of the og art gotten eaten a bit too, so here’s close ups :D

And of course 🐝CREDIT LIST(s)🐝

Thank u to everyone who participated in choosing the art style for it >:D

@blackkatdraws2 @insomniphic @demonicrhythms @mhokino @writtengalaxies @myhandshurts @bucketfullofstrawberries @stingraystray-ing @kuzann @aetermorte @otterlyinluv @atlantis-whale @4thwallbreakerdraws @fudgemallowmaniac @crimsomcrystal @tumbling-turmoil @dafry-shenanigans @xandyprojects @technologyvoid @idunnowhattowriteheretbh @ejsuperstar @bananatemilkshake @masky-the-mask @cj-is-causing-chaos-again @whatsupwithjinx @oswinunknown @twolitwicksinatrenchcoat @bootleg-behindthescenes @junebug-dot-com @notmefoina @derrangedhemlock

‼️Important note

If you recognise your number and would like to be credited (tumblr, name, etc.), please let me know!

This art contains numbers from old HIVE discord server (which was deleted), so some ppl’s @ might’ve been lost

🐻‍❄️< silly gathered all hivesona art she saw before server deletion, but forgor to screenshot the list of server members

You also free to stay anonymous of course 👍

I will wait some time before posting it on others socials to make sure the credits are alright 🫡

Also little reminder that the drawing is non canon, so we have a lil uniform fashion show in the corner there 💅 (all uniforms have to be grey colour)

Nöw

Lemme me do my usual rambling >:D

The giant took about 3 months +- (hard to count bc I worked on other projects in the same time💥)

Lemme tell u the planning was an actual investigation

(and chaos ofc)

(fun type of chaos :D)

Shoot out to Amari who helped me gather evidence🕵️ and Crimsom who helped me accidentally find a number I didn’t know about before❗️

Thank u guys you’re awesome ❤️

As I said before there are identified numbers, where I either only had a name/somebody’s vague pfp/a discord status 💥

I used standard anonymous crewmate design for ppl with no info

But tried to gather at least some info from old server screenshots for cues, like CR6548 Kura had different red emojis in their bio, so I gave them a rose strawberry crown and earrings 🌹🍓

For anonymous people with asks I added lil visual identifiers ✨

Part of me kinda wants to write a whole guide, but I think it’s more fun to discover things by yourself >:) *whisper* go reread #ney’s chatter

Fascinatingly enough, this drawing really enhanced HIVE as an eldritch abomination

This thing shifted and changed so many times

Constant edits 😭💥

When I planned out the composition I added the balcony as an extra space reserve for crewmembers

Ironically balcony stayed empty, bc I didn’t have enough ppl to fill it up with

Decided to put fandom characters that are associated with Captain’s blog and some alter egos

🗣️ HOWEVER 🗣️

When I finished lineart and posted Bumblebeedog comics

Ppl started creating new Hivesonas 🥺

Nobody can resist the Bumblebeedoggo 🐝

So had to improvise to put more and more ppl into different empty parts of the art 💥

🎶gotta add em all 🎶

This is actually my biggest work so far

Like literally

I usually draw on A3, but decided to go bigger and drew on A2 format instead

A2 is like 420 x 594 mm/ 16.5 x 23.4 inches (big boi)

Which was an absolute nightmare to scan 💥

But honestly really enjoyed the process, bc bigger format allows for more details

Also technical fun facts x2

Drawing program froze sometimes during colouring 💀

cue the anxious saves lmao

Anyway 👏

Hope you guys enjoyed the art and reading some of the backstage ❤️

Hey Ney >:)

Hope u like

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rowarn · 1 year ago

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THEE DEARLY WED !

kyle 'gaz' garrick/reader | MDNI

tags: noble!reader, noble!kyle, arranged marriage (not to each other), forbidden love

cw: technically infidelity (kyle and reader cheat with each other despite both being engaged), loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet and messy, body worship elements, consent, soft!kyle, piv, soft sex, simultaneous orgasms

a/n: thank u to everyone in the silly discord server for helping me decide on this one LMAOOOO i never woulda done it without you. also!!! don't expect any kind of accuracy on this, it is merely a work of fiction!

; it was decided when you were young that you would get married to someone you didn't even love. your heart belonged to the electrifying Lord Kyle Garrick despite him being in the same boat as you.

8.1k words

From the time you were a child, you had been fated to marry someone chosen by your parents. It was a silly, annoying custom among nobility and one you simply didn’t get a choice on. He was decided for you the moment you were born.

It’s all you’ve ever known. Your betrothed, Owen Knightly, was someone of high standing. It would be remarkably good for your family to marry into his.

You may have even been content with the life you were given if he had never come into your life. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if you weren’t in love with someone you simply couldn’t have.

You met when you were children. You were barely five years old and he was a few years older than you. It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brings a smile to your face when you reminisce.

“This is Lord Kyle Garrick,” your mother had crooned as she introduced you to the young boy who knelt upon one knee and gingerly kissed your hand. It was a sweet, innocent display of affection that had you swooning right then and there.

Your families ran in the same circles, the Garricks were on equal social standing as your own family. Every party and gala that the two of you were invited to, you managed to gravitate towards each other. Both of you knew how wrong it was – how it would ruin both yours and your families lives if you stepped one foot out of line. But the draw between you two was undeniable. You could see it in his eyes when he stared at you from across ballrooms, the longing that you experienced just the same.

Fate was incredibly cruel and fickle. You watched as Kyle grew to be a handsome man, desired by aristocratic families from all over the country. He was handsome, well bred, and so kind. You’d have to be blind to not see how incredible of a man he was.

Anyone would be lucky to be his betrothed.

You just wish it was you.

Unfortunately, the lucky person he was engaged to was chosen for him from the time of his own birth, someone whose status would benefit his family. The two of you were never fated to be together. It was a painful, irrefutable fact.

Still, that didn’t stop the two of you from making eyes at one another every time you saw each other at aristocratic gatherings.

He was the only thing that made a long, boring gathering interesting. Every time you received an invitation to a gala or a ball, you felt the excitement of being able to see him again.

Even if you were with your own fiance and he was with his.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Kyle greeted, bowing down to place a kiss to the top of your hand.

“Hello to you, My Lord,” you smile, meeting his gaze for an electrifying moment.

The two of you break eye contact quickly, all too worried about raising suspicion.

Your gaze met his fiance’s who stood off to the side, nursing a glass of wine. She seemed completely disinterested in the conversation going on, instead glancing around the room.

“Our wedding is coming up awfully fast,” your fiance mused, placing his arm around your shoulders affectionately, “Isn’t that right, darling?”

It made your skin crawl but you mustered up a proper, practiced smile to shoot him, “Yes, it’s just a few weeks away. Oh, My Lord, you’ll surely be attending, correct?”

“Oh come now,” your fiance chided, “Lord Garrick is surely preparing for his own upcoming wedding. He’ll be much too busy to attend ours. What a silly question for you to ask.”

“Nonsense,” Kyle smiled, a sight that made your heart race despite the irritation you feel towards your fiance’s condescension. His dark eyes flitted to you, dropping to your lips before meeting your husband’s gaze again, “I wouldn’t miss such a blessed union.”

“You flatter us, My Lord,” you breathe, biting your lip. Hearing the man you love praise your upcoming wedding, even if it was a charade he put on, made your heart ache terribly in your chest.

“My love,” Kyle’s fiance wraps her arm around his arm, making your heart seize up in jealousy.

Kyle barely glances at her, instead keeping those deep brown eyes on your, “Yes?”

“Can we dance?” she asks, pointing in the direction of all the couples currently dancing in the center of the room.

“Of course,” he agrees easily, bowing gracefully at you and your fiance, “Please excuse us.”

“I say we should have a dance as well,” your fiance says, taking your hand, without even bothering to see if you wanted to in his, to lead you to the group of dancing people.

You fight back a sigh as he pulls your close against him, your chest pressed against his. One of his arms wraps around your waist, holding your other hand in the air while you rest your free hand on his shoulder. It was a practiced pose you’d learned all your life but it still made you want to curl your lip in disgust at being so close to this man.

The two of you begin to sway across the dance floor in time to the gentle rhythm of the music playing through the room. You stare over your fiance’s shoulder at all the people scattered around the ballroom. You find this entire endeavor to be rather dull, just high society people sucking up to one another in an endless cycle.

“Isn’t that right, darling?” your fiance’s voice grates in your ear, drawing you out of your daydreams.

“What?” you ask, meeting his gaze, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re so cute,” he gushes, clicking his tongue, “Always zoning out. Don’t need to think about anything when you’ve got your fiance here.”

You bite your tongue, feeling your eyes twitch at his continued condescension, “I was just admiring the beautiful ballroom.”

“Indeed,” he hums as he spins you around the dancefloor, “As I was saying, however, that Lord Garrick is an incredibly refined man, is he not?”

“Of course,” you agree, wishing so badly you could look around the room to find the mentioned man just to catch a glimpse of his handsome face, “His family is held in such high regard, after all. It’s only natural.”

“Indeed,” your fiance agrees, “And his upcoming union will only increase their status.”

There’s a lapse in the conversation as you both continue to dance. The mention of your beloved’s wedding tastes bitter on your tongue, sullying your mood even more. You zone out until the music slowly comes to a stop, slowing your steps to a complete stop.

The music starts up again, another song beginning to play immediately. Your fiance opens his mouth to say something but stops short.

“Excuse me,” a familiar, smooth voice interrupts the two of you.

You turn to see Kyle standing there in all his glory, smiling kindly, “If you would be so kind as to let me have the next dance.”

“I was just about to go get myself some refreshments anyway,” your fiance grunts, passing Kyle your hand.

He takes it gently, treating you like the finest, most delicate glass. It sends shivers down your spines, just feeling his skin against yours.

“I thank you,” Kyle bows politely before leading you deeper into the crowd of dancing couples.

Once hidden away from the prying eyes of your fiance, Kyle tugs you snuggly against him, assuming the same position you had before. His spicy, floral scent invades your senses and makes your eyes flutter at how nice it smells.

“Where did your fiance go?” you find yourself asking, though you don’t particularly care about her whereabouts.

“Not sure,” he responds, “Said she wanted to go talk with some friends.”

“I see,” you hum, eyes drifting to your hand clasped in his. His thumb occasionally strokes over the soft skin atop your hand.

“I’ve been dying to have a single moment alone with you this whole evening,” he confesses, keeping his voice low so no one nearby could hear the adulteress confessions coming from his lips.

“My Lord,” you breathe, your heart picking up as you meet his soft gaze. He looks at you in a way you’ve never seen him look at anyone else and it makes you flustered, “I was so happy to learn that you were also going to be here.”

“As was I,” he agrees, squeezing your hand in his, “I wish so desperately the two of us could slip away unseen.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve found ourselves alone,” you muse, chuckling to yourself.

“There will be a rather gaudy announcement shortly,” he says, “If you can slip away during it, I’m sure that no one will miss either of us so long as we’re back in time for the desert to be served.”

“Where shall we meet?” you ask, all too aware that this song was winding down.

“There’s a balcony overlooking the back gardens,” he says, the two of you slowly coming to a stop.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles at that, carefully dropping your hand to your side despite the fact neither of you want to let go of the other.

You miss his touch as soon as it’s gone but you know that you can’t maintain physical contact with him without gossip and speculation filling the hall. It’s already a dangerous game the both of you play with the way you’ve spent secretive moments alone despite your engagements. You crave so desperately to be able to love him publicly like other couples.

“I know you will,” he bows, kissing the top of your hand before turning on his heel and vanishing into the crowd on the other side of the room.

You have no choice but to find your fiance afterwards, despite the way dread fills your stomach when you lay your eyes upon him. He’s standing among noblemen, chattering away.

When you come into view he beams, “There is my beloved betrothed,” he says, “Such a sweet little thing, no?”

“Ah yes,” one of the other men hum, looking you up and down in a way that makes you cringe internally, “You are a lucky man, Owen.”

“Aren’t I?” your fiance wraps his arm around your waist, tucking you firmly against him, “Such a lovely doll all for me. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, as expected, but such a pretty face. Anyone would be envious of a man like me in my position with a beautiful fiance on his arm.”

You want so badly to roll your eyes at his insults and pompous attitude. Instead, you tune out the conversation and choose to look out over the party hall where all sorts of people mingle.

Your gaze finds Kyle from across the room. His fiance is on his arm and that prickly sensation of jealousy fills your chest but quickly vanishes when he looks away from the people he’s talking with to smile at you.

The melodic sound of a bell ringing across the room gets everyone’s attention. It falls completely silent as the host approaches the top of the stairs, dressed extravagantly to the nines. As she begins to address the crowd, you catch Kyle slipping out.

You turn to your fiance, “I’m afraid I must go to the washroom.”

“Take your time,” he nods, “Do return before the cake is served.”

“Of course,” you smile and carefully follow Kyle’s lead and slip out into a side hall.

The labyrinth of halls were easy to navigate since they were all too similar to your own manor. The music and chatter from the party quickly faded the further into the manor you got until you were finally at the doors leading to the balcony. You push it open, slipping through the opening before letting them softly close behind you.

Kyle stood, leaning against the balcony, staring off into the gardens. He was beautifully illuminated by the full moon and it made you breathless.

He turns to look at you, smiling, “I knew you’d make it.”

“I always do,” you whisper, taking his outstretched hand when he offers it.

“You look absolutely marvelous,” he breathes, pulling you close to him just like when you were dancing. Only this time, he spins and presses you back against the railing of the balcony. He crowds himself around you, leaning in to brush his lips against yours but not quite sealing you in a kiss. Your breath stutters in your chest, your noses grazing together from the proximity.

“You look handsome yourself,” you whisper against his lips, “I wished so badly to be the one on your arm this evening.”

“You’re all I’ve thought about this whole time,” he assures, hands gripping your waist, pressing himself even closer to you until his hips meet yours, “Every time I look at her, all I can think about is you. I wish it was you I was marrying.”

“Me too,” you whimper, “Owen is such a pig. All he does is talk down to me. He thinks me nothing but stupid.”

Kyle clicks his tongue, “That idiot has no idea what he has. He has everything that I desire and he doesn’t even know how to appreciate the life handed to him.”

He reaches up and cups your cheeks, hands warm and soft against your skin. He smells so good and the dark look in his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, makes your heart race.

He can’t seem to help himself anymore, surging forward to press his lips completely against yours. You gasp into the kiss, winding your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. One of his arms winds around your waist, pulling you up onto your tiptoes so your chest is pressed completely against his.

“I adore you,” he breathes before kissing you again, unwilling to break the kiss for more than a second as he talks, “I’ve never wanted anyone in my life more than you.”

As you’re hidden away on this balcony, secretly kissing the man you truly love while your betrothed is waiting for you to return back to him just down the hall, you feel tears pricking your eyes. You sniffle and Kyle pulls back, eyes softening at the sight of your tears.

“What is it, my heart?” he asks, thumbing your tears away despite the way more takes their place.

“I love you, Kyle,” you confess.

“And I love you,” he smiles but it only makes you cry harder.

You pull him snug against you, hugging him as tightly as you can. He hums, winding his own arms around you to return the hug. His large hand rubs your back until you’re left just sniffling and hiccuping.

“I hate this,” you whimper, “I wish I could marry you.”

“I know, my heart,” he sighs, pulling back to cup your cheeks again, “These cards we’ve been dealt in this life are so unfair.”

“How am I supposed to marry that man when you’re all I want?” you ask, taking his hand in yours.

He nods his head, “I feel the same. I know for a fact you’re who I’m meant to be with.”

A silence lulls between the two of you as you both lament the lives you’ve been given. While you both had everything materialistic one could want, neither of you could have what you really, truly desired.

With you still tucked against him, he whispers in your hair, “We should be getting back before anyone misses us.”

“I don’t want to,” you whine, “I want to stay here with you forever.”

“I know, my heart,” he mutters, “I wish that were possible.”

You sigh and haphazardly straighten your clothes out, “Let’s get the rest of this evening over with.”

“You head in first,” he urges you to the door with a hand on your back, “We don’t want anyone to see us come back together.”

You turn around and lean up, pressing one final, fleeting kiss against his lips before you turn and disappear through the doors. Leaving him behind makes your heart feel like a lead weight in your chest but you push through it and force one foot in front of the other down the winding halls.

You follow the sounds of the party still going, music and bustle of people getting louder and louder the closer you get. Stepping back inside, you notice everyone’s chatting happily and eating cake. Your eyes scan the crowd before falling on your fiance who is still chatting away with the same noblemen as before. You take a sharp breath, steeling yourself as you approach him, plastering a practiced, fake smile on your face.

“Ah, there you are!” he greets with a broad grin, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a piece of cake. I didn’t quite feel like holding it.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and instead shrug your shoulders, “That’s quite okay. I didn’t want any anyway.”

Your fiance nods, “Probably a good idea. Don’t want my betrothed putting on weight before the wedding!”

He and his friends laugh and anger flushes through you. Your jaw hurts from how hard you clench it shut so you don’t snap at your fiance. You catch movement out of the corner of your eye and turn to see Kyle’s fiance rushing up to him. He catches her as she throws herself into his arms and you once again feel the sting of jealousy.

You avert your gaze and tune in and out of the boring conversation your fiance is engaged in.

“Say, have you been crying, darling?” he asks, finally taking note of your red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh, no,” you laugh softly, “I’m afraid I’ve been struck down with a nasty case of allergies. All these roses must be emitting some dreary amounts of pollen.”

“Ah,” he nods, taking a bite of his cake as he looks around at the array of roses decorating the ballroom. “That makes sense. They are quite beautiful though. Perhaps we should have some planted once we’re married.”

You plaster on a fake smile again, “Maybe.”

He sends a smile to you in return before turning his attention back to the other men. You promptly tune out and let your eyes glance across the hall, hoping this entire ordeal will be over soon.

Before long, the party begins winding down and people begin to leave, bidding goodbye to one another.

“Oh, Lord Garrick,” your fiance greets as said man comes up to the two of you.

“Hello,” Kyle smiles, “I just thought I’d come and say goodbye.”

“Oh yes, goodbye, My Lord,” Owen bows.

Kyle turns his gaze to you and lifts your hand to his lips, giving you one last kiss goodbye. You wish so badly you could feel his lips press against yours again but you know that won’t be happening again for a terribly long time.

“I believe the next time we’ll meet will be your upcoming wedding,” Kyle said as he straightened up.

“Most likely,” you nod, “Unless someone plans to have another party again.”

Kyle huffs a laugh, “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

You smile at the sound of his laugh. His fiance tugs on his arm, bidding both you and Owen goodbye before they’re off.

“I guess we should head off as well,” he says, much to your relief.

Your bed sounds absolutely heavenly right about now. And you, quite honestly, just want to get away from your pig of a fiance and put this night behind you.

Before you know it, the wedding is just a few days away and anxiety practically consumes you. It seems like the days pass all too quickly. The apprehension of a wedding you want no part of seemingly making it creep up faster.

Your days are filled with wedding preparations. You and Owen spend your time sampling food to decide the wedding menu and signing invitations that are to be sent out as soon as possible. It’s a rather dreary time.

One weekend, you finally have a chance to escape the anxiety-inducing manor. You make your way into town, intent on doing a little shopping for yourself.

You’re wandering from shop to shop – thankful that you’ve managed to get out without any of the help on your tail. It was all hands on deck as the manor was prepared for the wedding and after-party, except for you, that is.

You’re busy looking at an array of expensive, imported fabrics when someone calls your name from behind. You whip your head around and find Kyle standing there, pretty, brown eyes wide and sparkling.

“Kyle,” you whisper.

He says your name again, taking a few, long strides over to you until he’s standing in front of you, “I was passing by and I swore I saw you in here.”

“It’s me,” you smile, already feeling your heart race at having him so close to you once again.

“I see that,” he laughs, raking his gaze down your body before finding your eyes once again, “You look lovely as always.”

“Thank you,” you feel your cheeks flush at the compliment, “What are you doing in town?”

“I had some errands to run,” he explains with a shrug, “What about you? I’m surprised to see you out and about with the wedding preparations.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “I managed to find an opportunity to get out of there while everyone was preparing the venue for the wedding. You should see the place, it’s a frightful vision with all the decorations and flowers.”

“Ah, of course,” he hides his laugh behind his hand, “The wedding is awfully close now isn’t it?”

Your smile fades and you hum, anxiously turning to look at the fabrics again, “3 days away, I’m afraid.”

Kyle falls silent behind you, watching as you comb through the materials. Your shoulders seem so heavy and there are dark circles under your eyes that no amount of powder on your face could hide.

He reaches forward and snags your hand up in his, “Come with me.”

“Where?” you ask but eagerly follow behind him as he leads you out of the store. He could lead you to the end of the world and you’d follow him.

The streets are noisy and bustling, thousands of people going about their day and lives. It feels nice to not be tailed by your servants because this way you can just feel like a normal person in society. With your hand tucked within Kyle’s, you almost feel like a regular couple going about your day together.

Kyle leads you through the maze of the streets before the two of you find your way to his carriage. The horses idly lift their hooves and step back down, clearly antsy to get going.

“Where’s your driver?” you ask when he opens the door for you.

“Left him at home,” Kyle answers easily, “Don’t worry I’m an excellent driver. You’re in good hands.”

“I’m not worried,” you giggle, sitting back when he slams it shut for you.

The spicy, floral scent that seems to always waft off him still lingers in the cabin. The carriage rocks as Kyle hoists himself up into the driver’s seat, taking the reins for the horses before setting off.

The hustle and bustle of town is left behind as the two of you make your way to a destination you don’t know. You look out the window, admiring the view of nature. With the gentle lull of the carriage and the soft sound of the horse’s hooves on the ground, you realize just how sleepy you are. The wedding preparations were apparently more exhausting than you realized.

Your name sweetly being called is what roused you. A soft hand cups your cheek and you open your eyes to see the handsome face of Kyle.

“We’re here,” he coos, taking your hands to help you stumble out of the carriage.

You look around, finding yourself standing in front of an imposing manor.

“Where’s here?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Another manor that my family owns,” he says, slamming the door.

“I see,” you hum, taking a look around. It’s a lovely place with neatly trimmed hedges and a fountain in the center of the circle driveway.

“What about the servants here?” you ask, allowing him to lead you up to the grand doors.

“There aren’t any here at the moment,” he assures, “All the servants are currently occupied with my own wedding preparations. You don’t have to worry, we’re alone here.”

“That’s lucky,” you laugh, sharing a soft look with him.

Once the two of you are inside, you take in the beautiful manor. There’s a beautiful staircase and the walls are adorned with expensive paintings, some of which you recognize yourself despite not being too knowledgeable on art.

“This was to be my home after my marriage,” he explains, waving for you to follow him up the stairs to the next story.

“I see…” you hum, trailing your fingertips over the beautiful wood banister but then pause, “What do you mean ‘was’?”

He stops in front of a door and pushes it open with a soft creak. You peek inside and discover a lavishly decorated bedroom. Being alone inside of a bedroom with a man who is not your fiance was incredibly improper. But Kyle is the man you love so you step inside with your heart racing in your chest. It feels so wrong, this rule was implemented in you your whole life being broken like this.

“I mean,” he hums, “If you’ll hear me out on what I have to say then the wedding will no longer be on. Neither will yours.”

Your heart lurches up into your chest as he leads you to take a seat beside him on the edge of the bed. He takes your hand in both of his, cupping it in his lap, stroking his thumb across your knuckles.

“What are you saying?” you ask, voice tight.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time,” he explains, “I want you. I don’t want to see you married off to that pig of a man they’ve set you up with. I don’t think I can live a life married to someone else when all I can think about every single day is you.”

“Kyle…” you whisper, squeezing his hand tightly, “Are you saying you want to call off the weddings? Our families wouldn’t–”

“No,” he grumbles, “I don’t want to call off the weddings. I want to marry you. Our families would never allow it but,” he takes a deep breath, “If we’re not under their charge anymore then what can they possibly do?”

“You want to run away?” you gasp, anxiety filling your chest when he nods, “But that-!”

“Our lives would be infinitely harder,” he smiles ruefully, “We wouldn’t have any of the comforts we have now. Our families wouldn’t support us. We’ll be disgraced by society and our friends. It’ll be hard but it would mean we can be together like we desire.”

“Kyle…” you whisper, eyes wide as you stare at him.

“I understand it’s daunting. And if you choose to tell me no then I will do as you wish and continue to live my life this way,” he breathes, “I will continue to live with the agony of only getting to see you in secret, if that’s what you wish. But…” he reaches forward and cups your cheek in one big hand, “If you say yes then I will kiss you right now and I will show you just how much I love you and how much I need you to be mine.”

Your lips are parting before you can even make heads or tails of your own thoughts, “Yes, Kyle.”

Just as he promised, he surges forward and presses his soft lips against yours. The kiss is desperate and heated with one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head, keeping your lips firmly planted on his.

You whimper into the kiss, the euphoria of having your love’s lips once again too much to bear. You feel the bedding beneath you as he pushes you down, holding his own weight above you with one hand to avoid crushing you. But you crave to feel his body against yours.

You wrap one arm around his waist and pull him closer so his chest is flush with yours. Despite the layers of clothes separating the two of you, you can feel his body heat permeating through to you.

That spicy, floral scent that wafts off of him is all around you. Your heart flutters in your chest and your hands tremble like leaves in the wind as you desperately grasp at him. He doesn’t break the kiss, even as you feel the hardened press of his member between your thighs.

The air feels thick with every inhale, a foggy haze settling over your mind the deeper the kiss gets. After a moment, he finally breaks the kiss only to dive down to press his lips to your neck. His hands flutter around your clothes, working the buttons and ties open so the fabric can easily be pulled away from your body.

With every inch of bare skin exposed, his lips touch upon it and goosebumps rise in response. Your trembling fingers grip the expensive fabric of his shirt, needing to feel grounded to him as his lips wrap around one of your nipples.

You whine, back arching when his hand comes up to roll and pinch your other nipple between his fingers. You’d never been touched like his before and it felt electrifying, each swirl of his hot tongue making your thighs twitch where they rest around his lithe hips.

“Kyle,” you gasp, “C-Can you–?”

“What?” he asks, barely separating from your breast to ask.

“T-Take off your shirt,” you request, cheeks feeling impossibly hot from the new stimulating pleasure your body is receiving.

He chuckles, parting from the torture he’s inflicting on your nipple to sit up on his heels. He pulled off his suit coat, letting it fall to the floor. You watch with wide eyes as he pulls his tie free from around his neck before his fingers drift to his waistcoat to pull the buttons apart. You follow those long, pretty fingers as they meticulously undo his shirt button by button until the smooth expanse of his chest is exposed to your greedy eyes.

You reach up and slide your hands up his chest, pushing the articles of clothing off of his shoulder until he lets them drop to the floor to join his jacket.

He’s on top of you again in seconds, large hands gripping your waist, your skin dimpling under the grip he has on you. You whimper when he cups your breasts, thumbing over your nipples as you sigh in pleasure.

“Will you let me undress you completely, my heart?” he whispers, sounding breathless.

“Yes, please, Kyle,” you nod, eagerly lifting your hips so he can free your lower half of the last bit of clothes that cover your body.

He sucks in a deep breath when your pretty form is fully exposed to his gaze for the first time. He knew you were beautiful but like this, with shy hands over your bare breasts and smooth thighs clenched tightly together to hide the most intimate part from his greedy, prying eyes.

“You’re magnificent,” he whispers as if any louder would break the sanctity the two of you have cultivated together in this bedroom, “Why do you hide from me?”

“I-I don’t know,” you respond, cheeks burning hot as you avoid his gaze, “I feel so shy like this.”

He smiles, pretty teeth on full display, eyes crinkle up when he does. Gentle hands cupping your knees, he tenderly strokes your skin, “There’s no reason to be shy around me. I adore every inch of you and your body. Won’t you let me admire you like you deserve?”

His gaze is so soft and kind that you feel your body relax at his assurance. Your arms fall to your sides, letting him see those pretty tits again. His mouth waters at the sight of your perked nipples.

But then you let your thighs fall open and the prettiest little cunt he ever could have imagined opens up to his greedy eyes. Your folds are shiny with a layer of slick and his tongue suddenly feels much drier than it did a second ago.

He realizes, in that moment, that he needs nothing more than to quench this apparent thirst right there between your legs.

You gasp when he grips beneath your knees and spread you open even wider. Your hands fly to cover your face, unable to take the embarrassment that floods through you when his face gets closer and closer to your pussy.

Two fingers dip into your folds, a loud, sticky noise sounding when he parts them. Your clit is puffy and swollen while your little hole twitches and drools messily at the contact. Slowly, almost painfully so, his tongue falls from his mouth to lick a wide strip over your cunt. You practically wail when his tongue drags over your clit, the little bud hard and twitchy against his muscle.

His lashes flutter at the sound. It encourages him to lick over the bud again. It earns him another sound, like a little reward for every correct touch he gives you.

He focuses there, pinning your hips down when you start twitching and wiggling beneath him. His tongue swirls and swirls around your clit, drool and slick coating his chin and dripping down to the bed. He doesn’t care, the mess isn’t even on his radar. He’;s too lost in the sweet taste of you dancing on taste buds. You taste better than the most exquisitely crafted meal he’s ever had in his life.

Your hands slam down to grab the bedding, fisting it desperately until the fabric creaks under your grip. The feeling of his tongue swirling and licking your clit is too much, you feel like you can’t take a breath deep enough. He moans and sighs softly into your cunt with every sweet little sound you gift to him.

One of his fingers finds your entrance, the little hole clenching pathetically around nothing.

He detaches his lips from your clit, swallowing the sweet slick filling his mouth before asking, “Have you ever touched yourself here before?”

Your cheeks flush unbearably hot at the question but find yourself shaking your head, “N-No.”

He sweetly smiles at you, “I’ll be gentle.”

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins sliding one of his fingers into you. It burns, even that minute stretch and his heart aches at the wince on your face. He leans forward and lets his tongue find your clit again, slurping it into his mouth so he can wrap his lips around it. The feeling makes your entire body tremble, your jaw falling open but no sounds actually come out.

He doesn’t let you think too much about this feeling, using your relaxed, almost brainless state to introduce a second finger. It finally makes a whine break through from your chest, back arching and eyes rolling back into your head once he sinks them to the last knuckle.

You never would have thought that something like this could feel so good. Your brain feels hazy, like no coherent thoughts can form. All you can focus on is how wonderful it feels to have Kyle’s thick fingers stuffed inside you while his pretty lips suckle on your sensitive clit.

“K-Kyle!” you wail, feeling a hot ball swell up in your tummy.

“What is it, my heart?” he coos, looking up at you through his lashes.

“I-Is it supposed to feel like this?” you meekly ask, lips swollen from biting them through your pleasure.

“Like what?” he asks, slowly moving his fingers snug inside your walls, careful not to hurt you. You’re coating them in sweet, syrupy slick and it’s a marvelous sight.

You twitch when he does that, your head falling back against the pillows, “Good.”

“You deserve nothing but pleasure, my heart,” he coos, eyes locking back onto the sight of his fingers stuffed inside your cunt.

When he pulls them back, they’re coating in a milky white sheen. The sight makes him moan under his breath, carefully fucking you with them in preparation for something bigger. He keeps the pace slow, not wanting to overwhelm you with pleasure. His fingers crook upwards, hitting that gooey little spot inside that makes your hips buck up. Your cheeks burn when you hear the filthy, wet, sticky noises that come from where he’s fucking you open on his fingers.

He can’t believe he gets to see you like this; open and exposed for him. Any ounce of shyness has completely evaporated, allowing him full view of you in your basest, dirtiest state.

“I’m a lucky man,” he huffs to himself, still fucking his fingers into that perfect spot in your cunt. You’re making the sweetest sounds and twitching so cutely on the bed from how good he’s making you feel on just his fingers alone.

You can’t even bring yourself to answer, too consumed with how fucking good it feels being fucked with his fingers. While you’re too dizzy to even think straight, he brings a third finger to your hole.

It burns when he pushes it in but he brings his thumb up to rub your clit. You relax again, pain and pleasure mixing intoxicatingly, allowing the third digit to easily slide in alongside the others.

He has you worked open on his three fingers, fuller than you’ve ever been in your life. You’re so hot and wet inside that it feels like his skin is burning, he can’t wait to know what it feels like to have you speared on his cock.

“K-Kyle, wait!” you wail, reaching down to grip his wrist.

He freezes, letting you push his hand away. His fingers slide out of your cunt, your little hole clenching around nothing now that it was empty.

“What is it?” he asks, panic gripping his throat, “Did I hurt you?”

“N-No, I just…” you’re panting as you clumsily sit up, “I-I just wanted a break. It was…a lot.”

His anxiety melts off of him and he smiles, “Alright.”

“Can I…” you look down at his own pants where you can see the bulge of his cock against his thigh. Even clothed, it’s intimidatingly big. You swallow down the anxiety at the sigh and reach out to palm at him.

“Oh, let me undress,” he pants, quickly shedding the last few layers until he’s as naked as you are.

His cock is long, thick and pretty. It’s hard, twitching against his stomach as it drools precum down the shaft. You lick your lips and reach your hand out, glancing at his face to make sure that he’s okay with it before your hand wraps around him. He sighs, shoulders relaxing where he stands at the first bit of pleasure on his neglected cock.

He reaches down to guide your hand, showing you how he likes to be stroked. Your movements are clumsy and your grip is unsure but the sight of his fat cock wrapped up in your pretty hand is enough to make his cock drool messily all over himself.

“Can I…” you look up at him, pretty eyes sparkling, “Can I use my mouth like you did for me?”

His cock twitches at the question, imagining what it would feel like to have his cock buried in your tight, hot throat. But he finds himself shaking his head despite how badly he wants it, reaching out to run his thumb over the seam of your lips.

“It’s dirty, sweetheart,” he coos, “You don’t need to do that.”

“But you did it for me,” you argue, pouting at his words.

He smiles, “It’s different. I live only to give something as divine as you pleasure, my heart. You don’t need to degrade yourself for me like that,” you open your mouth to argue but he pushes you back onto the bed, “Besides, I want to get to the main event.”

“This isn’t over,” you pout but settle into the pillows, letting him arrange your legs so they’re situated around his hips.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he laughs, “You are quite stubborn.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” you giggle, feeling incredibly at ease despite the imposing image of his monstrous cock resting on your stomach, showing you just how deep he’s going to reach when he’s inside you.

He leans down, letting his weight rest on one arm above your head. You feel safe, protected under his body like this and can’t help but wind your arms around his neck when you have him so close.

“Can you just relax for me, my heart?” he asks, lips brushing against your ear as he uses his free hand to direct his cockhead to your drooling entrance, “Just relax…that’s it. So good for me.”

You’re so wet and slippery as he slides the head between your folds that it’s embarrassing. Your body twitches beneath his when he slips the head over your clit before pressing against your entrance again. Your jaw falls open as he pushes inside ever so slowly, centimeter by centimeter.

Your nails bite into his shoulders but he ignores it. He knows it has to burn, has to hurt with how tight your precious little cunt is around his big, fat cock. He forgives you for clawing up his back like this because it’s the least he deserves for bringing your divine body any kind of pain. But he knows it will all be worth it when he’s finally balls deep.

You’re making the sweetest sounds as he works you open, sinking himself deeper and deeper with every passing second. Before long, he balls are pressing against your ass and his pelvis meets your clit. Your walls seize around him at the pleasure, a moan of his own breaking from his chest. There’s a deep ache from the way the tip prods against your cervix but even that still feels good.

You can’t keep quiet even if you wanted to as he begins slowly and gently working his hips back and forth. You have this delirious look in your eyes, they’re sparkling with your pupils blown wide and you stare at him like he’s a god. This pleasure you’re feeling for the first time is hypnotic, addictive.

“You can’t ever marry anyone else now, my heart,” he coos, gripping your chin so you look at him, “No man will ever be able to satisfy you like I can.”

You shake your head, “Don’t want anyone else, Kyle,” your words are slurred as you speak them, “Only want you. I only love you.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, sweat beginning to bead along his forehead, “Only me. You’re all mine, I won’t ever share you again.”

He pulls back to look between your bodies, seeing the way you’re creaming messily around his cock. It aids in the movements, makes them smoother and deeper. He prods against the gooey, tender little spot deep inside of you that makes your moans pitch higher and your pretty eyes roll back into your head. You’re the vision of sin.

One of his hands finds yours, threading his fingers between your own as he pins it to the bed. He uses it as leverage to work his cock in and out of you. His hips slap against yours over and over again.

He hits that tender, sweet little spot inside you that makes lights explode behind your eyelids. You eagerly spread your legs for him, wanting to feel him more and deeper. You’re gasping, moans being punched out of your lungs every time he sinks completely inside you.

You’re making a mess around his cock, thick strings of sticky cum connecting his hips to yours. Filthy, sticky, wet noises of your cunt being fucked just like it deserves fills the room.

“Kyle,” you huff, jaw falling open as your eyes widen, “I-It feels…”

He knows. God, does he know. He feels the way your walls seize around him, clenching and spasming as the orgasm builds inside of you. His balls draw up, his own orgasm brewing inside him.

“Hold on for me, my heart,” he pants, “I want us to cum together.”

“Wh-What do you mean?” you manage to stumble out, eyes fighting to roll back into your head but you want to see him.

He looks beautiful, sweat coating his skin. The sun is dipping beneath the horizon outside, painting the room in beautiful shades of orange that only make him look ethereal. The light coming in from the window behind him gives him a halo, he looks positively enchanting and you find your mouth suddenly feels dry.

This man is yours, all yours. He’s yours to hold and to keep. No one can keep you apart anymore. He’s here with you in this bed, sealing his own fate to be with you for the rest of his life because he loves you like he’s never loved anyone else in his life.

From the day you were born, you were told you were to be with someone else. But you knew, in this moment, that you were truly destined to be with Kyle. You were put on this Earth for the sole purpose of finding him and loving him for the rest of your life.

You squeeze his hand in his when he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. You’re both panting and gasping into each other's mouths.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers, cock aching and twitching within the tight, snug, grasp of your precious little cunt, “Don’t look away.”

You wouldn’t be able to look away even if you wanted to. He has you hypnotized, big, pretty eyes are deep pools of black. His pupils are blown impossibly wide and his lashes flutter with every wave of pleasure he feels within your pussy.

Your body seizes up as that tight thread of pleasure suddenly snaps, “Kyle-!”

His lips meet yours, sealing you into a kiss as his brows furrow. The blissful clenching of your cunt brings him to his own end. He grunts as he spills inside you, rocking his hips to work both of you through the electrifying, dizzying high that you share together for the first time.

You’re whimpering and whining into his ear as he works the two of you down with lazy, messy humps of his hips. His cock is softening, coated in a hot, sticky layer of your cum and his. It’s a filthy mess, dribbles from his length when he pulls out. Your cunt still clenches through the aftershocks, spilling out onto the bed – not that he cares.

Your arms wind around his waist and you pull him flush against you again. You don’t want him to go anywhere, you crave having his body close to yours as you catch your breath and wait for your heart to stop pounding like a scared rabbit.

He lays on his side beside you, curling himself around your body as he tucks himself protectively into his chest. There’s a comfortable, soft silence between the two of you. You can hear the birds outside as they chirp and you can hear Kyle’s soft breaths and beating heart.

“We’ll stay here for a few days,” he suddenly says, “After that, everyone will begin looking for us. We’ll have to leave town by then.”

“Where will we go?” you ask, affectionately kissing his chin so he’ll look down at you.

He smiles, brushing some stray hairs out of your face, thumbing over the soft skin of your cheeks where they’re still flushed hot from your activities. You kiss his thumb when he rubs it over your lips, “I’m not sure. Somewhere that no one will recognize us – where we can start a new life.”

“Anywhere will be a good life as long as I have you, Kyle,” you assure, leaning up to peck his cheek this time.

“I feel the same, my beautiful,” he kisses your forehead, “magnificent,” he kisses your nose, “betrothed to be.”

He seals those words with a sweet, soft kiss to your lips.

this work belongs to rowarn. do not modify or repost to other websites. reblogs OK!

#kyle garrick smut #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #gaz smut #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick smut #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz smut #cod x reader #cod smut

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ohdeerfully · 1 year ago

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Hii!! i’ve never requested smth before but i absolutely adore your lil one shots for alastor and was wondering if you could write smth based on someone’s idea?

https://www.tumblr.com/sockmeat/741700944177315840/alastor-in-rut-but-instead-of-him-being-horny-hes

completely fine if not!! i just thought it was a cute idea and would love to see it wrote in an actual scenario!! :3

this is really simple and short but god writing block is killing me quickly... hope u like it anyway!!!!!! mwah mwah

as stated in the request, this is based off of @sockmeat 's post, which you can access by clicking here!

Jealousy Looks Good on You

alastor x reader (fluff) TW: alastor is super possessive, reader is referred to as female but doesn't really effect story at all, thats it i think

join my discord!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

It was that time of year again for Alastor. A few months of absolute physical and mental torture—which, considering he lived in Hell, maybe that was how Heaven finally managed to torment him for eternity. It never took a genius to figure out what put Alastor in such an odd state.

He was a deer.

Deer go into rut.

It was incredibly embarrassing, to say the least, especially for him when the rut was over. However, for his “mate,” who faced the brunt end of his seasonal affections, you didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, it was probably your favorite three months of the year.

You were currently lounging in the hotel lobby, chatting with Angel Dust about a bar he was interested in going to. You had one leg thrown up over the other, clad in a dark red outfit that had been “mysteriously” placed on the edge of your bed when you woke up—you knew who the culprit was as soon as you saw Alastor a few minutes later in a suspiciously similar outfit of the same color scheme.

He had been sitting next to you for a while, making small, nearly unnoticeable bids for attention as you tried to focus on Angel’s words. A pressure on your knee with his own, a light graze of his fingers through your hair as he lifted his hand to adjust his monocle… to anybody else, the contact would’ve seemed only coincidental; however, to you, it was obvious considering the great care he always took to mind his personal space.

A brief glance out of the corner of your eye confirmed your suspicions. You couldn’t help but lightly grin at the tense grin on his face and the growing expression of frustration as you continued to keep your attention on Angel.

“–so, that being said, I wanted ta invite’cha out with me! And Cherri’ll be there too,” Your eyes turned back towards the spider. You could nearly feel the tenseness in Alastor’s shoulders heighten, and that radio frequency of his tuning up ever so slightly, but still noticeable.

“That bar is no place for my lady,” Alastor responded in a snap before you could even open your mouth. You whipped your head in his direction with a frown.

“She isn’t your anything, Smiles,” Angel shot back, also interrupting your own attempt at defending yourself.

It was almost comical, the way your head twisted back and forth with each remark the two made at each other. The tension was rising quickly, and you were getting more agitated with how many times you got cut off from saying a single word.

You were distracted from your own mental anguish when Alastor abruptly stood, hand gripping his cane with more force than usual. There was a dangerous look in his red eyes as he grinned down at Angel.

“She is mine,” Alastor stated with finality. “And what’s mine stays with me.” He reached down and gripped your hand, tugging you up with him. As angry as he seemed he was still gentle with you, at least.

You’d be lying if you didn’t find the possessiveness attractive. Heck, it would probably be impossible to date the Radio Demon if you didn’t want to be obsessed over and practically owned. You were only slightly embarrassed at the heat on your cheeks when you felt the almost desperate grip of his on your hand, to which Angel pointed at with a defeated “what the hell.”

He basically dragged you away from the situation, ears slightly pressed back. He refused to look at you as you caught up to his steps and walked beside him. He didn’t have to look at you, though, because you already knew the turmoil that was going through his head.

“Don’t be so embarrassed,” You tried to comfort as he opened the door to your shared bedroom. “I think it’s very becoming of a gentleman to protect his property.” You enjoyed the way his eyes glittered with pride when you referred to yourself in such a manner. You didn’t truly consider yourself property, of course, but you simply enjoyed seeing that look in his eyes and the way his chest involuntarily puffed up.

What a different being Alastor was during his rut. More expression than ever with the way his affections and frustrations were so visible in his body language. He pulled you closer to him, squeezing you against his body as he let the two of you fall into the bed. You lifted yourself off of his chest with an elbow and looked down at him.

He met your gaze with his own wide, needy eyes and quivering smile. To put it simply, he looked… pitiful. Endearing. You loved it. He hated it. You knew if anybody saw him in this state he would go on the attack immediately without a single thought. You briefly glanced back to make sure the door had been locked. Just in case.

You smiled at him and peppered kisses on his chest and up, finally nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. He sighed pleasantly at your motions, swooping his arms up to position you on your side in front of him, wrapping himself protectively around your body.

“I crave you, my love,” He stated in an incredibly forward way. His voice lacked the typical radio effect as he spoke, and you realized your skin was also not prickling with the sensation that usually accompanied his presence. You responded by layering your hands over his own, which was resting comfortably against your waist. “I never want you out in such a… dirty place with that overly sexual spider.”

“I know, Al,” You said with a sigh. “Too many ‘hungry eyes’, you’ve told me this.”

He remained quiet, and you could barely feel the way your hair flicked every time he exhaled against the top of your head.

You also remained quiet, opting to just enjoy the moment. These three months went by so, so fast, so you didn’t want to waste time speaking and bickering over meaningless things. You didn’t care to go to bars, anyway; you weren’t much of a drinker. You also hoped to get Alastor’s mind off of his disdain for Angel. While you trusted him to know better to attack one of your friends—more importantly one of Charlie’s friends—you didn’t want to take any chances. He was somehow even more unpredictable during his rut.

You leaned your head back, tilting up slightly to meet Alastor’s gaze. He placed a feather-light kiss against your forehead in response.

He was in for a long three months, but you were going to enjoy every second of it.

#ohdeerfully #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #fluff #alastor x you #im sorry imm taking one million years to write anything #ive been so lazy

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urlocalmultigroupfan · 16 days ago

Text

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 (양정인)

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

summary: loosely based off of strangers by kenya grace

tags/warnings: suggestive (kissing in car) kinda angsty, no good ending

a/n: hihi guys!! i think yall have noticed that i haven't been as active on here anymore sigh. atp its basically js bc i used to write based off of what i wanted to happen, but now its more like im actually experiencing it with my gf, so its kinda different for me!! its also bc ive js been talking to my friends mostly recently 😭😭 so yep!! (on discord tho add so_dxnbi if u want to talk 😋! also i might not be active during the summer so this will be one of the many oneshots and stories i have prepped to come out over the summer <3 tysm for patience!! love you guys <3

also sorry for the kinda bad ending sigh 😓

credits to @hyuneskkami for the dividers

masterlist!

You never thought you’d end up here. In the backseat of his car, the world outside reduced to a blur of neon lights and rain streaking across the windows. His hands are everywhere, touching your skin, pulling you closer, leaving a trail of heat that’s impossible to ignore. Your breaths are shallow, uneven, caught somewhere between urgency and uncertainty. It’s messy, fast, and you know it’s never going to last. But in that moment, it doesn’t matter.

You had been strangers once. You never imagined it would go this far. But here you are, both lost in the feeling of each other, and yet… it feels like you’re miles apart.

ᡣ𐭩

It all started when you didn’t expect it.

You remember the night you first met him. It was one of those nights where you had no plans, no real intentions. The party was loud, a blur of faces and music that pulsed through the walls. You didn’t even know why you were there. Maybe it was because your friends had dragged you along, or maybe it was because you were just looking for something—something to fill the quiet spaces inside of you.

The first time you saw him, he wasn’t anything special—just another guy among many. Tall, dark hair, a smile that you couldn’t quite place. But when you bumped into him, spilling your drink all over his shirt, you immediately froze, mortified.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, fumbling for your words, trying to wipe the spill from his chest.

He laughed. Softly. “It’s fine, really. No harm done.”

His eyes were warm, and for a brief moment, you felt like he was the only person in the room. You barely noticed the music anymore. There was something about the way he looked at you that made everything else fade into the background.

“I’m Jeongin,” he said, offering you a hand.

You introduced yourself, and that was it. A simple exchange of names. But there was something about him, a kind of energy that lingered after the conversation ended. You didn’t think much of it at the time, just another stranger in a sea of faces.

ᡣ𐭩

But things have a way of changing, don’t they?

The first few weeks after the party, you didn’t think much about Jeongin. He was just another person in your life. You’d pass by him in the hallways, maybe exchange a quick smile, but that was it. But then, one evening, you ran into him in the library. He was sitting alone, flipping through a book, looking more relaxed than you had ever seen him before.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

He glanced up, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Hey! Just studying. Want to join?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but you nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

You sat beside him, the quiet of the library settling around you as the minutes stretched into hours. At first, it was just small talk—talking about assignments, the classes you shared. But before long, the conversation shifted. You found yourself laughing at his jokes, talking about things you’d never shared with anyone elseyour hopes, your fears, your childhood memories.

It was easy. Too easy.

And that’s when you started noticing him more. Not just his smile or the way he made you laugh, but the way he made you feel—like you mattered. Like you weren’t just a passing thought in his life. You started texting him more, meeting up for coffee after class, spending your weekends together in a way that felt so natural, so right.

You didn’t think much about it at first. He was just a friend, right? But even then, you could feel something shifting between you both, something you couldn’t name, something that made your heart beat a little faster every time he looked at you.

ᡣ𐭩

The moment it happened, you didn’t even see it coming.

One evening, it was just the two of you—sitting on the balcony at his apartment, the city lights flickering in the distance. You’d just finished dinner, and the conversation had slowly shifted to more personal things, things you had never dared to say aloud before.

“I think you’re one of the few people who actually listens when I talk,” Jeongin had said, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes soft.

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’m always listening.”

He was looking at you differently now, his gaze more intense, more focused. The space between you seemed to shrink, and your chest tightened. You wanted to say something, anything, but your words caught in your throat.

You felt his hand brush yours, and it was like the world stopped. Your breath hitched as he leaned in slowly, hesitating just a moment before his lips met yours.

The kiss was everything you didn’t know you needed. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just the overwhelming rush of wanting and being wanted. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer, and you responded eagerly, the taste of him lingering on your lips.

But even in that kiss, you could sense something shifting inside of you—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. You were both crossing a line, one you weren’t sure you could come back from.

The next few days passed in a haze, the thrill of being with him clouding your thoughts. You were officially more than friends, but neither of you spoke about it. It felt like an unspoken agreement between the two of you—no labels, no expectations, just the feelings that both of you kept buried deep down.

But it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show.

ᡣ𐭩

It was one of those nights when everything felt a little too much. The air was thick with tension, and the heavy weight of unspoken words hung between you both. You were both drunk, but there was a certain clarity in the way you looked at him.

You’d been out with friends at a club, and now you were in his car, parked in an empty lot, the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. His hand was on your leg, drawing lazy circles on your skin. He was leaning close, his breath warm against your neck, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. You needed him.

You let him kiss you again, this time deeper, more desperate. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your back, your thigh. You could feel the heat building between you both, the need, the desperation, as if this moment was the only thing that mattered.

In the backseat, it was all about chasing that feeling—the feeling of being wanted, of being seen. His lips were on your neck, his body pressed against yours, and you could feel every inch of him.

It was reckless. It was messy. But it was you both searching for something—something you couldn't name, something you couldn’t hold onto.

But even in that moment, you knew it wouldn’t last.

ᡣ𐭩

Things between you both became complicated after that night. The chemistry, the passion—it was always intense, but it wasn’t enough to keep the distance from growing. Jeongin pulled away more and more, his texts shorter, his responses slower. You tried to ignore it, but the cracks were undeniable.

You wanted to talk about it, to ask him where you stood, but every time you tried, he’d shut you down with a simple excuse—“I’m busy,” or “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

But you knew. You knew what was happening.

One evening, you sat in his apartment, the silence between you unbearable. You couldn’t ignore the distance anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jeongin,” you said, your voice trembling despite yourself. “I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” you gestured between you both, your hands shaking. “This… whatever this is. I can’t keep doing this if you’re not here with me. You’re not really here, Jeongin. Not anymore.”

There was a long pause. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Maybe I’m not, then.”

That was it. No apology, no fight. Just a simple acknowledgment that you both knew things weren’t working. You both had been drifting for so long, it was only a matter of time before it ended.

ᡣ𐭩

After the breakup, you tried to move on. You went to class, you hung out with friends, you kept yourself busy. But every time you saw him—whether on campus or in passing—there was a part of you that ached.

He didn’t reach out, and neither did you. The silence between you was louder than anything you could say.

Months passed. You both moved in different circles, but every once in a while, you’d catch a glimpse of him. He never looked at you the same way again. He never even looked at you at all.

You were strangers again.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

You never saw him again after that day at the coffee shop. He was just another face in the crowd, another memory.

A stranger.

hope yall enjoyed <33

todays playlist....

bills by enhypen, dadada by mad tsai, like by bts, feelings by lauv, love scenario by ikon, voices by stray kids, banana shake by hus, busy woman by sabrina carpenter, bed chem by sabrina carpenter, feels like summer by childish gambino, butterflies by stray kids, run bts by bts, mama said by kickflip, ssick by stray kids, drama by aespa, deer hunter by &team, like that by doja cat and gucci mane, start a war by jennie, fall in love again by p1harmony

*bold is explicit*

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @hyuneskkami @hvseunq143 (im pretty sure i missed somebody 😭😭)

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

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slowburningechoes · 9 days ago

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Hiii its me

i might have dreamt this but i swear i saw one of ur posts saying Robert liked snoopy? i saw some fanart of wilsonm with him I love it so much and it reminded me of this... do u have a link to where he said he liked him bcz i LOVE SNOOPY!!!

hiiii! no you didn’t dream this! :3

i don’t have a link since it’s not from an interview! but i do have screenshots from a discord discussion about it. we discovered this after a fan (*s*) brought him a snoopy birthday card at Betrayal!

plus, we have some extra snoopy loving evidence from an old bday card his girls gave him and his most recent pic online!

#slowburningquestions #robert sean leonard #rsl #snoopy #esnupi

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python333 · 2 years ago

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HAI! i rlly like your platonic 141 fics and I'm wondering if we could get some more dad price and/or brother gaz sleepy cuddles? :3

stretched too thin — python333

— — — —

synopsis gaz notices you overworking yourself one night and decides to step in before you end up pulling an all-nighter.

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 2.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of pet names [love, darling], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note oh my god im so sorry i disappeared for like. a month. ill try my best to not be gone for more than a week at a time, but with all of my schoolwork and just over all stress ive been experiencing lately, i dont know if ill be able to get fics out every week :< ill try my best though! please accept this fic as an apology—its another big bro gaz one!! special shoutout to everyone else who has an older sibling thats very distant with them, you and me are in the same boat fr!! also, last thing—im thinking about making a discord server where i announce when fics are being written and published and stuff, but i dunno if yall would join or anything, so if u would pls lmk!!

You haven’t left your office in five hours.

Recently—just about two days ago—you finished up an assignment fairly quickly and, as a result, had to write a detailed report of said assignment. It went over the mission you’d gone on, and listed off every major detail you could think of, though because you just can’t give yourself a break you were constantly thinking of other details you might’ve missed even though there was little chance you’d missed anything.

The mission wasn’t anything too important, honestly. It was originally going to be a week-long camp-out reconnaissance by an enemy task force’s base, obtaining information on their schedule and what they did throughout the day and whatnot. However, only a day into the mission, the small squad of soldiers that had accompanied you saw another small military group observing the same group you’d been observing.

So, naturally, you observed them as well. Aren’t you just the best multi-tasker?

The task force eventually found out about the other group, just a day later, while your squad was still in the clear to continue your observations. So, your mission had quickly come to a close—but, because of the circumstances under which the mission had come to a close, you were required to write an extremely detailed report on the other group and the group you’d been observing.

It would be an understatement to say you were tired. You’re exhausted.

Between the non-stop writing, the coffee sitting on your desk that’s been microwaved five times and has been refilled thrice, and the uncomfortable chair you’ve sat in that you have yet to replace, you’re extremely exhausted. Your movements are sluggish, your fingers aren’t as swift on the keyboard of your computer as they usually are, and worst of all—you still have more to write.

Your eyes stung and felt dry, your hands felt like they were going to stop working completely at any moment, and you were overall just exhausted.

You look over at the clock on your desk, and it reads 02:28 AM, indicating that you would only have about four hours to sleep if you went to bed now. I’m too far into this report to stop now, You tell yourself, sighing as you blink slowly at your computer screen, If only my vision didn’t keep getting blurry…

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating until the knock sounds once more.

Reluctantly, with a voice raspy from not using it almost all day, you call out, “Come in!”

Your voice is softer and quieter than you’d like it to be, but it doesn’t matter too much to you at this moment—at least, not in your foggy mind that still begs you for sleep, even when you have far more of your report to finish.

The door opens with a creak, and in walks Gaz.

“Sarg,” He greets you, not bothering to close the door behind him as he walks up to your desk, “Pleasure to see you for the first time in, what… three days?”

“Two days and eighteen hours,” You correct him, taking a moment to crack your stiff knuckles, not taking your eyes off of your monitor, “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sarg’ or ‘sergeant’ or anything. We’re the same rank.”

Gaz promptly ignores you, “Right, well, anything over a day is way too long for me to go without seeing you. Why’re you all cooped up in here on your computer?”

“‘Cause I need to write a report on my assignment,” You briefly explain, before lightly goading Gaz, “Not all of us need a shit ton of attention every day like you do.”

“Ehh,” Gaz theatrically makes a thinking face, before shrugging, “Not sure what you mean by ‘us’, but alright.”

“By ‘us’, I mean everyone but you.”

“Surely that doesn’t include you, right?”

“It does.”

Gaz gasps quietly at your reply, before dramatically responding, “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely can,” You hum, finally taking your eyes off of your computer screen to look up at Gaz, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t need to talk to you every waking hour?”

“It is, actually,” Gaz scoffs, “Because I know that you do need to talk to me every waking hour.”

“Uh, no I don’t,” You childishly argue, raising an eyebrow at Gaz.

“Uh, yes you do,” Gaz immaturely argues back, crossing his arms, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that the past two days and eighteen hours haven’t been shit because I haven’t given you any attention.”

You open your mouth to form a response but quickly close it, realizing that yeah, actually, I kind of do crave his attention.

Fuck.

“You’re not the only person that gives me attention,” You point out, hoping to find some way to change the subject.

“Sure, but you like the attention I give you the most,” Gaz hums, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on your desk opposite of where you sit.

“You don’t know that.”

“Then tell me that I’m wrong,” Gaz challenges you.

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him for a moment before sighing, “You suck.”

“Maybe I suck, but you look like you haven’t slept for the past week,” Gaz points out, “You look exhausted, by the way. And dehydrated. Actually, you just look like the human embodiment of a headache.”

“What the fuck?”

“I mean that in the most loving, non-offensive way possible.”

“You come into my office, accuse me of needing attention from you, then you insult me by calling me the human version of a headache?”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Gaz raises his hands in surrender, before sighing, “I’m being serious. You look dead, [c/n]. You need sleep.”

“What I need is to finish this report,” You huff out, beginning to turn your attention back to your computer, before Gaz’s hand is quickly placed on your chin and forces you to look back at him.

“No, what you need is some rest,” Gaz argues, more serious this time, taking his hand off of your chin—something you shouldn’t miss nearly as much as you do, the warmth of his hand fading far too quickly from your face—and bringing it back to rest on the desk.

“Maybe you need rest, Gaz.”

“Sure I do,” He shrugs, “But I’m only going to sleep if you do.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“I am.”

You stare at him for a moment, mentally weighing your options, before sighing and bringing your elbows up to the table so that you can place your forehead in your hands.

On one hand, if you stay in your office you can finish up your report before four and then go to sleep, and hope that you magically feel active even with just an hour or two of sleep in the morning. On the other hand, if you go to sleep now, so does Gaz, and then you both get more than just two hours of sleep.

After another moment of consideration, you huff out a frustrated breath and mutter, “Fine.”

Gaz smiles down at you and walks around your desk to your side of it, holding out a hand for you to grab to help yourself up from your chair and using his free hand to save your report and power off your monitor.

You take his hand and stand up, your legs a little weak and balance iffy from sitting down for so long, but within the next few minutes you’re sure you’ll be able to properly walk. You let go of his hand once you’re positive you won’t fall over, and once he sees that you’re able to walk, Gaz silently walks towards the door of your office. Just as quietly, you follow him.

He turns off the lights for you and lets you walk out of the office first, locking the door from the inside and closing it once you’re out. Once he’s done, he takes the lead again and you follow him down to his sleeping quarters. It’s not too long of a walk there, only two minutes at most.

Once you’re there, Gaz opens the door and lets you walk in first. Once you’re inside and Gaz has closed the door, you shrug off your camouflage patterned jacket and toe off your already loosened tan boots, leaving you in just your camouflage cargo pants and army green undershirt.

You look down at your pants with a frown, knowing from experience that sleeping in them was incredibly uncomfortable and left you regretting your whole existence the morning after, but before you could even look over at Gaz to tell him of your situation, you felt something being thrown at you.

You immediately turn your attention to the item that had been hurled at you—the item in question being a pair of gray sweatpants, some that would probably be a little bit looser than you’d prefer on your figure—and then look over at Gaz with a questioning look.

“Figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in that,” Gaz shrugs, nodding to your cargo pants in response to your nonverbal confusion.

You hum in appreciation, not wanting to talk too much at the moment, instead waiting for Gaz to look away before slipping off your pants and replacing them with the sweatpants Gaz had thrown at you. The fit isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought they’d be—they’re loose and hang low on your hips, just like you thought they would, of course, but they don’t feel nearly as weird as you thought they would.

Once you’ve tightened the strings on the waist of the pants, you get into Gaz’s bed, pulling the covers up and over yourself. Gaz quickly settles into the bed next to you, quickly getting himself comfortable under the sheets, and pulling the covers up and over his shoulders in one swift movement.

He gets closer to you, so close that his chest presses against your back and you can feel the tip of his nose ghosting over the top of your head. He wraps one arm over your body to pull you impossibly closer to him, and his other arm snakes underneath the side of your body so that both of his arms are wrapped around you.

He hums contently and his thumb rubs small circles into your clothed stomach, the action—despite being small—causing your stomach to warm up almost immediately.

“Comfortable, darling?” Gaz asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Very,” You mumble back, trying to subtly lean your head back against Gaz in hopes of getting at least one more kiss. Noticing your efforts, he huffs out a small laugh and presses another gentle kiss right at the edge of your hairline before pressing one last one to your forehead.

Even with the comforting atmosphere, you can’t find it within yourself to fully relax, your body still tense and stiff underneath the blanket. Gaz, just like he did with your “subtle” movements, notices and frowns.

“Just sleep,” Gaz tiredly mumbles into the top of your head, “You have to get up in three hours. The sooner you sleep, the more sleep you get.”

You don’t respond, instead simply sighing and forcing your eyes closed. You do have to admit, it’s nice being able to actually close your eyes for something other than blinking, and closing your eyes for longer than half a second has made you realize that they were even drier than you thought they were.

Exhausted and ready to finally sleep, you eventually get to a point where you no longer need to force your eyes shut, and as a result, your whole body relaxes for the first time in almost six hours.

“G’night, love,” Gaz murmurs, feeling your body relax next to his. You hum in acknowledgment of his words, not finding the energy within yourself to properly respond, instead finding yourself drifting off into a deep sleep.

And if four hours later, Gaz wakes up and simply lies there, not waking you and instead letting you get some more sleep despite you having to be up soon, nobody has to know.

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grayscale-sparks · 1 month ago

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Idea u have had for a long long time. Arthur us dying, alone fully. Kayne shows up and says he will grant one wish, except to be saved. Arthur asked to be held when he dies.

If you wanna keep it there cool, however. Maybe kayne sticks a finger in whatever stab wound he has telling Arthur to stop squirming, or he leaves.

Your choice of arthur actualy dies or not. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't and lives with the guilt. Who knows

@theivorybilledwoodpecker I combined yalls prompts together cuz they worked so deliciously sorry it took so long

second prompt: Kayne showing his love for Arthur by destroying every being that threatens him

1600 words of pure utter arkayne angst

The worst failing of Arthur Lester was how many god damn times that man got into trouble. He could, of course, always get himself out. Sometimes he needed a little extra help- the little voice in his head, a wayward detective, the flip of a coin- but generally, Arthur was just as good as getting himself out of trouble as he was getting himself into it.

But that voice was gone now, as was that mercurial thief, so Kayne had to poke his head in every now and then to make sure Arthur didn’t get into a scrap too bad to save himself from.

And this one looked bad.

Kayne rolled up his sleeves as he stepped casually through the portal right in front of his fallen mortal, scanning the prowling beasts that were hunting him for sport. They were spawn of some elder god that was just prideful enough to claim to be his enemy- as if anyone could cross him and leave alive. Idiot, idiot, gods.

“Kiddos!” Kayne said, clasping his hands together, voice high and animated. “Look at this pretty piece of flesh you dug up!”

“Nyarlathotep,” the prowling beasts said in a singular, resonating voice. Kayne’s eye twitched. “Step aside.”

“Mmm… no.” Kayne said. “I’m okay. I think it’s high time you kids head on home. You don’t want me to tell mommy you stayed up past your bedtime.”

“K-Kayne…” Arthur gasped from somewhere behind him. “Kayne..”

Alive. For now. The twisting anger in Kayne’s chest relaxed only slightly at that revelation. He didn’t acknowledge Arthur, though. He couldn’t risk it.

The beasts made the mistake of stepping forward. An easy twitch and the ground electrified in a ring around them, causing the mutts to howl and scramble back. Kayne smiled with faux pleasantry, making sure the beasts saw his fangs were sharper than theirs.

“Nyarlathotep!” They growled, their voices phasing in and out of sync. “Leave now, this mortal prey belongs to us!”

And Kayne laughed. The disgusting beasts whined and cringed away from the maddening sound. It sounded like a spiral, oh so much like pumping blood, the first discordant note. Crawling. Chaos. Simply, Kayne.

“Everything you fools said is wrong.” Kayne said, his laugh tapering off into a manic seriousness. “My name is Kayne, and Arthur Lester belongs to me.”

They didn’t stand a chance.

Kayne charged the ground again, sending sharp bolts of electricity up to blow them to shreds. Where they lacked in strength, they made up for in numbers. Kayne backed closer to Arthur, narrowed eyes scanning the oncoming hordes appearing from the ground to circle, the ring of electricity zapping between them.

“You will not win, Nyarlathotep! Yhoundeh is mobilizing us all against you- you are weak!”

Yhoundeh- of course. Kayne bared his fangs. “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. Tell my dear wife that she knows better than anyone what I am capable of.”

“You are a little king playing dress up with the gods, little messenger.” The beasts snarled. “Too weak to do your own bidding, too scared to face your enemies.”

Kayne’s form crackled, shifting between what he had chosen for Arthur, an egyptian pharaoh, and chaos incarnated. Finally, fear began to flicker in the beast’s many eyes. Kayne grinned, the action splitting his face into too many rows of teeth, his eyes alight with murderous glee.

“You called me Nyarlathotep.” Kayne said, his voice fractured and echoed by his past forms. “You must know my power.”

One lone mutt stepped forward. A host for a cousin, most likely. “We know you gave it up for this mortal. Once we kill him, we will dispose of your ilk like Shub-Niggurath and Hastur. You cannot save him”

“I’d like to see you fucking try.” Kayne said. They were right though- he couldn’t save Arthur. He was weak. “I am no longer Nyarlathotep but I hold his and every power bestowed upon the great ones. And you will pay for hurting my Own.”

Kayne thrust out his hands, and the universe paused for one glorious second. Kayne could see the skin on his arm cracking and giving way to the spiralling cosmos beneath.

“If your host is here, Yhoundeh!” Kayne shouted. “I’m coming for you next. You better run, and you better pray to the powers that created you.”

Kayne twisted his hands into fists, and the beasts exploded into misting blood and chunks of viscera, littering every inch of the ground around them in gore. A ruined city, a ruined universe, all for his own.

Kayne slowly lowered his hands, his mortal form coming back to himself. His skin was laced in crystalline scars where it sewed itself together once more. He slowly turned towards Arthur once he felt his face secure itself back into place.

“Artie?”

Arthur was unresponsive, soaked in blood. Kayne knew enough to differentiate the scent, and most of it belonged to him. His form shuddered again, still unstable from losing control. He kneeled beside Arthur.

“Artie, come on. Look at me.” Kayne urged. “Open your fucking eyes, darling.”

Arthur struggled to do so, hands weakly reaching for Kayne. “Th- They’re coming for you.”

“I took care of them.” Kayne said, brushing hair from his face. “We’re- you’re safe. Just keep your eyes open.”

“Can’t you just heal me up? Good as new?”

“If that’s why you’ve been so reckless lately, I'll kill you myself.” Kayne assured him.

Arthur laughed weakly. “Didn’t know you… actually cared.”

Kayne scoffed. You can’t save him. You’re too weak. This is the one thing you can’t do.

“Didn’t know you cared either.” Kayne shot back. “I can’t save you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

Arthur already hated him. Kayne grit his teeth together, trying to work out if his jaw had reformed properly. “But I can make you a deal.”

“You and your fucking deals.” Arthur let his head fall back, chest sinking deeper than it rose. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I will grant you one wish.” Kayne said. “Anything but to be saved.”

Arthur cracked his eyes open, still fiery despite the storm. “Why?”

“Such great questions.” Kayne said, brushing Arthur’s hair out of his face. “Use your detective cunning to figure it out.”

“You’re selfish.”

“Make your wish, Arthur.” Kayne said.

“Can you hold me?” Arthur whispered. “When I die? I- I don’t want to be alone. You’re all I have left.”

Kayne felt his voice dissolve. A countdown hung around them like the executioner waiting for you to finish your last meal. The hunter had become the hunted long ago, but they never stopped fighting. All they had was each other.

“Yeah, Artie.” Kayne said. Trying to get Arthur up without dislodging anything vital was a struggle- the beasts had completely lacerated his skin. This was supposed to be his crowning jewel. This was supposed to be his biggest pay off.

Kayne pressed Arthur’s head to his chest, tracing a ribbon of blood down his stomach. Arthur winced and tried to pull away.

“Stop moving.” Kayne said with an eye roll. “You’re going to kill yourself faster.”

“You’re going to fucking yank my insides out.” Arthur muttered, swatting Kayne’s hand away.

Kayne scoffed. “I’ll leave.”

Arthur let his head rest heavier on Kayne’s chest. “No you won’t.”

Kayne wasn’t even tempted to prove him wrong. Arthur’s hands were still weakly on Kayne’s. He took a minute to survey the damage- not the worst he’d done, but definitely the most consequences.

“Run down.” Arthur requested despite his breath finally failing. “Tell me why I was being hunted.”

Anger burned in Kayne’s form, like a million stars going nova inside his chest. Yhoundeh targeted his only weakness, and she was foolish enough to think it would break him. What she and the other gods didn’t know was that now he had nothing holding him back. He’d destroy Middle C, make Arthur a grave in the stars.

Kayne pressed his fingers into a gash down Arthur’s chest, slicing right through the scar tissue that had stitched him back together many times before. It had killed him once. He’d had people capable of fixing him, he’d had John. But Kayne’s hands were tied.

“Who did this?” He asked, all lightness long drowned. “Explain it.”

“I-It looked like some sort of elk-dog mixture.” Arthur said, gasping at the pain Kayne caused. “It held back until- until the end.”

To deal the killing blow. To send a message. Yhoundeh would pay.

“Kayne…” Arthur said, trying to cling to his shirt. His pale weak fingers did nothing but leave streaks of blood. This can’t happen. What happened to this indomitable spirit? “If you can’t save me, then kill me. Just… just end it.”

“I can’t.” Kayne said immediately.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I’ll leave.” Kayne threatened again.

“A lot of things you can’t do today.” Arthur mumbled, hands blindly trying to unsheath his dagger.

Kayne took it from him gingerly, the blood long since tarnishing the gold. “Allow me.”

“What a gentleman.” Arthur said, turning so his nose was pressed into Kayne’s chest. “Tell me why I was being hunted.”

Kayne positioned the knife above Arthur’s already lacerated chest. A deeper stab would kill him immediately. And after that? Kayne would destroy himself trying to get revenge.

“Because you were my biggest wager.” Kayne whispered, and twisted the knife into Arthur’s heart.

So much blood had been spilled, but Kayne would feel Arthur’s with every breath. And he screamed, for no being in the universe would be able to hide from his wrath.

No being would survive when Arthur could not.

That, Kayne could do. And that was the only thing that mattered.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #masked #kayne malevolent #arkayne #arthur lester #arthur lester malevolent #arthur malevolent #arkayne angst

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kitybur · 2 years ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜𝐰𝐡𝐲

⌦ in which you, your silly friends and silly boyfriend move in together & what i think would happen.

— warnings: gn!reader, craziness, fluff, swearing

| can you write some headcannons abt how y/n would be with the rest of the group! or how the group would react to isaac and y/n hehe ANYWAY THANK U SM , love all of your content |

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

• to start off, i think we can agree that living with the boys would actually be HELL.

• like you’d have to be scrubbing the house top to bottom after filming a groupchat video. but for the sake of this, let’s ignore the bad side 🤗.

• the boys would definitely love you, and treat you like their sibling (everyone but isaac ofc). they would probably be a little overprotective of you, but that’s them showing they care.

• you’re getting ready for a party? when and where. someone’s making you uncomfortable? who needs to step in. you feel me??

• these men would never fail to make you laugh if you were having a bad day. like if you had a bad day at school or work, they would instantly have you in cackles.

• they always make sure they try to include you. if you weren’t a streamer, they would make sure that you get some screen time if you like to be on film. if you don’t, they make sure that you at least go on adventures with them (especially willy vlogs)

• okay independently tho.. i feel like softwilly would be the one to include you in most things (if you weren’t a streamer like we just established). idk he looks like the type of person who wouldn’t want to leave anyone out or behind. if you were a streamer, he’d still try to include you on recordings.

• yumi definitely would not give two shits im ngl 😭 he does his own thing so i feel like he just wouldn’t bother with you (in the nicest way possible) if you didn’t want to hang out or go film a vlog. but he’s definitely like one of the funniest people when you get to know him so he’s basically your main bitch when you’re sad.

• larry would definitely be your best friend. he’s got such a sweet personality that you’d instantly click and just do stupid shit together. like you’d play loud music at four in the morning and wake everyone up because you saw a tiktok dance you wanted to try ☠️ i just feel like larry would be easy to get along with.

• along with larry, i also feel like grunk would be easy to get along with. you’d both go out shopping since he’s lowkey got drip and you’d bond over it. i feel like if grunk got close enough to you, he’d ask to watch spongebob together. whether it’s over discord or irl. it’s a special moment y’all get to have to hang out.

• tanner would be your workout buddy. he’d make sure that he spots you and vice versa, and make sure that you aren’t breaking your bones doing a new workout. if you don’t workout, he’d be your horror game buddy. tanner would even just have you in the room because he gets jumpy. and if he gets too pissed off he’d make you play. and just constantly grab your shoulders to scare you.

• and lastly, we have isaac. in this case, isaac is your bf and lord he would be the best boyfriend. 🙏 like he’s actually super tall and muscular that he would give GREAT hugs. bro and the best cuddles. literally could crush you and that’s lowkey hot 🫡.

• but no, isaac would definitely be your muse. he’s definitely got that golden retriever type vibe, maybe slight black cat. isaac would be the best at massages. idk why that came to my head. i feel like with his large hands he’d be able to give great back or shoulder massages.

• isaac would buy you a bunch of shit, like he does for the house. it could be something totally stupid and he’d be like “but it’s useful in so many ways” or “it’s cute!” when it’s really fucking ugly but you’d never tell him that.

• you WILL constantly hear gagging sounds from the rest of the members whenever you and isaac are in mere 2 feet of each other. mostly from yumi and softwilly. but it’s all jokes! most the time..

• they will also make kissing sounds when you two walk out of isaac’s bedroom and ask if you used protection. even if you have literally just woken up.

• larry and tanner would recreate any lovey dovey thing you guys do, but make it 10x more funnier. any photo y’all post together, they copy it and tag you both.

• ^^ stop tell me you can’t see that happening 😭😭

• grunk would be the supportive bsf but will threaten isaac if he takes you away when you’re supposed to watch spongebob together.

• overall, i think living with them would be such a hassle, but if you plan it right it may be fun. if you love cleaning and screaming children at midnight, this is right up your alley ‼️

• ‘kay but y’all gotta agree that living with them would actually be so fun cause they’re funny and have an amazing time doing actually anything. like they could make any regular night into an eventful night that would end in the kitchen a mess, empty cans in the floor and bodies sleeping anywhere they can find comfortable.

• and those are our youtubers/streamers 🥹

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

a/n: okay pls tell me if you agree or disagree with any of these cause i was just going off the top of my head but i wanna hear what y’all have to say about it too! i didn’t really know what to write for this so it’s all based on my opinion and how i see it. i hope this fulfills your request!

#the group chat #isaacwhy #isaacwhy x reader #isaacwhy youtube #the groupchat podcast #bigtstreamingservice #isaacwhy x you #the group x reader #larrycroft #softwilly #grunk #yumimain

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lotus-pear · 11 months ago

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WOAH WOAH WOAH

How was Spain? I was there on November for a school trip! It was lovely.

What cities did you get to see? We saw a lot for just ten days. Hopefully you got to see the swords in Toledo!!

ps: be nice pretty pls and tell me where u read bsd, u didn’t check discord stzzjtzjrzjtmtzjtz

SPAIN WAS SO GOOD RAAAAAHHHHHHH HERES SOME PHOTOS ‼️‼️

not the best at photo taking but that’s alright ig anyway it was rly fun!! we saw tossa de mar, barcelona, grenada, and seville it was so beautiful and the weather was literally perfect sighh i loved it sm♥️♥️♥️

#lotus’s asks

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saintjosie · 1 year ago

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Excuse me, I saw your tiktok and got delighted by your voice, can u share a bit abt your journey on that? Im a smol nb that get so nervous over the very deep voice and dont know where to start 😭

(Sorry any miss on english, not native)

your english is totally fine!

so i was actually really dysphoric about my voice early on and so i paid for voice training with a professional speech pathologist who specializes in trans voice.

and working with a speech pathologist helped a lot! i didn’t leave speech pathology with exactly the voice i wanted but doing speech pathology helped me learn all the different things i could do to make my voice sound how i wanted it to sound.

they helped me understand that your voice is a lot more complicated than just the sounds from your throat and it’s actually a lot of different parts working together. things like controlling pitch, controlling your tongue, nasal cavity, and also the way that i would speak, all work together to help me sound how i want.

and on top of that, i am a singer with a huge range and have always been really good at doing impressions of other peoples’ voices. so i already had a lot experience in playing with my voice.

even after speech pathology, it took me a whole year of playing with my voice and practicing to get to where i felt like my voice was mine and not just a voice that passed well enough.

i will not lie, voice training is hard. really hard. and a lot of people don’t realize how much more complicated than it actually is. BUT. people also don’t realize how many of the things that go into voice training are things that you have already learned and do every day without thinking about it. the difference is that when you start learning about voice training, the more you learn, the more the pieces click together. and it happens a lot faster than you think!

here are some resources to help you get started (which are a bunch links to tiktok accounts that i know and are mutuals with because that’s who i know haha):

renee yoxon

seattle voice lab

quinn voice lessons

micah trans vocal

your lessons now

i will also note that if you’re financially able, having someone help you one on one helps A LOT. and also doing things like getting on discord calls to have safe spaces to talk to other trans people also can help!

good luck and i believe in you!

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gordonengineswifenirmal · 6 months ago

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Absolutely LIVID. FUMING.

A few days ago, I shared that I had talked with another Tumblr user about our similar experiences of being harrassedn falsely accused of things in the fabdom. Much of the false accusations, and subsequent hsrrassment ocvuredwhildt I was in the hospital, nearly dying. I had surgery to save me life. I recuperated.

Ok, so another Tumblr user (and former friend on discord) went quiet. I have been busy moving into a one bedroom in basement of the place I currently stay in, n haven't really gotten to keep up as much. Today, I finally check in on the person. This is her -

Ok, sooooo this is the conversation -

Now, she even asked other people if I had done anything inappropriate with other members. They said NO. Mind you, she’d been active in two discords I run. She saw the messages. I didn’t hide anything. I’ve discussed the situation many times. Even here on tumblr, I do not flirt with anyone. if anyone tries, I report n post about them. I’m NOT interested. Why the hell can’t ppl get that in their head? I’m ESPECIALLY not inappropriately interested in minors. I will b friendly n b a mentor if they r friendly, but that is it.

This is what I got when I DMMed her - (names blurred for privacy)

She had REAL evidence right in front of her bloody eyes. The term ‘staying neutral’ means u secretly have doubts. U secretly still have some shred of belief for the troll who harassed several of us (which was why I created the servers to begin with, as a safe space!)

It’s THIS mentality that allows the real predators to go free. This mentality that allows fascist, convicted felon perverts to rule us. U take power from the victim n give it back to the abuser. No. SOD THAT. I’m speaking out, because I’m bloody sick of people thinking that’s ok to do. U either grow the feck up, or sod off either this behaviour.

U add to the trust problem when u pull this shite. Young ppl can’t trust adults, n then put their false hopes in other minors, thinking that they’re the same age group, they will never hurt me. This is WRONG and DANGEROUS. ALL age groups r equally potentially dangerous. Look, if u want to be friends, cool. If u dont, fine. Leave me alone. It’s that simple. I’m not interested, n will NOT be flirting with u. U need to respect me, not only by not flirting, but also, by not going behind me back n pulling stupid stunts. If that’s how u operate, I don’t want ur friendship. I don’t need your friendship. Go play games with someone else. It’ll cost u in the end anyway when ur ignorance catches up to u. This is also why id often rather talk to AI than real people. Because I’m at the point where I can trust ai over people. I know ai is imperfect, I’m not going to abuse it, but I can’t trust people, because they keep being stupid bloody cunts. I even have friends on here who know people in me actual life. They can verify I’m innocent.

This is also a form of aphobic prejudice. I’ve told her that I’m sex n romance repulsed. She’s asked me about bfs before, which is fine. I gave her solid advice about not rushing, n focusing on other things, u want to then be a sketchy twat, go behind me back, n believe the harasser? No. We’re not doing this. I’ve blocked her. She can learn that this isn’t cool. N she can suffer the consequences.

I will continue love me Thomas, Gordon n gang. I don’t give a rats funky arse for fake friends who want to play games. I don’t need them.

#aphobic #stay toxic #toxic fandom #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #trains #steam engine #ttte #steam locomotive #train

22 notes · View notes

makib1tch · 4 months ago

Note

ummm all of them 😅

OKAY OKAY THISLL BE LONG BUT ILL TRY

the character everyone gets wrong : Alnst Luka. LIKE I GET THAT PEOPLE DONT LIKE HIM BUT HE ISNT THE VILLAIN. THE ALIENS ARE THE FUCKING VILLAINS. Like I lowkey feel like he doesn’t understand that what he’s doing is wrong. Like he wants to survive. Thats how the alien taught him too. DONT GET ME STARTED ILL RAMBLE WAY TOO FUCKIN MUCH

a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom: uhhh my fav is Aventurine and I see him as a switch sooooo….idk 🥲🥲🥲🥲.

screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr : uuuuuuh idk sorry

what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person? : idk if it counts but like I had a friend I vented to her and told her I $h and she started to insult me and yea I was having a panic attack and blocked her

worst discord server and why : I’m never on discord so idk

which ship fans are the most annoying? Not all of them (I sometimes ship it too) but aventio/ratiorine/call them what u want idc. Like. There are ratiorine shippers who are like "OOOOHOOHH AVENTURINE IS SUCH A HORNY BOTTOM WHOREEE AND RATIO IS A HORNY DOM EUZKZKALALAL" and then they go and ruin the entire fucking characters. Like I like the ship when it’s done right. When they respect the fuckin characters. Not when they ship them out of pure horniness. BUT NOT ALL OF THEM. Oh and it’s the same for Ruikasa (pjsk) shippers.

what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them? : I used to hate Ratio. Because of the weird ratiorine shippers.

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about : THAT LUKA FROM

ALNST IS THE VILLAIN

worst part of canon : idkidkkdk

worst part of fanon : idk too sorry im shit at ask games

number of fandom-related words you've filtered : none

the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them : Alnst Luka. Again with him. HES SUCH A FUCKIN INTERESTING AND COMPLEX CHARACTER ILOVE HIM

worst blorboficiation : the fuck is that?

that one thing you see in fics all the time : in x reader like "you have blue eyes and black hair" THEN NO THATS NOT AN X READER

that one thing you see in fanart all the time: aaaaaahh idkk I see way too much fanarts everyday

you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc) : Hyuna x Luka. I don’t understand. They’re so toxic like

there should be more of this type of fic/art: anyone comforting aventurine. My baby needs comfort. I love him. I want to hug him

it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on... : i don’t think people have been sleeping on but idk she still doesn’t get enough credit everyone go read @aventurineswife ‘s fics they’re so fuckin good.

you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like... : those x reader fics that are written out of straight up horniness. They be having the most obscene and devious devilish things.

part of canon you found tedious or boring : the whole xianzhou luofu quest ig. Expect for Tingyun I love her. But like idk I was kinda bored in it. Maybe it’s just me idk

part of canon you think is overhyped : Himekos death in csm. Like I saw people being super sad but like…idk. I didnt feel sad for her. I felt bad for Aki since he was sad yeah. But Himeko like her death didn’t do anything for me.

your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores : AAAAAAAH IDK IM SORRY

ship you've unwillingly come around to : Ratiorine, I used to hate it. Now I like it. (I’m not sure I understood the question lmao)

topic that brings up the most rancid discourse : The hospital scene in the End of Evangelion. I don’t have to explain. I think just no one should talk about it.

common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing : "Denji is a dumb pervert."

OK FINALLY FINISHED I TOOK WAY TOO FUCKIN LONG TO ANSWER THIS

I’m shit at ask games sorry lmao

19 notes · View notes

am0ralexis · 14 days ago

Text

His Jersey Girl -Part One- (fluff)

You honestly thought you were going to throw up before it even started.

You’d been sitting in the Discord call, mic muted, hands shaking, staring at your screen like you could somehow will your name to disappear from the signup list.

It was Discord’s Got Talent.

Quackity’s Discord.

Quackity was going to be judging you.

You’d practiced for weeks—learning the lyrics to Missa’s “Aquí Estoy,” even though your Spanish was still rough, your accent shaky, your voice nothing special. You weren’t trying to win. You just wanted him to hear it.

To maybe, hopefully, make him smile.

When your name was called, your soul left your body.

But somehow, you got through the song.

Your hands trembled the whole time. Your mic lagged for a second in the middle. Your voice cracked near the end. But you finished it, flushed and breathless and ready to bury yourself in a pillow forever.

He didn’t say much at first—just laughed a little, surprised, and said something like,

“Yo, wait—that was actually really cool. Did you say you’re not even fluent in Spanish??”

You mumbled something like, “I’m still learning,”

and the next contestant was already being introduced.

You didn’t win.

You didn’t even make top three.

But you weren’t even thinking about that, because a few hours later—long after the event ended, when you were curled up in bed, replaying everything in your head with that horrible post-performance cringe—

You got a Discord DM.

—————————

quackity:

hey

i just wanted to say that was really cool

i told Missa and he was like “WHAT? IN SPANISH??”

you killed it tbh

—————————

You stared at your screen for a full minute, mouth open.

Then another message popped up.

—————————

quackity:

also i stalked your profile and you’re learning spanish??

that’s sick as hell

wanna hop in a vc sometime?

i can teach you a few swear words lol

—————————

Your hands shook as you typed back, blushing so hard you thought your ears might melt off.

—————————

You stared at the DM way longer than you should have before replying.

You rewrote your response four times—something casual, something funny, something chill—before deleting it all and just sending:

—————————

you:

omg yes pls

i’ll bring a notebook

i only know like 3 swear words right now and they’re all from you and Missa

—————————

You expected him to maybe reply later.

Instead:

—————————

quackity:

LMAO

ok ok gimme like 10 min

i’ll make a call and send u the invite

you better not be one of those people who says “mierda” wrong i swear to god

—————————

Your heart tried to fall out of your chest.

You set up your mic with shaking hands, did a panicked sound check in Audacity like you were preparing for a live concert, and joined the call ten minutes later exactly.

And he was already there.

“Yo,” he said, voice casual and warm, cutting through your nerves like butter. “You made it.”

“I did,” you said, smiling even though he couldn’t see you. “Against all odds.”

He laughed—really laughed—and the sound settled in your chest like something fizzy and light.

—————————

The first call lasted an hour.

He asked what got you into Spanish. You told him the truth: his streams, his community, Missa’s music. He teased you when you admitted it.

“Damn, I got people learning languages out here. My impact.”

He taught you three swear words and made you say them back.

You said “chingado” wrong and he cackled so hard he had to mute himself.

The second call came a few days later. You didn’t expect it. He just DM’d you with:

—————————

quackity:

ok i was gonna write a script but ur voice popped in my head

so now u gotta help me test lines

i don’t make the rules

—————————

You joined the call five minutes later.

That one lasted three hours.

It became a thing.

Not daily. Not predictable.

But enough that you stopped jumping when you saw his name pop up. Enough that he started asking about your week. Enough that you knew the sound of his keyboard when he typed between sentences.

And the Spanish practice didn’t stop.

“You’re actually learning,” he said one night, sounding genuinely surprised. “You’re like… not bad anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“No, like—I’m serious.” His voice softened, just a little. “You don’t give up. It’s cool. I notice that shit.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

He filled the silence, like he always did—another joke, another sarcastic comment—but you held onto the compliment for the rest of the night like it was something fragile and golden.

Because the truth was:

You weren’t just learning Spanish for yourself anymore.

You were learning it for him.

And slowly, call by call, joke by joke, he was starting to realize it too.

—————————

It hits him in the middle of a late-night call.

You’re talking about music again—sharing songs, laughing at how bad your Spanish accent still is on certain words—and he’s smiling, chin in his hand, not even pretending to multitask anymore.

He likes the way you talk.

How open you are.

How you tease him back now without hesitation.

He likes it too much.

And that’s when it hits him.

Like a slap to the chest.

He doesn’t know if you’re single.

You’ve never mentioned anyone. No girlfriend. No boyfriend. No partner. No “my ex did this,” no “my partner says that.” But… you could have someone. You could be in love already. You could be dating some dude who doesn’t even speak Spanish and he’d never know.

His heart stutters.

And just like that, the call keeps going, but his brain’s not in it anymore.

You’re mid-sentence—telling him a story about how your mom thought he was a “famous telenovela actor” because of your laptop background—and all he can think is:

Are you seeing someone?

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

No. Too weird. Too fast. Too obvious.

He tries again, casually.

“Hey, uh… just curious—your, uh… your partner. If you had one. Would they be, like… cool with you being in calls with some random guy at 1am?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then you laugh.

“Oh my god, what? I don’t have a partner, what are you—”

He laughs too, way too fast.

“Yeah no I know, I was just kidding—obviously, like—just hypothetical, y’know—”

You’re still giggling. “Quackity. That was the worst smooth question I’ve ever heard.”

He groans, flopping back in his chair, headset almost falling off.

“Okay. I panicked.”

“You really did.”

He covers his face with one hand, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

“So… no partner?” he mumbles, just to make sure.

“Nope. Just me.”

And then, because you’re too sweet for your own good:

“Why, you jealous?”

His brain short circuits.

You meant it as a joke. You had to.

But still—

He mutes for a second just to breathe.

And when he unmutes again, his voice is a little lower. A little softer.

“Maybe.”

There’s a pause—quiet, stretched a little too long to be casual—and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own heartbeat.

You unmute before your brain catches up to your mouth.

“I mean—” you say too quickly, too breathy, “I assumed you were single. Just ‘cause, y’know… your whole thing. The streamer thing. You’ve said you don’t date much. Career-focused. No time. Parasocial fears. All that.”

There’s a beat of silence on his end, like he’s listening closely.

You continue, voice higher than it should be. “But like… if you wanted to date? I’m sure you could. Like—you could probably have a harem or whatever.”

You blink.

Your soul leaves your body.

Did I just say Quackity could have a harem?

You hear a wheeze.

Then full-on laughter explodes through your headset—Quackity absolutely losing it, laughing so hard he has to mute himself between gasps.

You cover your face with both hands. “I hate you.”

“A harem?!” he chokes out, still laughing. “What the fuck kind of response was that?!”

“I panicked!”

“Oh my god—‘you could have a harem’—holy shit—”

“STOP LAUGHING.”

“You basically just said ‘I know you’re single, but only because you choose to be, King.’”

You groan so loudly it vibrates through the mic.

But when he finally quiets down—just breathing hard from laughing—his voice comes back lower.

Softer.

“You’re not wrong, though,” he says.

You blink.

“What?”

“About me choosing not to date,” he says. “It’s not that I couldn’t. It’s just that I didn’t… want to. Until recently.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip.

“Oh,” you say, small and stunned.

“Yeah.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Kinda stupid now, though.”

“Why?”

A pause.

“Because now I’m in calls at 1am with someone really fucking cool,” he says quietly. “And I’m thinking maybe… I should rethink my whole thing.”

—————————

You’re in another late-night call—well, late for him.

For you, it’s already 2:30am.

He’s rambling about something dumb, teasing you for saying “agua” with the worst American accent imaginable, and you’re giggling sleepily, voice thick with exhaustion.

“You sound wrecked,” he says. “What time is it over there?”

You blink, rubbing your eyes. “Uhh… almost 3.”

He goes quiet.

“Wait. 3am?”

You yawn. “Yeah.”

“…Hold on. Where the hell are you?”

You hesitate for a second. Then:

“Jersey.”

Another pause.

“…As in New Jersey?”

You wince. “Yeah?”

The silence stretches a little longer this time.

And then—softly, defeatedly—he mumbles,

“Fucking New Jersey?”

You lose it.

Burst out laughing so hard you have to mute yourself to breathe.

“Don’t laugh!” he groans, clearly flopping back in his chair. “I’ve been sitting here flirting with you for a week thinking you were like… maybe a city away! Like an hour flight tops!”

“I never said that!” you say through your laughter.

“You never said anything!”

“Well I didn’t think we—” you cut yourself off, suddenly flustered.

He catches it.

“…We, huh?” he says, voice suddenly a little more smug again.

You flush hard. “Shut up.”

But he doesn’t tease too much.

Because now he’s just quiet again.

And you know exactly what he’s thinking.

He likes you. He really fucking likes you.

But you’re in a different time zone. A whole country away. A completely different world.

“New Jersey,” he mutters again, voice softer now. “Jesus. What do I do with that?”

You laugh gently. “I mean… I’m not gonna be here forever.”

He hums. Then, quieter:

“Yeah, well. I was kinda hoping you’d be here.”

You blink.

He doesn’t explain it.

Doesn’t take it back, either.

Just says, “You better go to sleep soon. I’m not letting you pass out on a call again, Jersey Girl.”

And you do.

With the stupidest smile on your face.

—————————

You don’t even realize he’s changing anything.

You just notice you’re catching him live more often now.

No more 1am streams for you. No more having to watch VODs half-asleep.

He’s live at 9pm your time.

8:30. Sometimes even 8.

At first, you figure it’s a coincidence.

Streamers change their schedules all the time. Right?

Until one night, scrolling Twitter, you see it:

—————————

@quackity:

Slight schedule shift for streams!

Just wanna vibe a little differently for a while

No big deal lol

—————————

And the replies are flooded.

“WHY IS IT EARLIER NOW WHAT’S GOING ON”

“IS THIS THE REAL LIFE IS THIS JUST FANTASY”

“SUS AS HELL”

You sit there, heart hammering, staring at the tweet.

Because you know.

You know it’s for you.

He never says it.

Never hints.

Just plays it off with his usual dumb jokes, fake conspiracies about “changing timezones for the memes” whenever someone asks.

But every time he streams now, he drops little breadcrumbs.

Things nobody else would notice.

A casual:

“Jersey people are built different, I swear.”

Midway through a Minecraft stream.

Or:

“Y’know, some people don’t even know how to say agua right. Disgusting behavior.”

With a grin straight into the camera.

Or during a random Just Chatting:

“I had a debate with someone the other day about whether New Jersey counts as a real place. (It doesn’t.)”

The chat loses it every time, confused and spamming:

“WHO ARE YOU BEEFING WITH”

“QUACKITY EXPLAIN”

“WHY JERSEY???”

And you’re just sitting there in your bedroom, watching live, biting your lip so hard to keep from smiling like an idiot.

Because you get it.

All those little jokes?

They’re for you.

All those tiny schedule shifts?

For you.

All that lingering warmth in his voice when he laughs after making the jokes?

For you.

—————————

It’s a chill stream.

Nothing major.

He’s just vibing—bouncing between games, talking shit with chat, cracking jokes.

You’re there too, of course, half-watching while doing random stuff on your laptop, smiling every time he sneaks in a dumb Jersey joke only you would catch.

Everything’s normal.

Until someone in chat brings up Valentine’s Day.

It’s casual at first.

A donation reads:

“what are you doing for Valentine’s Day, Quackity? single gang rise up lmao”

He laughs.

It’s easy. Natural. Exactly what you’d expect.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning at the camera. “Me and my left hand got big plans, don’t worry.”

Chat explodes with laughing emojis.

But then someone else in chat says:

“lowkey sad tho knowing quackity’s gonna be alone on valentine’s :(”

He’s still smiling—but you see it.

The way his cheeks flush.

The way his hand twitches slightly on the mouse.

The tiny second of hesitation before he laughs again—too loud, too forced.

“Yeah, nah, it’s fine!” he says quickly, voice just a little higher than normal. “I’m chilling, bro. Honestly. Totally fine being alone. Love that for me.”

Chat notices immediately.

“he’s BLUSHING LMAO”

“YO WHY HE NERVOUS”

“SUSSSSSSS”

“nah there’s SOMETHING”

“WHO IS IT”

“CONFESS RIGHT NOW”

He starts waving his hands at the camera, laughing harder, trying to shut it down.

“NO, no, no, chill out,” he says, voice cracking a little. “There’s literally nobody, chat. You guys are so weird, I swear to God.”

He hides behind his hands dramatically.

Peeks through his fingers.

Catches himself smiling like a fucking idiot and groans.

“I hate you guys.”

And you’re sitting there behind your screen, hand over your mouth, screaming internally.

Because you know.

You know he’s thinking about you.

And now he knows you’re probably watching.

Knows you’re seeing him flustered and red-faced and panicking because he can’t stop thinking about the fact that if he wasn’t such a coward, he could be spending Valentine’s Day with you.

Your phone buzzes less than five minutes after the stream ends.

You’re still sitting there, staring at the offline screen, your laptop fan wheezing like it just witnessed something it wasn’t meant to see. You’ve got the world’s dumbest grin on your face and your heart is doing laps around your chest.

Then your screen lights up.

—————————

quackity [1:47am]:

god tell me you didn’t see that shit

—————————

You blink.

Then you type, trying not to let your fingers shake:

—————————

you:

see what

your stream?

the jersey slander? the water jokes? the violent fluster spiral?

—————————

It takes him a second to reply.

Then:

—————————

quackity:

my fucking downfall on stream lol

chat acting like they caught me proposing

—————————

You bite your lip, smiling too hard.

you:

idk i think you handled it fine

you only blushed like

a little bit

(a lot)

—————————

He sends a keysmash.

Then:

quackity:

i’m so cooked

i can’t think straight anymore

my brain is just static and jersey accents

—————————

You grin at your screen, cheeks hot.

But then, after a beat:

—————————

quackity:

hey

real question

what are you doing for valentine’s day

over there

on the other side of the country

—————————

Your breath catches.

He’s not playing around anymore.

No jokes. No bits. Just… him.

You sit with it for a second. Let your heart calm down enough to type.

—————————

you:

not much

then maybe crying into a heart-shaped pizza

you?

probably just working

—————————

There’s a pause.

Longer this time.

Then:

—————————

quackity:

thinking about how much i’d rather be on the other side of the country

that count?

—————————

Your chest aches.

Because suddenly it doesn’t feel so far anymore.

Not when he’s letting it slip through in moments like this—soft, tired, real.

You curl up under your blanket, phone pressed to your chest, staring at his message with a heartbeat in your throat.

—————————

you:

that counts a lot

—————————

You’re still clutching your phone like it’s a live grenade when the next message comes in.

—————————

quackity:

i travel for work a lot anyway

like if i wanted to i could up and fly to mexico right fucking now

not even a problem

—————————

You blink.

Heart hammering.

—————————

quackity:

so hypothetically

if you’re not doing anything for valentine’s day

maybe

you’d want to hang out with me?

—————————

Your mouth goes dry.

Eyes scanning the words over and over like they might rearrange themselves into something that makes more sense.

He would fly to New Jersey.

For you.

You scramble to type back.

—————————

you:

wait

WAIT

you’d actually come here??

like for real???

—————————

It takes him a second.

Then:

—————————

quackity:

yeah

i’ve been to jersey like twice in my life

can’t be worse than the airport food in LA

—————————

You laugh—out loud, in your room, covering your face with both hands like it’ll somehow slow your racing heart.

—————————

you:

you’re insane

but like

in a hot way

—————————

Another beat.

Then:

—————————

quackity:

if you think this is hot wait til you see me carrying three suitcases because i overpack like a bitch

—————————

You giggle so hard you almost drop your phone.

And then, almost casually, like he’s offering you a key to some secret part of himself:

—————————

quackity:

also

if we’re gonna hang out

you can call me alex now

or lex

whichever you like better

—————————

You stare at the screen, stunned.

Because no one calls him that. Not really. Not casually.

He’s Quackity to the world.

He’s Alex to a few people.

And Lex? That’s… personal.

You sit with it for a second. Smile so wide it hurts.

—————————

you:

Lexi

You pause. Then, biting your lip:

you:

or maybe… Lexi bear?

—————————

There’s no response for a second.

You panic a little.

Maybe you went too far—

And then:

—————————

lexi:

i fucking hate you

lexi:

(keep doing it)

—————————

You press your face into your pillow, squealing like a lunatic.

Because it’s real now.

No more hypothetical.

No more maybe.

Just you.

And Lexi Bear.

And a Valentine’s Day that suddenly didn’t seem so far away anymore.

—————————

The night before he’s supposed to fly out, neither of you can sleep.

Your phone buzzes again at nearly 1am.

—————————

lexi bear [12:57am]:

can’t sleep

hope you’re ready for me to be just as annoying irl

—————————

You laugh, kicking your feet under your blanket.

you:

i already like you annoying

you think i stayed up til 3am for your minecraft streams because you’re normal?

—————————

There’s a pause.

Then:

—————————

lexi bear:

you like me?

sounds fake

—————————

you:

yeah

crazy

almost like i’m excited to meet you or something

—————————

lexi bear:

yeah?

good

bc i’m losing my shit over here

—————————

You bite your lip so hard it hurts.

Because somehow, knowing he’s nervous too makes you feel a tiny bit braver.

It’s not just you.

It’s him too.

—————————

Earlier that evening, he’d gone live—just a short, casual stream to talk about updates before disappearing for a few days.

You’d tuned in quietly, not chatting, just lurking.

At one point, someone asked in chat:

“where u going, quackity?????”

He grinned, fiddling with the mic cord, looking way too pleased with himself.

“I’m just… hanging out with someone really special,” he said, voice light, teasing.

Chat erupted.

“IS IT MISSA”

“IS IT FOOLISH”

“OMG FOOLISH COLLAB WHEN”

“WHO WHO WHO”

He just laughed.

Waved it off.

Didn’t answer.

And you knew.

You knew he wasn’t gonna tell them.

Because it wasn’t for them.

It was yours.

Yours and his.

This tiny little world you’d built out of DMs and midnight calls and stupid Jersey jokes and Spanish swear words.

—————————

You stare at your phone now, heart pounding.

Another buzz.

—————————

lexi bear:

im serious

if u get sick of me irl just blink twice and i’ll get on a plane back lmao

—————————

You shake your head, smiling so wide it hurts.

you:

i’m not gonna want you to leave

ever

There’s a long pause.

Then, finally:

—————————

lexi bear:

good

bc if i like u half as much irl as i do now

im fucked

—————————

The airport texts start before he even boards the plane.

lexi bear [6:21am]:

this is the dumbest thing i’ve ever done

i hope u’re prepared for how short i am irl

—————————

you:

you say that like i haven’t already looked up your height

i know what i’m getting into short king

—————————

lexi bear:

i’m gonna walk off that plane and you’re gonna be like “oh no he’s real. ew.”

—————————

you:

i’m gonna walk up to you and immediately put a straw hat on you and call you my little duck boy

—————————

lexi bear:

oh my god

i’m turning around

—————————

you:

no you’re not. you’re already in the air. you’re mine now.

—————————

He doesn’t text back right away.

And then:

lexi bear:

…good

i kinda like being yours

—————————

You’re at the arrivals gate, heart doing somersaults in your chest.

You’re trying to look normal. Chill. Put together. But your hands won’t stop fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket.

And then you see him.

Messy hair. Oversized hoodie. Black jeans. Rolling a suitcase behind him with one AirPod in and the stupidest nervous smile on his face.

He looks around, scans the crowd, and then—

He sees you.

And his whole face lights up.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless, smile widening as he jogs over.

You barely manage a “hi” before he pulls you into a hug—tight and fast, a little awkward from nerves, but warm and so him. You feel his hand in your hair, the way he clings like he’s scared to let go.

You blink up at him, heart racing.

“You’re real,” you whisper.

He grins. “I was about to say the same thing.”

Then he steps back, clearing his throat, digging into his backpack.

“Oh, also—” he mumbles, pulling something out and thrusting it at you. “This isn’t your Valentine’s Day gift. Okay? This is just… something. For now. Because… yeah. I like you. And shit.”

You look down.

It’s a little stuffed duck.

Round and soft and yellow and holding a tiny red heart in its wings.

Your heart fucking melts.

You stare at it. Then at him. “Quackity—”

“Lex,” he corrects gently, already blushing. “Or Lexi. Or whatever. Just… not Quackity right now. Please.”

You smile. “Lexi bear.”

He groans.

“Okay, that’s illegal, actually.”

You laugh, reaching out and hugging him again, tighter this time—duck squished between you both.

“I like you too,” you whisper.

And his arms wrap around you like he’s finally where he belongs.

—————————

The first few hours are honestly… easy.

Once the nerves burn off a little, it’s just the two of you—laughing, teasing, wandering around like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

He lets you drag him to a little diner you love.

He makes fun of your accent.

You make fun of his nonexistent winter jacket.

It’s natural.

Scarily natural.

So when he brings up the hotel thing, it almost feels wrong.

You’re sitting in your car, post-lunch, a little sleepy, the stuffed duck sitting proudly between you both in the cupholder like a tiny chaperone.

He clears his throat, fiddling with the zipper of his hoodie.

“Uh. I was gonna get a hotel,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “Just, y’know. So you don’t feel weird or anything. Boundaries. Internet stranger danger. All that.”

You blink.

“Why?” you say immediately.

He looks over, startled. “I—what do you mean why?”

“Just stay with me,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have a couch. You’re not gonna kill me. Probably.”

He laughs, half exasperated, half fond.

“That makes me look so bad, though,” he says. “Like I just flew across the country to crash at a girl’s house after knowing her for two months on Discord.”

You grin, bumping your shoulder into his.

“You could hit me with your car and I’d thank you,” you say, dead serious, then crack up laughing.

He just stares at you for a second—like you’re some kind of unsolvable math problem—and then shakes his head, smiling helplessly.

“Okay, crazy Jersey girl,” he says, voice low and affectionate. “Whatever you say.”

You laugh again, heart doing backflips in your chest.

Because it’s not just the words.

It’s the way he says it.

Soft.

Warm.

Like home.

—————————

You open the door to your apartment, still a little stunned that he’s actually here—shoes off, hoodie rumpled from the plane, suitcase parked by the door like this is just something he does.

He walks in slowly, glancing around.

“Wow,” he says, eyes playful. “My girlfriend lives in an apartment the size of my bathroom.”

You freeze.

Not visibly. Not enough to make it weird.

But your breath catches.

Because—my girlfriend.

He said it like it was nothing.

Like it was just true.

You don’t say anything.

You just let it settle in your chest like sunlight.

“Well,” you say, recovering with a grin as you shut the door behind him, “we can’t all be famous streamers with millions of followers, Quackity.”

You really hit the name—like you’re poking him with it.

He groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh come on,” he laughs, flopping dramatically onto your couch. “Don’t call me that right now. That’s, like, instantly cringe. I’m in your house. It makes it weird.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You call me Jersey Girl.”

“That’s cute, though,” he smirks.

You stick your tongue out at him and he just grins wider, scooting over to make room on the couch.

“You’re such a menace,” he mutters, watching you grab a blanket from the armrest and toss it over both your legs like it’s normal. Like he belongs there.

And god—he really does.

He leans back, one arm draped lazily over the cushion behind you, your knees brushing beneath the blanket. The stuffed duck sits on the coffee table, watching like a silent witness to something just starting to bloom.

You don’t bring up what he said.

Girlfriend.

But the word sits between you both now, glowing warm and unspoken.

And neither of you minds.

—————————

You queue up something dumb and scary on Netflix—nothing too serious, just enough to fill the room with flickering shadows and fake screams.

Lexi is already curled into the corner of your couch, hoodie hood up, blanket bunched around his waist like he’s been here a hundred times. His eyes are heavy, lids drooping every few minutes like he’s fighting to stay conscious.

“You okay?” you ask softly, nudging his foot with yours.

He opens one eye. “Jet lag is kicking my ass.”

You smile. “Want coffee?”

“No, I wanna die.”

You laugh, then suddenly—completely unprompted—you say:

“Can I paint your nails?”

He doesn’t even react at first. Just blinks once.

Then slowly shrugs.

“Yeah. Whatever. You want my soul too or just the fingers?”

You’re already digging through your drawer.

“You joke,” you say, pulling out the black nail polish, “but I feel like you’d actually give it to me.”

He stretches his hand out lazily toward you, palm up, eyes fluttering shut again. “Try me.”

You scoot closer, lifting his hand gently, cradling it like something fragile. It’s warm and relaxed, his fingers twitching slightly when the brush touches his first nail.

The movie plays in the background, forgotten.

You work slowly, carefully. He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just sits there, letting you paint him, quiet and still and safe. You swear his breathing evens out like he’s about to fall asleep right there.

You glance at him, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re letting me do this because you’re too tired to care, or because you’re soft for me?”

His mouth twitches—just a tiny smile, eyes still shut.

“Same thing,” he murmurs.

Your heart flips.

You finish the last nail and blow on it gently, still holding his hand.

He opens one eye and looks down at it, then smirks.

“Damn,” he says. “Your boyfriend’s cool as hell.”

You don’t even flinch this time. Just smile.

“Yeah, he is.”

—————————

One minute, he’s slouched sideways, half-watching the dumb horror movie you picked out, head lolling against your shoulder.

The next minute?

He’s sliding lower, blanket bunched around his waist, mumbling something incoherent—and suddenly his head lands in your lap.

You freeze for half a second, hands hovering awkwardly over him like you’re not sure what to do.

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even twitch.

He’s out.

Totally, blissfully asleep—soft mouth parted slightly, messy curls poking out from under the edge of his beanie, black-polished nails resting limply on the blanket.

You smile so stupidly it physically hurts.

Carefully—so carefully—you adjust the blanket around him.

Tuck it higher under his arms.

Let your fingers brush through the ends of his hair, just once, feather-light.

He sighs in his sleep, shifting a little closer to you instinctively, forehead nudging your stomach like he’s trying to burrow deeper into warmth.

And that’s when you notice—

his beanie is slipping.

It’s half-off already, sliding up as he shifts, revealing the soft messy curls underneath—curls you know he’s self-conscious about, the ones he always hides under hats and hoods and hands.

You swallow hard.

Because part of you wants to see it.

Wants to run your hands through it and kiss his forehead and tell him he’s beautiful.

But you don’t.

You don’t even think about it.

Instead, you gently, slowly, quietly tug the beanie back down over his head, smoothing it into place with the tips of your fingers.

You don’t wake him.

You don’t take it off.

You just let him be.

Because right now, it’s not about what you want.

It’s about him.

Feeling safe.

Feeling loved, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

You sit there for what feels like forever, watching the dumb movie play, stroking his hair lightly over the fabric of the beanie, listening to his slow, steady breathing.

And when he shifts again, half-mumbling something sleepy against your leg—you catch it, so quiet you almost miss it:

“…don’t leave…”

Your heart shatters into a million soft, glowing pieces.

You lean down, pressing your forehead gently to the top of his beanie.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

And you mean it.

—————————

It’s a couple hours later when he finally stirs, mumbling something incoherent and twitching against your thigh.

You feel him shift—feel the moment he becomes aware of where he is—and then he practically jolts upright, blinking at you, cheeks already starting to flush.

“Oh shit—” he croaks, voice rough with sleep. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to like—turn you into my personal teddy bear.”

You laugh, stretching your legs a little under the blanket.

“I didn’t mind,” you say softly. “You’re very cuddly for a big bad streamer.”

He groans, covering his face with both hands for a second before peeking at you through his fingers, sheepish.

“I’m embarrassing,” he mutters.

“You’re fine.”

He shifts again, sitting up more properly, adjusting the hoodie around his neck—and then hesitates. His hand brushes the edge of his beanie. Tugs at it nervously.

You watch him, patient.

Finally, he clears his throat, glancing at you sideways.

“So like… yeah, I wanna take this off,” he says, tugging at the beanie, “but, uh… you haven’t seen my hair yet. And like, nothing’s actually wrong with it, it’s just kinda a thing now. An internet thing. And if I take it off, I’m trusting you not to take, like… secret photos for Twitter or whatever. Okay, Jersey Girl?”

You blink at him.

Then you roll your eyes so dramatically he laughs under his breath.

“Really, Lexi?” you say, grinning. “You think that little of me?”

He cringes, pulling the beanie halfway up, ruffling his messy curls underneath.

“Nooo, I don’t,” he says, voice full of a smile. “I’m just, y’know… traumatized. Internet shit.”

You soften immediately.

“Hey,” you say gently. “I get it. I’m not gonna betray you, okay? I like you too much to ruin your life like that.”

He looks at you for a long moment.

Real.

Soft.

Like he’s seeing something he didn’t know he needed until just now.

Then—slowly, carefully—he pulls the beanie off and tosses it onto the coffee table.

His hair’s a mess.

A soft, beautiful mess—dark, fluffy, flattened on one side where he’d been sleeping against you.

He runs a hand through it, trying to fix it awkwardly.

You smile so wide it hurts.

“See?” you say, voice warm. “Still stupidly handsome. Sorry to disappoint.”

He groans, grabbing a pillow and shoving it into his face.

“You’re the worst,” he mumbles into it.

You laugh and gently tug the pillow away, ruffling his hair instead.

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” you tease.

He doesn’t deny it.

He just leans into your touch, cheeks pink, eyes shining.

And you swear—you swear—you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Quackity, no—Lexi—sitting on your couch in your tiny apartment, hair messy, heart open, smiling like you’re the only thing he wants to look at.

—————————

You both end up falling asleep on the couch.

Not meaning to.

Just… there.

Wrapped up in the blanket together, limbs tangled, the stuffed duck squished somewhere between you.

You drift off to the low hum of the TV and the soft, steady sound of Lexi’s breathing against your shoulder.

It’s the best sleep you’ve had in years.

—————————

You wake up to the smell of something burning.

You blink, groggy, still warm and soft from sleep, sitting up slowly as you hear him cursing under his breath from the kitchen.

You wander in, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders.

He’s standing there in your tiny kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed up, trying—and failing—to flip pancakes that are about one second away from catching fire.

He turns and catches you staring.

Grins sheepishly, spatula in hand.

“Uh,” he says. “Happy Valentine’s Day?”

You laugh, walking over and tugging the pan off the burner before disaster can fully strike.

“You made me breakfast,” you say, heart swelling even though the pancakes are slightly charred and there’s way too much syrup on the counter.

He shrugs, trying to look cool. “Yeah, well. I’m not just a pretty face, Jersey Girl.”

You smile and set the burnt pancakes on two plates, pouring coffee for you both.

You eat it anyway, burnt edges and all.

Because he made it for you.

Because he’s here.

Because this is real.

—————————

You’re still sitting at the little kitchen table afterward, plates pushed aside, sipping lukewarm coffee when he leans back in his chair, watching you quietly.

Then, almost shyly, he asks:

“So… if you could do anything today. Like—perfect date. What would it be?”

You smile, thinking.

“I dunno,” you say, tracing the rim of your mug. “Something simple, I guess. Going down to the shore. Walking the boardwalk. Playing skee-ball in all the arcades. Eating bad pizza and cotton candy. Then just… walking on the beach. Watching the water. Talking.”

You pause, heart squeezing.

Because the words taste so easy coming out of your mouth.

Because that’s the life you could imagine so perfectly with him—simple, sweet, no cameras, no screaming crowds.

But then you remember.

You look up and meet his eyes.

And your voice dips, softer, heavier:

“But… we can’t, right? I mean… you’re Quackity. People would know. You couldn’t just… walk around like that.”

The smile fades from his mouth, his brows pulling together in a little frown.

He’s quiet for a second.

Then he reaches across the table, curling his fingers around yours.

Firm. Solid. Real.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and serious. “I don’t give a shit about people right now.”

You blink, stunned.

He squeezes your hand tighter.

“I didn’t fly across the fucking country to hide in your apartment all day,” he says, a little laugh breaking through. “I came here for you.”

You look at him, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

He grins a little, cocky and soft at the same time.

“Besides,” he says, winking. “I’m really good at disguises. Throw a hoodie on me and some sunglasses? Boom. Anonymous king.”

You laugh wetly, squeezing his hand back.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling wider. “But I’m your idiot now.”

And just like that—

The whole world outside the kitchen window doesn’t matter.

Just you.

Just him.

Just today.

And whatever you’re brave enough to make of it.

—————————

It’s mid-afternoon by the time you hit the boardwalk.

The air smells like sea salt and funnel cake, and the wind keeps blowing your hair in your face, but you don’t care. You’re practically bouncing, eyes wide, pointing at every arcade sign and food stall like you’re ten years old again.

Lexi walks beside you, hoodie up, sunglasses on, trying to blend in. He’s got one hand in his pocket, the other loosely swinging next to yours—not holding it, but close enough to make your heart flutter every time your fingers brush.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, suddenly dragging him sideways. “Claw machines.”

He lets you tug him without protest, stumbling a little as you race toward the neon-lit arcade. “You’re literally sprinting toward a game designed to ruin people.”

You whip around and grin at him. “Yeah, but I’m built different.”

He laughs, soft and fond. “Okay, let’s see it, Jersey Girl.”

—————————

You immediately zero in on the cutest stuffed duck you’ve ever seen—round and chubby and taunting you through the glass.

Your first attempt? Total failure.

Second? So close you scream when it drops.

Third? You nearly break the joystick.

Lexi’s watching with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “You want me to handle this?”

You turn to him dramatically. “Quackity. If you love me, you will win me this duck.”

His mouth drops open. “WHAT.”

You grin. “No pressure.”

He scoffs, stepping up to the machine like it’s a duel. “Stand back. I’m about to show you the strength of a man who lives off Doritos and unresolved trauma.”

He feeds in a dollar.

Eyes locked in.

You watch, arms folded, heart pounding—

And he gets it on the first try.

The claw clamps onto the duck like it knows. Lifts. Moves. Drops it straight into the prize chute.

You scream.

He turns to you, smug as hell, holding the duck out like a trophy.

“Boom,” he says. “Boyfriend rights achieved.”

You snatch it, hugging it tight. “This is the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Oh?” He leans in, grinning. “Wait ‘til I beat you at skee-ball.”

—————————

An hour later, he’s carrying two more stuffed animals, you’ve got cotton candy in your hair, and you’re both doubled over laughing because he lost at whack-a-mole to a six-year-old.

You walk the boardwalk as the sun starts dipping lower, fingers finally intertwined, duck plush tucked under your arm.

The air is cool, the lights are starting to flicker on, and Lexi keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye like he can’t believe this is real.

“You look happy,” you say quietly, nudging him.

He squeezes your hand.

“I am,” he says. “I think I forgot what that felt like.”

And you smile.

Because you feel it too.

Light. Free. Like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

—————————

The sky is glowing.

Pinks and oranges stretch across the horizon, melting into the water, and the waves crash soft and slow against the shore. Your shoes are dangling from your fingers, sand cold between your toes, and the breeze keeps catching in your hair just enough to make you laugh every time it smacks you in the face.

Lexi’s walking beside you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, sunglasses finally off, eyes fixed on the ocean like he’s trying to memorize it.

It’s quiet. Easy. Perfect.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

He shrugs, still watching the water. “Dunno. Just… this is nice. I never really do stuff like this.”

You hum. “Romantic beach dates aren’t a regular part of your LA routine?”

He snorts. “Not unless I’m dating the Pacific Ocean.”

You grin, then dig into your tote bag and pull out one of the ducks he won you earlier. It’s round and lopsided and so stupid-looking that it makes you giggle every time you see it.

You hold it up in front of his face dramatically.

“Kiss the ducky,” you command.

He blinks at you. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Respect the duck. Show him love.”

He laughs, pushing your hand gently away. “I’d rather kiss you, honestly. I’m not really into ducks like that, y’know? They’re cute and all, but you can’t really make breakfast for a duck. You can’t cuddle a duck, they don’t do dates, or like, take long walks on the beach or—”

You cut him off by cupping his face in your hands.

He shuts up instantly, wide-eyed, blinking at you as you step a little closer.

“You talk too much,” you murmur, smiling.

“Okay, rude—”

You kiss him.

It’s soft. Gentle. Warm.

His hands hover at first, like he doesn’t know what to do, then settle on your hips, pulling you in just enough to keep you there. His lips taste like sugar and sea salt and his breath hitches just slightly against yours.

When you pull back, he’s smiling like a total idiot.

Like he can’t believe it happened.

Like he’s scared if he says something wrong you’ll disappear.

You brush your thumbs along his cheeks, still holding his face, and raise an eyebrow.

“Well?” you tease. “Better than a duck?”

He grins.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Way softer. And, like… way cuter.”

You laugh, pressing your forehead to his.

“I’m gonna marry you someday, Lexi Bear.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, already blushing. “I kissed a lunatic.”

“You love it.”

“I really fucking do.”

And behind you, the sun slips under the horizon—

just you, Lexi, the sound of the waves, and the dumb little duck plush watching from your tote bag like it knew this was gonna happen all along.

—————————

The sky’s dark by the time you’re heading back to the car, but the boardwalk lights are still glowing behind you, casting soft color over the sand.

You and Lexi walk slow, arms brushing, your tote bag heavy with arcade prizes, the little stuffed duck peeking out like it’s keeping watch. He keeps glancing over at you with this quiet, stunned smile—like he still can’t believe any of this is real.

You’re holding hands now. Properly. Fingers interlocked, swinging between you like it’s always been that way.

And right as you reach the car—he stops.

You turn, confused.

He’s standing there with his other hand in his hoodie pocket, eyes darting to yours and then away again, clearly thinking about something too hard.

“…Okay, so,” he says, voice a little scratchy from the wind, “I know I never technically asked…”

You blink. “Asked what?”

He laughs nervously. “Like. Us. I’ve been kinda assuming—like, I call you my girlfriend in my head, and to my Discord mod, and probably to my Uber driver—but I figured I should, y’know. Say it out loud. Like a normal person.”

Your stomach flips in the best way.

He hesitates, then pulls something out of his hoodie pocket.

It’s a small velvet box.

You stare at it, completely frozen.

“Since it’s Valentine’s Day,” he says, fidgeting, voice softer now, “and I wanted to be stupid cheesy like full rom-com mode, I got you this.”

He opens the box.

Inside is a necklace.

Simple. Elegant. A little gold charm in the shape of a heart, tiny and shiny and so perfectly you.

You don’t even know how to breathe.

He swallows hard, cheeks flushed pink in the low light.

“So, um… you’re my girlfriend now, right?” he says.

“Like… officially? Please say yes so I don’t die.”

You just stare at him.

Then laugh.

Then launch into his arms.

His breath leaves him in a huff as you nearly tackle him, arms around his neck, necklace box squished between you both.

“Lexi Bear,” you whisper, smiling so hard it hurts, “I’ve been your girlfriend.”

He lets out a choked laugh, arms wrapping tight around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

“Thank god,” he mumbles. “Because I was one bad joke away from imploding.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, still grinning.

“Put it on me?”

He blinks. “The necklace?”

You nod.

So he does.

Fumbling just a little, fingers trembling, but getting it fastened around your neck with surprising gentleness.

And when you look back up at him, you swear his eyes shine just a little too much.

“You look really pretty,” he says, voice low.

“You look really mine,” you whisper back.

He kisses you again—slow this time. Sweet.

And under the stars, with sand still on your feet and the smell of the ocean in the air,

he says:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jersey Girl.”

—————————

Later that night, you’re back at your apartment—Lexi sprawled on your couch again, now officially your boyfriend and still somehow trying to act like he’s not head over heels even though he’s practically glowing.

You walk out of your room holding a small box, a plastic shopping bag, and something fluffy under your arm.

He looks up from his phone, curious. “What’s all that?”

You grin and drop it all onto the coffee table.

“Your Valentine’s Day gift, Lexi Bear.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, what? I thought we were just doing the necklace thing!”

“You flew across the country for me and made me burnt pancakes,” you say. “You’re getting a present.”

He sits up, eyes flicking between the three items like they might explode.

You grab the fluffiest one first and hold it out to him: a stuffed gray cat with big ears and a sleepy face.

“This is your emotional support cat,” you say solemnly. “So when I’m not around, you still have something to snuggle.”

He blinks at it.

Then smiles.

Soft. Quiet. A little stunned.

“You’re so dumb,” he whispers, already hugging the cat.

“I’m your dumb,” you shoot back.

He just beams.

Next, you hand him the beanie.

It’s black, soft, with those tiny subtle cat ears that aren’t super obvious unless you look for them.

He stares at it. “No.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Jersey Girl—”

“Put it on.”

He groans like it’s the most painful thing in the world but obeys, tugging it over his curls.

It fits perfectly.

You grin so wide it hurts.

“You look adorable. Like a little emo kitten.”

He throws a couch pillow at you.

But he doesn’t take it off.

And then finally—you slide the box toward him. A little black box with a clean logo on the top.

He opens it.

And his breath catches.

Inside is a brand-new, high-end streaming mic—the same model he’s ranted about loving but always says is “too much” to actually buy.

His fingers hover over it like he’s scared to touch it.

“I know your mic’s been dying slowly since like… September,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual, “and you keep saying you’ll replace it, but you won’t, so I figured—”

He grabs you.

Just lunges forward and hugs you so hard it knocks the breath out of you.

“Dude,” he says, voice thick. “Why would you do this? You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

He pulls back, looking at you like you hung the stars.

“This is, like…” He shakes his head, laughing softly. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in forever.”

You shrug, trying not to cry. “You deserve it.”

He’s still holding the mic, the cat plush, wearing the beanie, and looking like he might melt.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he mutters, half-joking, half-dead serious.

“I know.”

—————————

The last day sneaks up on you both.

You wake up tangled together on the couch again—him curled against your side, hoodie riding up, the little stuffed cat tucked between you like it’s standing guard.

The morning light is soft and pale through your windows, and neither of you moves right away.

Because moving means it’s today.

The day he goes back.

—————————

-Continued in part two-

#quackity fanfic #quackity imagines #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #quackity fluff

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