#I'm still sad over how much everyone else

[fortheloveoffanfic]

What if this is the last time I see you?

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: I'm sorry that I haven't finished one angsty story before forcing another onto you. But this one is shorter, I promise.

Summary: A chance run-in between exes at the farmers market leaves Andrew wondering if he’ll be okay never seeing Y/n again. Part 1 of 2.

Warnings: ANGST

At first, Andrew thinks his eyes must be playing tricks on him. But the longer he stares, the more it makes sense – and the more it makes sense, the more he is convinced. A pop-up farmers market, a fruit vendor selling an assortment of brightly coloured, sure-to-be sweet, freshly picked fruit. Or so he says.

She’s wearing a jacket that he swears he’s seen before, but it could’ve very well been on a mannequin in a store front and not in her closet – or on her body.

But he’s certain that its her. She’s carrying the basket in a way that’s all too familiar. She’s looking at strawberries and those are her favorite in the summer. It must be her.

So it must be divine intervention that he drove past the farmers market and decided to stop, because Andrew usually gets his produce at the grocery store, on the occasion that he’s home for long enough to do his own shopping.

Setting down the bright, glossy apple he’d been holding onto for a criminally long period, he inches towards her little section of the booth, debating what he should say. ‘Hi’ doesn’t feel like enough, but he fears that if he takes a chance with anything more he might stomp all over their impromptu reunion. He doesn’t want to be too much;

What a funny thought, he thinks. Considering the whole reason for their end was because he wasn’t enough.

Well, that might be a bit of an unfair distribution of blame. He’s pretty good at playing the victim where the demise of their relationship is concerned.

By the time he reaches her, Y/n has already placed a few strawberries into a plastic baggie and is looking for a few more to round off her purchase. And he settles on the very measly and shamefully uneventful; “hey.”

Surprised, Y/n jumps slightly and twists to face him, eyes going wide. “Andy, oh my gosh, hey.” She hesitates for a moment before reaching out for a hug that becomes quite a clumsy endeavor. They don’t seem to know each other as well as they used to; he can’t tell if she’s reaching for his neck or midsection, so their limbs get tangled in a strange manner. “Sorry,” she mumbles bashfully when the whole thing goes on for longer than any ‘I haven’t seen you in five years’ hug should take.

Shrugging off the unwarranted apology, Andrew stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans in an effort to keep himself from touching her again. “How have you been?” He tries to sound nonchalant, but his gaze drips to her left hand, looking for any sign of a ring. And when there isn’t one, he feels a knot in his chest loosen a little.

“I’ve been….” Y/n trails off, as if the question is the hardest one she’s been asked in a while. In some ways, she supposes it is. Is she supposed to lie to Andrew? Tell him she’s fine and happy and her life is going fantastically well when the truth is she hasn’t been able to scrub the memory of him from her mind and she still buys his favorite brand of tea because when it brews, the smell makes her house feel a little more like home. “I’ve been alright,” its something between the truth and any lie she can tell; she is alright. Alive and healthy, if only a little sad sometimes – but who isn’t, right? “You?”

Andrew fumbles with his words, he’s not sure why but the question feels almost taunting. Why would she throw that back to him? Why wouldn’t she just assume that she’s stowed the best of him into a box and taken it along with her? Everyone else sees it, they tell him he hasn’t looked the same since she left, that he talks differently and he’s truly a little depressing to be around sometimes. “I’m…..okay.” Just okay – not good, not bad, but somewhere in limbo, surviving.

At his response, Y/n nods absently. God, he wishes he knew what that meant. He wishes he still knew her well enough to know what anything she does means. There used to be things that only he understood about Y/n. There’s a version of her in his mind that still whispers in the dark, even if they’re the only people in the room, and ensures all the cutlery in the drawer is packed in the same direction. There’s a version of her that might have tilted her head at his response, and told him that she knows that ‘okay’ is never just ‘okay.’

But this is someone else, someone he doesn’t know. But he loves her anyway.

He’ll love every version of her. But at least he’s only lost one.

“You’re probably the last person I’d expect to run into, here especially,” but maybe she doesn’t really know him that well anymore. Maybe he goes to the farmer’s market every Sunday now and they’ve just been missing each other.

Maybe he goes with his girlfriend - a wife even -and right now she's at another vendor. She's going to be back soon. And she'll be beautiful and Y/n will think; no wonder he let me go so easily, because he knew there was better was out there.

Shaking off the unsettling thought, Y/n adds, “you used to get everything at the grocery store.”

“You used to grow everything yourself,” he notes, not maliciously though. It's really just an innocent observation; he wonders why she stopped.

“I guess…..we’ve changed,” Y/n muses, and a little sliver of her wonders if they’ve changed enough to make it work for a second time around.

“Not too much, I hope,” but what he really means to say is; ‘I hope we’re still the kind of people that can love each other.’ “Ehm,” he clears his throat softly, and finally gathers the courage to ask what he’d been thinking about since he discreetly examined her finger, “seeing anyone?”

What a question! Simultaneously, it makes her want to laugh and cry. “Not right now, no.” Of course, she’s seen other people since their break-up, but nothing ever sticks, and that might be because every man is now measured to Andrew; does it taste the same when they kiss her? Hold her hand the way he used to? Do they tell the same sort of jokes or thread their fingers through her hair before falling asleep? “What about you?”

Andrew waves his hand dismissively, “no one serious,” there isn't really anyone at all, but he doesn’t want to seem like he’s a complete wreck and one more white lie can’t hurt.

“Good,” the word slips out almost without thought, and Y/n quickly shakes her head when Andrew arches a brow. He isn't supposed to know that she's relieved; that he just quashed one of her biggest fears - that there's another woman that knows him as well as she does, but couldn't love him half as much, “well....not good. Just you know….you’re good at being on your own,” he was pretty damn good on his own even when they lived in the same house, “so I’m sure you’re doing good,” god, she wishes she had stopped talking three minutes ago.

Hesitating, he bites his tongue as the urge to tell her that he's not okay and it's all her fault wells up. Didn’t she see the lie in his eyes when he said he was okay? Is he that much of a stranger to her now?

Again, Andrew shrugs halfheartedly, “I’ve been okay,” he repeats before pressing his lips into a thin line. He doesn’t trust himself to add anything more, because then he’ll say he still misses her and its been far too long for him to still be mourning an empty side of the bed and the sound of her laughter in the drawing room.

He shouldn’t still go into his home studio and still expect her to come trailing after him, armed with a book with the intention of curling up on the sofa that gets just the right amount of noon sun. He shouldn't miss the way she looks while humming along softly to what he's working on, blanket draped on her folded legs, hazy light washing her face - he shouldn’t have left her blanket there after all this time.

He shouldn’t even be thinking about it, because the more he does, the more he wants to tell her. Beg Y/n to come back – to take him back because he’s really only half himself without her.

“I should let you –”

“You probably have –”

“Sorry.” Another clumsy, awkward apology, this one in aching unison. There’s silence for a while, and Y/n tugs her lower lip between her teeth. In a way, it feels like they’ve been standing there for too long, at least, like this. Not knowing what to say to each other, with the nails of her free hand digging into her palm so she doesn’t reach out to touch his arm. It shouldn’t be like this, she never wanted them to come to this; reduced to two awfully familiar strangers. “I should um….I have to….go…” She goes to say home, but the word doesn’t come, “I gotta go, Andrew.”

Swallowing the lump that’s been caught in his throat since he first saw fifteen minutes earlier, Andrew nods stiffly. “Of course,” he breathes. The last thing he wants is for her to leave, but he doesn’t really have any right to keep her. “I’ll leave you to it.” They both nod that time, shy and unsure but no one leaves. Not immediately. His eyes stay matching hers, and there’s a hundred things weighing down the tip of his tongue, but clinging to it like molten sugar.

I'm sorry I let you walk out, I'm sorry about everything. I still keep your ring in my nightstand, just in case. My mom still asks about you. I should've been better, let you in and I know that now. I'd do it now. I'm actually horrible on my own now, because you've ruined me in the best way - and the worst. But he doesn't say any of it; the moment is long gone and his pride does a pretty good job at keeping him quiet.

A shuddered breath escapes her lips upon realizing that she actually hasn’t moved an inch; Y/n doesn’t think she can be the one to bring herself to leave this time. She doesn't want to turn her back to him again. So she lingers, and she swears roots are sprouting from the soles of her feet, keeping her in place, staring into his eyes because lost in them is suddenly the only place she wants to be.

“I should go,” he eventually determines, glancing away. Though, the minute he says it, Andrew is lashed with immediate regret; he does not want to go. He doesn’t want to leave, but he suspects that this time its entirely on him to turn around and walk away.

“Right, right,” Y/n blinks quickly, then, just as he’s about to turn, she interjects, if only for the purpose of holding him there a little longer, “it was really nice seeing you.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything, not right then. Though, when he turns away and starts retreating to the other end of the small tent, squinting his eyes at the midday sun, catching him square in the face, he pauses. Throwing a cautious backwards glance her way, he finds that Y/n has returned to picking out strawberries and on a whim, Andrew finally allows himself a singular moment of weakness – perhaps in a way of giving her what she’s wanted since their very last fight. “I’ve missed you,” he utters.

Y/n’s head snaps up just as she hands the bag over to the vendor for weighting, “what?” Her brows are furrowed and her lips are slightly agape.

Hating the sudden vulnerability that comes with those three little words, he shakes his head, “nothing. I’ll see you around,” he spares her a short wave, and she does the same.

After that, not a single word is traded between them again; Y/n pays, plops the bag into her basket, and walks off, and he watches her go. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest as she weaves her way through the busy market, and there’s a strange sort of finality in the moment where the last inkling of her green jacket disappears.

What if he never sees her again? What if that moment, in that tent, surrounded by fruits honeyed by summer’s warmth and the bitter heartache of something unfinished, constitutes the last fifteen minutes they will ever share?

What if she’s gone from his life forever and he’s damned to an eternity spent looking at her pictures and never hearing her voice again? Wondering what she’s doing and if she’s finally moved on from him?

Can he survive it? Truly? Without feeling like a shell just being shuffled around by the wind?

Returning to the assortment of ruby-toned apples, he struggles to escape the onslaught in his mind and Andrew finds himself unable to choose any, not even one, so he goes with strawberries instead.

To be continued.....

[daydreamerwoah]

Love Through It All (Alternate Ending - Different Character Death)

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; anger; sadness; arguing; crying; mentions of therapy/counseling; violence; guns; injury; main character death; a violent Ghost

Please read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

Had someone ask for a different alternate ending where another character dies so here it is :)

*This picks up from part 13 in italics*

The moment the video stopped, you locked eyes with Simon. Your puffy eyes made him internally broken, but his facial expression hadn't changed, and you didn't know if he was upset that you had gotten revenge for cheating on you... or if it was something else. You wanted to say that it meant nothing. That you were drunk and fucking mad at him... but you couldn't say shit with the tape still over your mouth.

"I have to say, she sounds.. so damn good. Doesn't she?" Jax teased as he asked everyone in the room. Even with Andrei not responding, since he was the one who had his tongue on you, Jax smiled at Simon like he had won or something, "How does it feel?" He walked and stood behind Simon as he leaned down so his face was almost next to his, looking at you, "Tell her." He demanded.

Simon's eyes never strayed away from yours as you continued to cry. The look on his face hadn't really changed, but his eyes told you exactly how he felt. The regret that ran through his soul.... he wished he could been a better man; a better husband. You didn't deserve any of this.. yet you stayed. You had wanted to work on your marriage even after the ugly truth came out. It was his fault, and he would forever kill himself over it. He would be grateful if you ever forgave him, promising to give you the entire world and more after he so much tore yours apart by cheating.

"I love you," he lowly said, making you cry even more. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart... for everythin'."

"Satisfying, isn't it?.. Finally realizing your mistakes?"

Simon finally tore his eyes away from you and looked at Jax, "Let her go."

He paused, acting as if he was thinking about something, "I thought about it," he teased, "but see... I can't do that. She's knows far too much... much more than our girl Williams," he joked - a terrible one that made both you and Simon shoot him the deadliest glare.

Jax stood up straight and walked over to you, cutting the ropes that freed you from the chair and snatching off the duct tape on your mouth. For a slight second, you almost thought he was going to let you go before he yanked you up by your hair to stand. A whimper left your mouth as the pain ran through you.

"Let her go," Simon told him again.

He chuckled deeply, "We're just getting started."

Suddenly, loud popping noises sounded from the other side of the door, making you jump. Jax - in a panic - swiftly snaked his arm around your neck in a headlock position, pulling you close to him as Andrei and the other guards rushed out of the door to go see what had happened. More gunshots rang out, almost deafening your ears. Simon continued to look at you, the chaos not even phasing him. At least on the outside... on the inside, he was worried. Half secretly thanking whatever god there was that Johnny saw the damn text, but half nervous about whose shots were going off.

Then there was an eerie silence that loomed over the room before heavy footsteps walked closer to the open door. There was more than one set, and you almost began to panic at who was going to walk in there until you saw Simon's friends.

"Let her go," Price commanded, his weapon pointed to Jax.

A menacing chuckle left Jax's mouth, "I will shoot her," he said, pushing the barrel of the gun against your temple, making you whimper.

"Let my wife go Jax," Simon said, making the man narrow his eyes at him.

"No," he growled, "You're going to suffer just like we did! All of you! I will kill every single one of you!"

"Then let's talk 'bout it," Johnny chimed in.

Jax threw his head back a little as he laughed, "Talk about it?.. we're done talking. Your nation should have talked about it four years ago! But now..... now you will pay," he quickly glanced at you, holding that evil smirk as always. He then pointed the gun at his own temple, throwing off the team.

It was hard for any of them to take a shot at him as he swayed you and his body in sporadic moments. Now, 141 were excellent soldiers; the best of the best, but they weren't going to risk taking a shot only for it to hit you instead of the target.

"Don't have a shot Cap," Kyle whispered.

"If you shoot me, she will die," Jax said as he leaned his head to be side by side with yours, "Your choice.... Cap'n."

Another beat went by as he continued to sway you so a shot couldn't be made. Simon and you looked at each other the entire time as he tried to free himself over and over again. But it was no use. He wanted to hold you; to take you away from there. Instead he felt his eyes water slightly and nervousness.

They all continued to try and get the man to lower his weapon, but the more they talked, the more aggravated he got. And the more he spoke, the more they realized who was behind all of it.

Makarov.

That alone made them even more worried.

You even begged him to let you go, but he shouted for you to shut the fuck up, making the men tighten their grips on their guns. He was getting tired of talking.

"Say goodbye to your wife..... Lieutenant" he teased as his arm wrapped harder around your neck.

Time slowed down. It was like you could feel Jax’s energy as his finger started to pull the trigger, and you suddenly felt……… free.

"I love you," you said to your husband before closing your eyes.

"No no no-" Simon barked before a single shot rang out in the room.

It was the last thing you heard. The last thing Simon said before all you saw was darkness. Jax had pulled the trigger, making the gun go off, piercing his temple. Because his head was aligned beside yours, the bullet wasted no time going straight through your head as well, instantly killing you both.

"NO!" Simon shouted as Price and Johnny rushed over to the fallen bodies of you and Jax while Kyle cut away at the ropes that freed Simon from the restraints.

The second he was able to stand up, he leaped out of the chair and all but pushed the other two men out of the way to kneel on the ground, hovering over your limp body.

"Wake up, sweetheart. Wake up. Wake up," he said as he checked for a pulse. Even though Johnny had already done that, he did it again. When he didn't find one, he should have stopped there; should have let you go. But no, he began pressing on your chest with his hands in an attempt to do CPR as if it was going to revive you somehow.

"Ghost," Johnny tried stopping him, but he wouldn't listen.

John tried pulling him away, "Simon-"

"No! She's not dead," he continued to do CPR on you. The lone tears that began to fall as he looked down at your lifeless body caused the men to look at each other in true sadness. They wanted to stop him, but even they felt the pain flow through their hearts at seeing you lay there on the cold floor.

“Please, god no. No,” Simon whispered when he finally gave up, pulling your body into his chest as he hugged you tightly, “I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin sorry, love.” He continued to hug you, thinking for some reason that hugging you would keep your body warm and safe, even in death.

Eventually, when the medics and police came, it was a whirlwind of chaos that engulfed everything from the prostitution ring upstairs to the crime scene in the basement. As your body was placed in the black bag and wheeled outside, Simon followed the coroners all the way until they loaded it into the back of the van. It was then that Simon felt like he could take a long and painful deep breath that still struggled to come out. It was like he had been punched in the lung with an iron fist.

"L.T.," Johnny said as he walked up to him, making him finally tear his eyes away from the van, "M'sorry."

He didn't say anything back as he looked at his comrade. He didn't even know if he could talk at that point. The only thing he could do was stare at the sergeant for a moment before giving a quick nod and walking off, leaving his friend behind looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

******************************************************

"How's your week going, Lieutenant?" the chaplain asked Simon.

He softly nodded as he rubbed his hands on his jeans, "Fine."

Fine.

It was the same word he used in almost every session he attended since your death. He knew it was going to be a requirement that he had to attend before he could go on any mission... especially one that involved finding Andrei - who escaped during the incident -, Makarov, or whoever else was involved. But it still didn't make it any easier. He was nothing of fine.

The night after the incident, he went home... home to the apartment, and he drank half a bottle of bourbon before he couldn't take it anymore; he trashed the entire fucking place. He was lucky the neighbors hadn't called the police on him. He was so amped up yet so exhausted that he passed out on the couch, only to wake up and see the damn mess he had made the next morning.

When Kyle came over to check on him that evening, he was beyond embarrassed at the state the place was in, but Kyle - just like the rest of 141 - knew he needed time to heal. So he helped him clean up everything before deciding he'd stay the night just to keep his friend company. The same cycle continued as Price, Johnny, and even Ava and her husband checked on him during the next month or so.

But when he eventually got cleared to head back to work after a few more months, Simon was out for pure blood. Blood that was meant for Andrei.

"Ready?" Price yelled, asking the team as they geared up to land in the drop zone of their next mission.

While Kyle and Johnny responded, Simon only nodded, focused on everything around him. They had been tracking intel for a couple of weeks before Laswell informed them they had a location on Andrei. And it was finally time to capture him.

The skilled soldiers descended onto the ground, their guns drawn as they made their way carefully into the building. One by one, guards were taken down silently, a few getting stabbed in their throats as Simon used his knives for more intimate kills.

But when they busted through the door, finding Andrei shocked and off guard, Simon couldn't help but feel a rush flow through him. His fingers tingled slightly, his heartbeat somewhat calmed down but sped up at the same time, and his feet moved faster than his mind could comprehend before he yanked Andrei up to his feet.

An evil smirk settled on his lips behind his hard-shell skull mask as his eyes narrowed at the shaken man, "Remember me?"

The look on Andrei's face was the complete opposite of what he had just half a year prior. That nonchalant look, the confidence like he won a prize cause he had been with you sexually, was all replaced with fear. Simon couldn't help but remember the video - that was now destroyed because he didn't want anyone to see his wife that way - and he felt a deep chuckle escape his throat.

"Tell me again.. how good did my wife sound?" he said in the most menacing tone that even 141 had never heard him sound like.

Andrei gulped, his eyes widening before Simon sent a forceful punch to his face, instantly knocking him out. The loud crunch of his jaw snapping was heard in the quiet room as his body went limp and fell to the ground.

************************************************************************

"Where's Makarov?" Price asked Andrei for the second time.

141 had taken Andrei to an unknown location - a building that was used to keep prisoners before they were taken by the CIA or other agencies. Andrei had been tied up the same way Simon was the night you died, and fuck was he enjoying it more than he should. The amount of punches that landed on Andrei's face from his fists would have had anyone else squirming at the sight. But none of the guys flinched when another cracking sound echoed in the room.

Simon sometimes wished he didn't have to be this way; violent. No doubt he had killed many men in his career, but it was always work. A quick shot from his sniper, a knife to the chest of an enemy. But this?.... this was different. Every time he punched him, he would see your dead body, the night he asked you to marry him, the tearful eyes from when you told him you wanted a divorce, the moment you told him you loved him before Jax pulled the trigger... all of it.

"He asked you a question," his deep voice grumbled as he leaned over to be face-to-face with Andrei.

His face was bloodied and bruised to the point that his eyes barely could open, and his lips were beyond swollen. But even then, he tried to smirk up at the men, "You might as well kill me. Nothing I say will get you closer to Makarov," he coughed, a little blood spilling from his mouth. Simon growled before hitting him once again in the nose. It had broken after the first punch, but he didn't give a shit.

After they all knew Andrei probably wouldn't say anything else, Simon left out of the room, pulling his bloodied skeleton gloves off his hands as he walked outside. He pulled out a box of cigarettes, taking one of them out, along with the lighter. He swore he would stop smoking a long time ago, and for a while, he did. For five years of your marriage, he hadn't smoked once. But he couldn't help but pick the habit back up after your death.

As he smoked, he glanced at the wedding ring on his finger. He refused to ever take it off. It was one of the many things that he kept to remind himself of you; of your love. He knew he would never love anyone again the way he did with you, and in that moment the only thing he cared about was avenging your death.

I thought I teared up on Simon's death in that other alternate ending but I think this one hurt a little bit more. Let me know what you all think about this ending :)

Taglist: @kalypsoox @fruitymoonbeams-blogz @kylies-love-letter @xrosegoldwolfx @linaaaaa654 @jessicab1991 @darkravenqueen98 @yazyazali @thychuvaluswife @chloeforde @cownini @ssc7514

[perfectlyfadingmusic]

Being the extra friend is so depressing. There are times where I feel like my friends bring me along out of pity or because no one else was available. Even more depressing or awkward is being asked to be a bridesmaid. I've been a bridesmaid 5 times and been to so many bachelorette parties and it feels so sad and awkward. And I cant say no! Always the bridesmaid never the bride. I think I'm aro or aroace...im somewhere on that spectrum so marriage probably ain't in the cards but still :-/

Thank you for coming to my ted talk vent on loneliness and being greysexual or maybe demi? I just don't know.

Hi babes i just wanna let you know you're so valid.

Despite having rb-ed that last post and feeling over 90% confident in my asexuality and aromanticness, I get sad thinking that I'll probably never find anyone I want to marry. Though I would love to be single the rest of my life, I can't deny the aspects of loneliness and fomo.

I've spoken to my close friends about the importance of friendship and maintaining that importance, especially when I'm not planning to get coupled up the way they plan to. It's tough being in conversations where everyone's talking about their love interests/SOs and you don't have much to contribute, but making your friends aware of this can make a hell of a difference (it has for me!)

Finally, I'm in a stage of life where a lot of friends got engaged this summer, and even though I do have a pang of sadness looking at myself, it's definitely beat out by the overwhelming joy and happiness I feel for the newly engaged couple, my friends. And romantic love is definitely not all a person needs, despite what the songs might say. It means a lot when someone picks out their closest friends, people who are deeply important in their life, and invites them to be their bridesmaids and walk down the aisle with them. That connection is not non important and not devoid of love. Find friends and people who choose to love you and to choose you, regardless of how you can love them back.

[sysig]

One better (Patreon)

[kyouka-supremacy]

DON'T MANIFEST AKUTAGAWA'S FEELINGS BEING UNREQUITED WAGEHGAHTJSHHAJ

But does it count as manifesting if I'm just stating facts 🤔😔😔

[arklay]

did not just think about diana finding al just sitting on their bed holding their wedding photo in his hands after she brings him back, and he's just looking at it, visibly distressed, and the moment she touches his shoulder he starts crying and buries his face against her chest because he thinks he really ruined their relationship. good lord

[realboutfatalfury]

yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay <- full of fighting games

[gloryinthunder]

I used to really love the first romance scene with Astarion (and I still do) but it hits so much harder after you know why he's doing it. That he's purposefully seducing you for protection and blood, that he's forcing himself to sleep with you, and this is a mask he's wearing.

It's a sexy scene and really feeds into the vampy (pun intended) jump-your-bones version of him you get at the start of the game. The whole thing starts out with him being so confident and suave, saying that he's wanted you ever since he set eyes on you and how you want to be known and tasted. It's like everyone's perfect vampire romance novel.

He's laying out the bait that's worked thousands of times over and luring you in. And you can just get right to the kissing if you want.

But, you can also stop and ask him, "And what do you want?"

And for just a moment the mask drops. This is not the same cocky seductive face we've had up until now. This is vulnerability showing. When has anyone asked him what he wants? When has anyone cared? Does he even know the answer to that question?

So he pivots. The mask snaps back into place immediately. He turns back into the master seducer and feeds you a line about shared ecstasy to get you back on track.

And then comes what is, to me, the pivotal moment. He asks you "That's what you want, isn't it? To lose yourself in me?"

Looking at his body language he seems unsure at first, maybe questioning his previous tactics. Then he slightly cowers back, lowering himself as he asks the question. The total opposite of his confidence from earlier where he's standing with his arms out wide.

He's not sure what you want anymore. You're not playing by the rules he knows. Why haven't you taken the bait yet? Why haven't you thrown yourself at him?

And when you finally Nod in agreement, confirming you're here for sex?

This. This is the face he gives you. He just looks so damn sad. To me, it hearkens back to "Of course it'll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?"

Whatever momentary blip made him question why you're there with him, he's just been reassured about both of your roles in this situation.

He sounds so quietly resigned when he answers: "I thought so."

And then the scene transitions into the actual act. I do like to think Astarion enjoyed himself as I'm sure the PC did, but it's hard for me to watch this scene now that I know his story and history without being uncomfortable.

Just that line "lose yourself in me" is so difficult to hear. Because on paper it's so sensual. Who wouldn't want a lover to feel that way about them? But knowing the context of what Astarion expects and believes in this moment is just... oof.

And to me, this is what makes this scene brilliant. The writing, voice acting, and the mocap/animation are all just SO GOOD. It's so delicately done and Astarion the character is so good at playing a role that you can completely gloss over the deeper stuff. But once the mask is eventually stripped away you can't help but see what was there the whole time.

And as we've established, being seen is a whole aspect of Astarion's romance arc.

I originally romanced Astarion for the same reasons I'm sure most did: he's a hot, sexy vampire elf (i.e. everything that's on the surface). But, I keep coming back to him over and over again for the person I know is waiting for me underneath the mask.

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

[reidswhre]

can you figure me out? ; spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: you try everything possible so that spencer realizes that you are completely in love with him, but he just doesn't seem to notice it.

warnings: i had spencer from season 2 in mind, nothing dw!

a/n: I had this draft saved and I was improving it to be able to post it, I hope you enjoy it! I have a couple of requests, thank you very much!! I hope to be able to make them soon. 💗 By the way, english is not my first language, let me know any mistakes, have a beautiful day! 💘

Everyone at the BAU knew you were completely in love with Spencer Reid.

Except for Spencer.

Which was sometimes funny—most of the time it was—but other times it was frustrating. It didn’t seem logical to you how a genius with an IQ of 187 couldn’t realize that he was basically the love of your life. It’s not like you were trying to hide it or something. He’s just oblivious.

Because of this, Morgan and García proposed a little game to you.

“I bet you could flirt with him all day, and he’d think you were just being friendly,” Penelope laughed.

You lightly bumped your forehead against your desk, staying there defeated. “Don’t even say that,” you mumbled against the desk.

“Hey, hey, don’t be sad, cutie,” Derek gently lifted your head so you could see him. “It’s not as bad as it seems. He’s just… something else,” he laughed.

“Don’t say that,” you frowned at Derek.

Derek raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey, it's okay, I'm not offending your husband."

"He's not my husband, and he never will be if he never pays attention to me." You sighed.

"Look, sweetie, flirt with him all day, no filter." She laughed.

Derek played along. "That's right, let's see how hard it is for him to notice." He laughed too.

"Stop playing around, this is serious, don't be like that." You were quite sad.

"We're being serious too!" Derek exclaimed.

"I mean, it's what you want, right? For him to notice. It's not possible that you flirt with him all day and he doesn't notice." Penelope added. "And listen, babe, if he doesn't notice this, I'm sorry to say it, but he's ignoring you," she explained to you.

You groaned and rested your head on the desk.

After a while, you started thinking about what Morgan and Garcia had said. After all, you had nothing to lose; in the end, it was basically what you did every day. Although, of course, this was a bit over the top, but who knows if it was over the top enough for Spencer to notice.

"Hey, you." You smiled at Spencer, who was in the office kitchen making one of his coffees.

Spencer looked at you. "Oh, hey." He gave you a smile, one of those where he just closed his lips without showing his teeth. Pretty typical of him.

"Those glasses?" You smiled, trying to make conversation.

Of course, you had noticed them; how could you not? He started wearing them about a week ago, and he looked dreamy. So much so that you thought you stared at him for about five minutes straight a couple of days ago while Hotch was explaining a new case.

"Mm, the contacts were really bothering my eyes lately." He explained while continuing to prepare his coffee.

"Well, they look great on you; you look great, really handsome." You began your mission.

"They’re nothing special. I had to get anti-reflective coating because the glare was bothering me too. It’s a coating applied to both surfaces of the lenses to reduce the glare caused by reflected light." He started explaining, as he always did, not noticing your attempt to tell him he looked good.

Spencer’s obliviousness: 1 - 0 : You.

"Ah—right, yeah." You sighed and watched him leave the kitchen, giving you another one of his smiles.

Second attempt.

You were at your desks, which were next to each other, finishing paperwork from the last case.

"Are you done? It's almost lunchtime," you asked Spencer.

"I still have to finish the geographical profile," he said, looking at his papers. "But I can do it after lunch." He looked at you.

"Great! I was thinking, would you like to go to that sandwich place a couple of blocks away?"

"Oh, sure! Tito’s, right?" He said, recalling the name of the place. "Sounds great." He smiled at you.

You were a bit surprised. "Oh, really? Great—Yeah, perfect." You stumbled over your words a bit—he had just accepted a date with you!

"Great, I'll tell the others," he said as he tidied up his desk.

"Okay, sure," you replied without thinking. "Wait—what? Spencer—" Maybe you thought he accepted a date with you too soon.

"Morgan loves that place," he told you. "See you later, okay?" He smiled and left.

You sighed.

Spencer’s obliviousness: 2 - 0 : You.

You sighed again.

Hotch and JJ explained a new case to you—apparently, there was a serial killer in Mill Creek, and this other guy who called himself the "Empty Man." It seemed they had some sort of rivalry and were killing women without restraint. So now, you guys would have to travel to St. Louis to help solve the case.

Everyone boarded the plane, which took off immediately after the case was announced. Everyone was scattered around the plane, analyzing the case. You were sitting next to Reid, across from the little table that those seats have.

After that tragic and terrifying lunch, you were left thinking about the possibility that Spencer did know and was ignoring you to avoid hurting you. Maybe he just didn’t like you, which wasn’t such a big deal. But you wished that if that were the case, he would at least tell you.

"Are you okay?" you heard the voice of the man from Las Vegas next to you.

"Hm? Yeah, yeah, of course," you replied instinctively.

"You don’t seem like it," he said with a frown.

Great, now he was starting to notice things.

"Really, I’m fine. I was just—thinking," you replied honestly.

"About what?" he asked.

"About you," you blurted out. The truth was, it was now or never; it didn’t matter whether he felt the same way or not.

"Me? Why about me?" he asked, even more confused.

"You're incredible, Reid," you laughed—it was better than crying. "I’ve been trying all day to get you to notice how much I like you! And you don’t understand anything!"

Awesome.

Spencer’s obliviousness: 3 - 0 : You.

Double awesome.

"Do you like me?" Spencer said, completely clueless.

"Of course i do! Ever since I got here. And I've tried everything but—" You sighed. "You don't like me... And that's okay, I don't expect you to, I just wish you'd tell me, you know?"

Spencer let out the breath he was holding and laughed a little. "Where did you get that from? How do you think I don't like you?"

"I do?" You opened your mouth in surprise, which made him laugh.

"Of course you do," he laughed. "I just thought you were being nice to me, you're nice to everyone, I didn't think it was special with me."

"Of course you are!" You laughed.

"According to April Bleske-Rechek, the psychologist leading the task force that studied the relationship between men and women, males and females have a very different perception of the messages they receive from the opposite sex." Reid started to Reidplain as he always did. "This, especially in the case of men, leads them to misinterpret signals."

"Really?" You said sarcastically, leaning on your hand, watching him as he explained.

"Yes, which is why I thought I was misinterpreting you." He shrugged.

"Not at all." You smiled as you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.

"We're in the middle of a case, I'd appreciate it if you two could behave," Hotch said from the back of the plane.

"Oh, right, right, yeah—I'm sorry," both of you mumbled a bunch of incoherent apologies.

Then you looked at each other out of the corner of your eye with a small smile.

Awesome.

You: 1 - 3: Spencer’s obliviousness.

Triple awesome.

Take that, silly mental scoreboard.

[logansdoll]

jim beam

navigating life in a new universe was already a bit of a struggle for Logan... and Wade just had to make it worse (or far, far, far better) by giving him a "house-warming gift".

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place after the events of Deadpool 3, Wade is actually really hard to write for, Logan deserves the world, comfort, angst if you squint, etc.

"Honey, I'm home!" Wade loudly sang, kicking open the door to Logan's apartment with a dramatic flourish.

"Fuck me," Logan groaned from his spot on the couch, closing his eyes and allowing his head to lull back with annoyance.

This defeated the entire purpose of why he got his own apartment in the first place.

To avoid these types of interactions with the most persistently, consistently annoying asshole in the entire multiverse.

"Now, now, is that any way to talk to the friend who's about to bring your long lost lover back from the dead?" Wade tutted, skipping into the living room, taking notice of the bottle of liquor resting in Logan's hand.

'So it's that kinda morning...'

"Jim Beam at 10 am on a Tuesday?" he noted, "Well, I guess it's five o'clock nowhere... so have at it."

"What did you just say?" Logan sat up straight, brows furrowed as he focused on Wade's previous statement.

"Alcoholics everywhere salute you for taking your liver where no organ has gone before."

"Wade."

"I'm honestly starting to believe you do it for the love of the game rather than the expositional, look how sad he is plot device the author is currently using... I mean, seriously? Can we skip past all this bullshit and get to the—"

Quickly, Logan grabbed him by the front of his suit, yanking him closer with an angrily confused expression.

"If anything besides a goddamn answer comes out of your mouth... I will stab you in the face," he growled, spelling out each syllable to further his point. "What the hell do you mean bring her back from the dead?"

To Logan, you were everything

The sun. The moon. The air. The clouds.

Despite seeing all the horrible thing he'd done, and knowing firsthand just how much of an asshole he could be, you still smiled at him.

No matter how many times he pushed you away, you were relentless.

Keeping his room together while he was away finding himself.

Making him meals when you noticed he he'd gone without eating.

Forcing him to take breathers after intense sessions in the Danger Room.

For the longest, he couldn't wrap his head around someone like you caring about a jackass like him.

Until he got fed up and just outright asked.

But, as if nothing, you answered:

"Your past makes think you don't deserve love, Logan," you started, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned up against the counter. "You storm around here with a rude ass attitude and a smart mouth hoping to convince me of that... but if anything, you're only making it worse for yourself."

You smiled, looking up at him with a glint in your eye that sent shocks running down his spine.

"Because in my heart of hearts I know you're a man who wants care and attention, just like everybody else."

With a chuckle, you rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"And I'll keep shovin' dinners down your throat until you realize that."

Despite having everyone else fooled, you saw right through him, and true to your word, you didn't give up.

With every made bed, every meal, every conversation, Logan felt himself falling deeper into your charm, and over a glass of Jim Beam did he finally realize that he was in love with you.

But, like everything else he cared about in this world, you were taken away from him.

Unable to find your body in the rubble of the mansion, he looked high and low, quite literally going to the ends of the Earth to find you.

But after years of searching with nothing to show for it, he returned to the bottle, drowning himself in sorrow and regret.

Or, at least... until now.

"Well, according to the manual, she's not exactly dead, but she is unconscious," Wade answered, matter-of-factly.

"Unconscious?" Logan's brows furrowed, still quite confused.

Freeing himself from the man's grip, Wade stood up, going back around the couch and pulling out a small tablet from his pocket.

"See, I've noticed your humble abode could use a little sprucing, so I went back to our buddies at the TVA and kindly reminded them that you saved the multiverse and, godammnit, you deserve a reward."

"Get to the fuckin' point, jackass," Logan spat, turning to face him.

"So they sent some men back to your universe and found your girl!" Wade cheered, opening up a portal and reaching his hand in, pulling out a cryo-chamber with you inside.

The moment Logan's eyes met your sleeping face, all color and vibrancy seemed to return to the world.

He was at a loss for words.

You were here... not some dream or hallucination of guilt... but actually, truly, physically here.

"Apparently, some science fuckers were keeping her in a black site and testing to see how long she could go without aging. I won't bore you with the details," Wade explained, pulling out a small knife from his boot. "Now, let's break this bad boy open and meet the future Mrs. Wolverine!"

Before Logan could stop him, Wade stabbed the keypad at the side of the chamber, opening the door and sending you falling forward.

In an instant, Logan dropped his bottle and leaped over the couch, catching you just before you could face-plant on the hardwood floor.

"Watch it!" Logan roared, less than happy that you'd only been there for about three minutes and Wade had already almost broken your nose.

"I am so sorry!" Wade gasped, his hands slapping his cheeks in shock. "I didn't think she'd actually fall out the chamber when they told me she'd fall out the chamber... Nice save, though, Romeo."

Turning you over, Logan cupped your cheek, the chill of your skin already beginning to warm.

But you were still out cold, limp in his grasp as he held you close to his chest.

"She's not waking up..." Logan noticed, brows furrowed. "Why the hell isn't she waking up?"

"Easy there, tiger. They told me how long it takes varies from person to person," Wade assured, shutting the portal. "Some take minutes, others hours. It could be a couple of days before she even opens her eyes."

An expression of solemnity slid over Logan's face as he gazed over yours, your skin still so flesh colored, it looked as if you were sleeping.

Just as soft and tender as he remembered.

And he had full intentions on keeping it that way.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he ghosted his hand over your cheek.

In that moment, he swore to himself that he'd never leave you again.

He'd be a friend, a bodyguard, a lover, whatever you wanted, but no matter his title, anything that wanted to harm you would have to do so over his dead body.

And even then he'd force himself to get back up and fight.

This world was giving him a second chance at life, a second chance at a life with you, and he'd be damned if he let anything ruin it.

Suddenly, you took in an aggressive gasp, scaring the shit out of Wade as your eyes snapped open.

"Holy fucking shit nuggets!" he jolted, jumping from his spot across he room as Logan allowed his shoulders to sink, mumbling a quiet thanks to whatever god or deity brought you back to him.

Feeling a strong set of arms cradling you, you looked up, solace setting into your bones at the sight of the familiar man before you, who was unable to stop the few joyful tears escaping his eyes.

"Logan—"

Without a moment's hesitation, his lips were on yours, making up for what felt like a lifetime of loss by dumping all of his passion, all of his love, all of his devotion into one Earth shattering kiss.

You melted into it seamlessly, your hand finding home in his scruffy hair as he pulled you flush against him, clutching you with a death grip.

Donning a cheeky smile under his mask, Wade turned away to give you both a moment, thought not without making a crude sex gesture behind his back.

'I don't think Miss (Y/N)/Girl Sitting At Home Reading This is gonna be able to walk tomorrow...'

With a gasp, the two of you separated, Logan's hand raising to cup your cheek, relishing how easily you leaned into him.

"(y/n)... I thought I lost you," he panted, his eyes scouring over your face, committing every detail to memory.

"For a while, you did," you sighed with a grin, carding a hand through the few gray strands in his hair, before comparing them to your own. "Time looks good on you."

He chuckled, quietly relieved you still found him attractive after all these years.

Sitting up, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled the man into a bone crushing hug, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not really sure what happened... or how I'm alive..." you weakly laughed, starting to get choked up. "But I know that if you go out drinking without me ever again, I'm putting your head on a spike."

Instantly, Logan's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you reverently as if he let go for one moment, the powers that be would part him from you.

"I swear on my life... I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

[buckyalpine]

Imagine jealous!sharon want to get you out of the way so she can be with Bucky…

She hurts you (even it’s like a bruise) and Bucky begins to be so protective of you 🥺🥵

ABSOLUTELY.

I'm imaging this with a soft sweet reader and fuckboi Bucky. Hear me out, okay.

He's not looking for a relationship at all, finally feeling a sense of freedom after getting a bit of himself back. He's so flirty with everyone, so charming, he knows he can get whoever he wants.

He fucks.

A lot.

Sharon eats it up, loving the smirks he gives her, his playful baby blue eyes always sparkling. She loves the naughty way he bites his lip and don't even get her started on how gorgeous he is when he works out shirtless. His Brooklyn accent comes out when he calls her darlin' and it makes her weak in the knees.

There's just one issue.

The looks he gives Sharon aren't special. She's not the only one he calls darlin', even the old lady at the coffee shop shares the same pet name. Bucky can't help the little smirks he tosses around to others, flirty compliments naturally falling from his lips. He's a bit of a heart breaker but it's who he is.

That's just Bucky.

That's Bucky with everyone else.

Then there's Bucky with you.

The quite lab assistant who worked at the compound.

He didn't have it in him to playfully flirt with you when you asked about his day. He actually liked talking to you, finding any excuse under the sun to keep the conversation going, poking at the little nick knacks you have on your desk so he doesn't have to leave so quickly.

Sharon hates the way he looks at you. Whenever he's around you, he looks at you with puppy eyes as if he's wondering how someone so sweet could possibly exist. She catches onto the way he's not the same with you as he is with others. He's called everyone in passing darlin' with a drawl of his voice but you're his doll. He's never used that with anyone else. That's reserved just for you.

She can't stand it.

At first she tries to pick you apart in subtle ways' maybe you'd finally realize you had no business talking to someone like Bucky.

"You're so pretty even though you wear glasses"

"Don't worry, that dress would still look good on your body type, its meant to suit everyone"

"I wish I was as brave as you to wear that! I'd love to have that much confidence but I could never"

She smiled sweetly while you pulled your lab coat closer together, clutching it tightly in your hand. Your heart sank to your stomach. You'd worn one of your favorite dresses, one many others had always said you looked perfect in but some how Sharon made you doubt that, despite her sugary smile.

Then she took it a step further to make sure you were more isolated, insisting you'd be uninterested in plans when the team wanted to go out. Purposely giving you extra work when they had drinks together. Anything to keep you sad and holed away in your lab while she kept Bucky all to herself.

She'd do anything to get rid of you.

She was almost certain everything was going accordingly to plan, inching closer and closer to Bucky during a movie night until she was pressed against him, sharing his blanket. Not that Bucky noticed since he was more distracted over the fact that Sam was also squished against him on the other side of the small couch. Sam was also buried under the now too hot blanket, his deep snores irrupting the movie having fell asleep on Bucky's shoulder.

"Damn bird brain" Bucky huffed, ignoring the fact that he pushed Sharon off while reluctantly adjusting himself so Sam's head wouldn't slip, shaking his head when Sam grumbled, trying to snuggle into Bucky more.

"Bet you wish that was y/n, huh" Tony wiggled his eyebrows and much to Sharon's distain, Bucky blushed. Not did he deny it.

It didn't matter though. She'd find a way to get Bucky's attention, it wasn't like you were real competition anyways. She figured you'd have the sense to like someone better suited for you, someone in your league, definitely not the very handsome Sergeant.

That was until she found out you had a crush on the super soldier yourself. You'd let it slip out during a conversation with Nat, not realizing there was someone near the lab. Sharon didn't think you actually had a chance with Bucky but it didn't matter.

At this point she didn't care about what it took.

She was sick of the way Bucky was soft over you.

So she took a more direct approach.

"Y'know, I heard someone has a little crush on a certain super soldier" Sharon smirked, wandering to your table, tinkering with one of your tools while you looked at her like a deer caught in head lights.

How did she know?!"

"I-I don't-

"Oh please y/n, everyone knows" the blonde rolled her eyes at your gaping mouth before continuing, "I just thought I should let you know that he's not interested"

You felt like you had been punched in the stomach, the hurt expression on your face made her satisfied,.

"Oh" Was all you mustered out, embarrassed beyond belief while she shrugged. You blinked back tears while Sharon squeezed your shoulder out of faux concern, handing you a tissue.

"I'm so sorry, honestly I just thought you should know because he likes me. And I like him. So it would be best for you to move on, because were seeing each other" It didn't matter if it was a lie because she intended on making it real soon enough.

From that day, you avoided everyone in the compound like the plague, throwing yourself into work, feeling ridiculous for having even thought of Bucky that way. Of course he'd never go for someone like you, you should've known that from the start.

Sharon's plan was short lived after she overheard Bucky worriedly asking Tony about where you'd been all week since he hadn't seen you. After some endless teasing, Tony reassured him you were fine and just busy with lab work, not knowing the true reason as to why you'd overloaded yourself.

Sharon despised the pink that decorated Bucky's cheeks whenever someone said your name.

She hated that she'd seen him walking by the lab hallway in search of you.

She'd do anything to end all of this.

Including hurt you.

-

You made your way down to the gym hoping to sweat some of your unrequited feelings away, putting on your headphones before hopping on the treadmill. Sharon walked in moments later, blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, her toned body on full display in nothing but a sports bra and some tiny shorts.

You felt even worse.

You tried to stay hidden, deciding 15 minutes would be enough, though your escape was cut short with Sharon caught your arm just as you were about to leave.

"How about we spar for a bit" She smiled sweetly, giggling at your confused expression. You'd never sparred in your life, in fact this was probably the third time you'd even used the gym the entire time you'd lived at the compound.

"Sharon, I-I don't think that's a good idea, I've never-

She cut you off, dragging you to the mat, practically shoving you to the middle with more force than necessary.

"It's fine! I mean, it's good for you to learn since you work here n'all C'mon, I'll help you and show you what to do" Before you could say anything, Sharon had flipped you onto the mat, twisting your arm behind your back without warning. You gasped in pain as she gripped harder, pulling further up your back until she heard your joints crack.

"Let-let go" You winced out, confused over what part of sparring this was, your body hitting the floor when she released her grip.

"Ops" Sharon pouted with faux innocence, taking a long sip from her water while you hissed in pain, seeing the formation of a bruise already forming on your arm.

"SHARON"

Sharon squeaked in surprised at the loud voice that boomed through the gym, bouncing off the walls. Her eyes shot up to see a very angry super solder making his way over to the mat, eyes darkening as they landed to your injured form on the ground.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

"Bucky, we were just-

"Don't" Bucky growled through gritted teeth, rushing over to your side, and slipping his arm around your waist.

"Angel, are you okay?" He cupped your cheek, helping you to your feet and taking your hand in his, examining it with the utmost care. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"M'all right" You nodded, your face heating up under his gaze, still a little shaken, your body trembling.

"How the fuck could you hurt her" Bucky spat, his metal hand clenched to his side, itching to punch Sharon in the jaw, having seen what she had just done but he didn't want to deal with the mess that would come afterwards. "The hell did you do that for"

"Excuse me? I was just showing her how to-"

Bucky's jaw clenched, instantly shutting her up. He refused to let go of you, keeping you firmly tucked into his side, growing unbelievably protective over you.

"Fine, go ahead, I'm sure she's different from all your other little side pieces" Sharon scoffed, smirking at the way your face fell. Bucky felt like he'd been hit in the chest; you were far more than any of his hook ups and he'd never considered treating you that way.

"You. Don't. Touch. Her" He glared her at before walking off with you. After the incident, Bucky insisted you go to the doctors to get checked over, waiting outside of the room like a kicked puppy. He couldn't help but feel guilty that all this had happened because of him. He also wondered that you thought.

Did you think he'd just use you for one night?

He would never.

He knew he wasn't into dating. He gave up on the dream of getting married, having kids, all that years ago. But that was before he met you. Ever since you'd thrown him a shy smile along with the softest hello Sergeant Barnes, Bucky had been a goner.

If his feelings were was bad before, it was even worse now.

You were told to ice your arm for the pain and swelling. Bucky had swept you away right to the kitchen, despite you telling him you'd be fine, plopping you onto the kitchen island wrapping an ice pack in a towel. He held it to your arm, frowning at the way you refused to look at him, your face downcast to the floor.

"Doll?" Bucky wrapped his arms around you for a comforting hug, wondering if the altercating with Sharon was still upsetting you, "Are you okay sweets? I missed you, haven't seen you in ages"

"I-I'm fine, I'm sorry" You pulled away from his arms, remembering Sharon's words from earlier, instantly missing the warmth of his body. "I know you don't feel the same way Bucky" You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

Bucky blinked in confusion, having no idea what you were talking about. What did he not feel the same way over.

"What do you mean y/n"

"I mean I like you-but I know you don't like me that way so I kept myself busy so I wouldn't bother you because Sharon said-

"Wait, slow down, what did Sharon say"

You sighed before recounting all the things that had lead to this moment, Sharon insulting you, then telling you to back off, to straight up fighting you.

"Oh doll" Bucky shook his head, feeling worse over what had happened but over the moon over your confessed feelings, "She's right you know," He teased at the pout that made it's way to your lips before playfully pecking them, catching you by surprise.

"I don't do relationships. Certainly never had before. That was before I met the sweetest thing in the world and she's had my heart since" Bucky whispered, his hands, one warm, one cool cupping your cheeks, "She has me dreamin' of sayin' I do and that white picket fence, a ring on her finger, a pretty little baby bump with flowers on the window sill. Maybe a baby boy n' a baby girl. Maybe even a cat. She's the cutest little lab assistance and I'd love for her to be my girl, sweets"

Bucky held your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing over your warm cheeks while you grew bashfully shy, burying your face into his chest instead, making him chuckle.

"I didn't think you were the relationship type" You shrugged, toying with his dog tags, "I'm not you're darlin' Bucky"

"That's cause you're my doll" Bucky tilted your face up making you look up at him, his lips pressing the softest kiss to your nose and then your lips. "My one and only doll"

[daydreamerwoah]

Love Through It All (Alternate Ending - Character Death)

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; anger; rollercoaster of emotion; sadness; arguing; crying; mentions of therapy/counseling; kidnapping; violence; guns; injury; main character death

Please read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

Had someone ask for a different alternate ending so here it is :)

*This picks up from part 13 in italics*

The moment the video stopped, you locked eyes with Simon. Your puffy eyes made him internally broken, but his facial expression hadn't changed, and you didn't know if he was upset that you had gotten revenge for cheating on you... or if it was something else. You wanted to say that it meant nothing. That you were drunk and fucking mad at him... but you couldn't say shit with the tape still over your mouth.

"I have to say, she sounds.. so damn good. Doesn't she?" Jax teased as he asked everyone in the room. Even with Andrei not responding, since he was the one who had his tongue on you, Jax smiled at Simon like he had won or something, "How does it feel?" He walked and stood behind Simon as he leaned down so his face was almost next to his, looking at you, "Tell her." He demanded.

Simon's eyes never strayed away from yours as you continued to cry. The look on his face hadn't really changed, but his eyes told you exactly how he felt. The regret that ran through his soul.... he wished he could been a better man; a better husband. You didn't deserve any of this.. yet you stayed. You had wanted to work on your marriage even after the ugly truth came out. It was his fault, and he would forever kill himself over it. He would be grateful if you ever forgave him, promising to give you the entire world and more after he so much tore yours apart by cheating.

"I love you," he lowly said, making you cry even more. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart... for everythin'."

"Satisfying, isn't it?.. Finally realizing your mistakes?"

Simon finally tore his eyes away from you and looked at Jax, "Let her go."

He paused, acting as if he was thinking about something, "I thought about it," he teased, "but see... I can't do that. She's knows far too much... much more than our girl Williams," he joked - a terrible one that made both you and Simon shoot him the deadliest glare.

He raised his gun up, pointing it at you, making your eyes widen.

"Let her go, Jax," Simon raised his voice, "This is between me and you."

"Oh, it's not just me," he chuckled, "But I guess it would be easier to take you out first." He moved his gun to point it at Simon's temple.

You yelled through the tape and thrashed around as you tried to get out of the restraints. Your skin was probably raw at how much you rubbed at the ropes. You wanted to beg him not to shoot your husband.. you even tried to. But it was pointless.

"Say goodbye to your wife... Lieutenant."

Time felt like it slowed down as you and Simon looked at each other. He looked angry and sad, but no doubt love. He loved you for everything you had given him, everything you had done for him. And if this was the last time he'd see you... then so be it. He was ready... and you didn't want that. You weren't ready to leave him; to say goodbye.

The wails that came from your muffled lips had you choking on the saliva that bubbled up in your throat. You wanted to vomit so bad.

"Close your eyes love," Simon told you. You didn't want to. God you didn't want to. But you couldn't stomach the thought of seeing him die right in front of you, so you shut your eyes tight and waited for the loud popping sound of Jax's gun to go off.

BANG!

The moment the loud pop echoed in the room, your eyes opened as you looked at the scene in front of you. And god, did you begin to wail as you saw your husband. He was slumped over in the chair. A bullet wound at his temple. Jax, who had taken a step toward you as he smiled, made you thrash in your restraints forcefully.

"When they find you... tell them Makarov said hello," he said as he snatched the tape off of your mouth. You couldn't help the loud cry that left your lips as you looked at him with pure hatred.

"Fuck you!!" you screamed, but it didn't even faze him.

He and the rest of the men walked out of the room, Andrei giving you a malicious wink before he shut the door. You couldn't help the loud cries that continued to come from your mouth as you sat there and looked at Simon.

He was dead.

God, you wanted to fucking die with him. The pain of knowing he was murdered all because of something that was bigger than this would haunt you forever.

20 minutes later, heavy footsteps rushed through the door, and you almost thought it was Jax and his men again until you realized that Price, Johnny, and Kyle had come in with their guns drawn.

But it was too late.

The moment they saw how distraught you were and looked at their comrade with his head hanging forward, they knew. The fucking knew that they were too late in rescuing both of you. Johnny kneeled down in front of Simon, putting his fore and middle finger against his neck to check for a pulse like he'd find one. "Fuck," he said as he looked up at the other two men.

Kyle rushed over to you and began to cut away at the ropes that tied you up, and the second you were free, you leaped out of the chair and ran to Simon, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cried. He was cold.. ice cold damn near, but you held onto him like he would somehow take a breath of air.

But you knew he wouldn't, yet you still continued until Price tried to pull you off of him.

"Y/n," he softly said.

"No!" you yelled, "He can't leave me! He can't- He's gotta come back. We have to work through this! Please John... please wake him up!"

Fuck.

His sad eyes eventually met yours as he frowned, "I'm so sorry."

************************************************************************

Someone once told you in the past to read about the 5 Stages of Grief. You thought it was silly. What did you have to grieve about, when all you wanted was to be happy with your husband? You didn't think about that kind of stuff, especially when it came to him. But hell, did you wish you had picked up on a few things at least.

Denial.

Even with Simon being taken away when the police and corners arrived, you still couldn't believe he was gone. It was like you were waiting for him to come out of every corner to surprise you - like he did at the club. The first couple of days were the worst, as you would call his phone only to hear it ring on the nightstand next to you. The day of the funeral, you almost passed out twice from how everything hurt (physically and emotionally).

Anger.

The anger that flowed through your soul was more than knowing Simon cheated on you. It was more than knowing you cheated on him. You wanted to kill Jax. You wanted to make him pay for taking the love of your life. But you knew that was a crazy thought. It still didn't stop you from breaking things in your apartment - the glass of wine you were drinking out of, the vase on the side table. Days after the funeral, you quit your job because you couldn't stomach the thought of leaving your house because you were afraid and angry that Jax or Andrei would kidnap you again.

Bargaining.

You had no one to bargain with except whatever angels were up above to bring your husband back. And bargaining, you did. You begged and begged and begged like it would make a difference. You had even bargained for the universe to take you instead of Simon; to switch places with you.

Depression.

The worst phase you felt. You wanted to die. You thought about it so many times. It didn't make you feel better when you continued to go to counseling - for different reasons now. You just wanted to be with your husband again. The plaguing thoughts of taking a bunch of pills and never waking up crossed your mind so much during that phase.

Acceptance.

When things finally settled - and fuck did it take a while for that to happen - the only thing that had changed was knowing Simon wasn't going to come back by some miracle. Every other day (if not every day), Price, Johnny, or Kyle would come to check on you, along with Ava, who constantly brought dinner just to make sure you would eat.

It was heartbreaking. Simon was gone. It wasn't like you two had gone through the divorce, but he was gone from you forever.

But what hurt the most was the note you found in your husband's belongings when Johnny brought them from his office. Even he felt weird that they had cleaned out his space there, saying it wasn't right.

It was crushing to read it, and you cried in Johnny arms for a long time that he ended up putting you to bed and calling Ava to stay with you because he had to leave.

The note was written a few days before you were kidnapped. Simon once again apologized for everything that he did, the pain he caused you, and the deep love he expressed to you. He went into detail about his feelings and how he would die for you if it ever came to it.. Fuck it was like he had predicted his own death or something.

Why did life have to be so fucking cruel? Why were things the way they were? Just because you had accepted that he was gone didn't mean you were ever going to be over it. But you could only hope that somewhere up in the skies he was watching over you.

Not going to lie.. this was hard to write because I teared up proofreading this but let me know how you all like it!!

Taglist: @kalypsoox @fruitymoonbeams-blogz @kylies-love-letter @xrosegoldwolfx @linaaaaa654 @jessicab1991 @darkravenqueen98 @yazyazali @thychuvaluswife @chloeforde @cownini @ssc7514

[allbark-no-bite]

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

————————————————————————

You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of  your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction. 

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

A relaxing evening

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

genre: smut, fluff, roommates to lovers

word count: 3.2k

warnings: soft dom lix, big dick lix, sensual massage, clit play, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, one light spank, not proofread (lmk if i missed something)

a/n: after spending a month writing a literal 70k+ book for hyunjin i hit a bit of a writer's block and who better to get me out of it than my very own muse, lee felix😏

~ Masterlist

To say you've had a horrible day was an understatement.

You've had the worst day that actually stretched and turned into the worst week.

Your boss was on your neck constantly, there was so much work to do which made you stay at the company working overtime and coming home late.

To make matters worse, everyone was angry and annoyed, so the conflict at work grew into a displeasing feeling that had you desperate for any kind of relief, even just a free afternoon to nap.

Felix, your roommate and friend, noticed how you came home later than usually and more drained day after day, the dark circles under your eyes getting progressively darker as the week came to an end.

Finally, Friday came around and you were barely standing on your feet when you walked into the apartment.

Felix is sitting on the couch, probably playing some games before sleep as you shuck off your shoes.

"Hi, sugar plum."- he snickers when he hears you groaning behind him, his head falling backwards to catch a glimpse of you.

"Please, don't start. I'm not in the mood."- you say tiredly.

Usually you throw disgustingly cute nicknames back and forth at each other but your brain was short-circuiting so bad that even thinking of a nickname for your friend was hard.

Felix exhales, pouting as he gets up and makes his way to you, helping you take off your blazer.

"I'll heat up some dinner."- he says and you nod, not even bothering to answer because the last ounce of strength you have is focused on standing upright.

You follow him to the kitchen to drink some water, and Felix looks at your tired frame, feeling sad that you're so down, instead of being your usual self, the one that jokes around and yaps away with him until the early morning.

"Why don't you sit down?"- he guides you to the chair and you sit wordlessly.

"My whole body hurts."- is what you say after a few moments of silence, as Felix waits for the dinner to warm up, his eyes trained outside the window.

"And my mind too."- you add as he looks at you and you notice the sympathetic smile he gives you.

"Well..."- Felix starts as he takes the food out on a plate. "I could prepare you a nice warm bath."

"You would do that?"- you ask, in your tired state you feel emotional and tears prick at your eyes.

"Of course I would."- he smiles, the sweet expression on his face as he brings you dinner makes you feel a little bit healed already.

"You're an angel, Lixie."- you smile as he squeezes your shoulder.

"I don't know about that."- he chuckles shyly, his freckled cheeks becoming rosy instantly.

You shake your head with a fond smile as he makes his way to the bathroom while you finally have a normal warm meal after the lunch you ate at work.

Hunger takes you over and you finish eating quickly, just in time for Felix to come back.

"Oh, you're done already?"- he asks.

"Don't judge me."- you say and he chuckles.

"No, I'm not judging, just wondering if you're still hungry. I could make you something else?"

"No, no don't worry, Lix. I'm ready for that relaxing bath."- you smile and he nods, biting on his lip.

"Um, can I suggest something?"- he asks as you stand up and you tilt your head at him.

"What is it?"- you ask curiously.

"You know I have some knowledge about massaging. I could help you relieve your stress with a full body massage." - Felix says and your eyes widen. "I mean if you're comfortable with it. You don't have to... ugh forget it."- he seems embarassed suddenly and you chuckle.

"A free full body massage? Sign me up."- you smirk.

"Who said it was free?"- he smirks back at you.

"Oh, so you're gonna charge me for your services, hm?"- you joke and he laughs.

"No, of course not. I'm just joking."- he says. "Go enjoy the bath I prepared, before it gets cold."- he adds and you make your way to the bathroom.

As soon as you walk in, you gasp, Felix has really made an effort.

He put your favorite bath bomb with bubbles into the water, lit your favorite scented candle and even adjusted the lighting to be less attacking on your tired eyes.

You strip in no time, throwing all your clothes inside the hamper and getting into the bath as quickly as you could.

The water is still warm and it feels wonderful to submerge your weary body into the relaxing feeling.

You close your eyes, leaning your head back on a towel as you feel the relaxation slowly taking you over, traveling through your limbs and making you feel weightless.

The warm and cozy atmosphere that Felix created have you almost falling asleep in the bath as your body slips a little and you sit up with a start, your eyes snapping open.

"Y/n? You okay?"- you hear Felix on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'll be out soon."

"Okay, I prepared everything for the massage."- he says and you giggle to yourself.

You don't feel too nervous being practically naked in front of Felix as you have known him for a long time and since you've been roommates you have seen each other naked on accident a few times.

He even gave you a few shoulder and back massages when you were in pain from sitting at your desk for too long but he never suggested a full body one.

Curious about it and ready to relax completely, you shower and dry off quickly, putting a bathrobe on and leaving to your room.

"Lix?"- you peek inside and see that he has fluffed up your bed, lit another scented candle and a few normal ones just to add to the atmosphere, and prepared some massage oils.

"Damn, you went all out."- you chuckle.

"I wanna make you feel better."- he smiles sweetly, making your heart flutter a little as you make your way towards the bed.

The two of you stand awkwardly for a few moments before both of you chuckle.

"I should undress, right?"- you smile and Felix nods quickly before turning his back to you and covering his eyes for a good measure.

"Tell me when you're ready to start."- his voice is muffled behind his palms and you giggle as you take the robe off.

You lay down on your stomach, pulling a towel that Felix prepared over your backside and private parts, getting comfy on the soft bed.

"I'm ready."- you say when you find a nice position, your forehead pressed against the end of the pillow so you can breathe, your arms on either sides of you, aligning with your body.

Felix bites on his lip as his eyes roam on your body shamelessly.

"Lix?"- you say and he snaps out of his thoughts.

"Yes, let me grab some lavender oil. It's good for relaxing."- he announces and you mutter, ready to just enjoy having his skilful hands on you.

Felix kneels next to you, as you feel the bed dip and hear him opening the little bottle of oil.

Some light music is playing in the background and you exhale a hundred worries as soon as his fingers press on your shoulders.

"Mm Lixie."- you moan instantly, making his gut stir but he shakes it off, wanting to focus only on your well-being.

His thumbs circle your flesh slowly, going up to the sides of your neck and down the top of your shoulders before pressing back to the original spot, circling it and taking off the stiffness you feel from spending long hours at your desk.

Little moans of relaxation keep coming out of your mouth and Felix's sweatpants get tighter, as your body visibly relaxes.

Working his way down your back, he keeps adding oil and finding the most painful spots skilfully and relieving you of your pain, as if it was his actual career.

"God, Lixie, you're so good."- you whimper, smushing your face into the pillow for a moment.

"I know."- Felix smirks, making you chuckle.

And he does know. He knows exactly which pressure points are located where so when his fingers press into your lower back, just a bit above your ass, you feel a wave wash over you.

"Oh."- you exclaim a little but Felix never acknowledges it, smirking behind you as he gently massages your lower back.

You start feeling a bit hot, aroused even as he continues his ministrations, fingertips barely dipping to the swell of your ass.

Your breathing is slow and deep, your body completely relaxed as you left yourself in Felix's precious hands.

Felix shuffles a little, you hear more oil being opened before you feel his hands on your foot.

"Good?"- he checks in on you and you whimper as he presses and continues bringing you relaxing touches.

"Perfect."- you half-whisper, your mind floaty, all the stress from the week forgotten, no thoughts, just Felix.

Felix, with his soft hands and deep voice, his pretty smile and adorable freckles.

Wait.

Why are you thinking of him like that?

You don't know why, and you don't care as his hands slide above your ankle, he presses four fingers on your skin as if he's measuring something on the inner side before he finds a pressure point and starts working on it.

As soon as his finger finds that spot, you shiver, feeling yourself getting aroused the more he keeps circling that spot.

You would feel embarassed but you're so relaxed that you couldn't care less, your body melting even further into the bed, your arms coming up on either sides of your head as you gently fist the sheets beneath you.

Felix smirks, massaging the point harder, making your arousal drip between your folds, your cunt clenching around nothing.

He notices your slight squirming and that lets him know he's got you right where he wanted you.

He lets go for now, hands sliding up to massage your tired muscles.

At this point, you're aroused, wishing he would touch you where you need him the most and you want to press your legs together but you don't want him to notice that.

Felix already knows, after all, his touches were purposeful and he has wanted you for so long, wanted to be the one to make you feel good.

"Lix."- his nickname almost sounds like a whimper as he runs his hands on the back of your thighs.

"You okay?"- he asks, his fingertips dipping between your legs, touching your inner thighs as he gently starts massaging the flesh.

This is the last straw, your slick is now gushing out and you start feeling embarassed, wondering if he can see it or smell it.

"I-I'm fine."- you whimper as he keeps massaging your thighs.

"You sure?"- he asks, hands sliding up, close to your core and you lean into his touch as you grip the sheets.

"N-no."- you whimper.

"What's wrong?"- Felix smirks, fingertips brushing your asscheeks.

"I- um... I'm horny."- you turn your head sideways to look at him and he hovers over you.

"I know. You're kinda obvious."- he says and you whine.

"You did this on purpose."- you say as he runs his hands on your lower back and waist, making you shiver constantly as you feel ten times more sensitive than usually.

"Would you hate me if I did?"- he bites on his lip, his eyes big and pleading.

"No."- you whisper.

"You want me to continue?"- he asks and you nod.

"Please."

"How about a special massage?"- his voice is low as he slowly removes the towel. "Do I have your permission, angel?"

"Yeah."- you say, legs spreading slightly as you lift up your middle just a bit so he can touch you properly.

Felix groans at you presenting your wetness to him, your forehead buried in the pillow again as you anticipate his touches.

His hands are on your ass, as he gropes and massages them before his fingertips dip between your legs, sliding through your wet folds.

"L-Lixie."- you whimper as he touches you teasingly, fingers gently rubbing around your pussy and towards your other hole, down to your inner thighs again.

You push back into him and he gently grabs your hip.

"Don't move, my honey bee."- he says and you snort.

"Alright, pumpkin pie."- you retort.

"Let me do all the work, you just relax."- he says, fingers sliding through your dripping folds repeatedly, making you clench around nothing constantly, before he finally presses into your clit.

"Mm."- you moan when he starts sliding the pads of his fingers up and down your clit, swollen with arousal and coated in your slick.

You moan quietly as Felix keeps massaging your sensitive clit slowly, up and down, left and right and then circling it and gently pinching it, occasionally dipping his fingertips into your cunt to gather more of your arousal.

You've never had anyone touch you this gently, it was usually a guy just flicking your clit fast when you're about to cum and while that does feel nice, this was a different kind of nice.

You felt tortured in a good way, like Felix was constantly dangling your orgasm in front of your eyes but never letting you get to it.

So much arousal kept gushing out of your pussy that for a moment you thought you were cumming as he kept pressing his fingers into your clit, playing your body expertly, like he's done this many times before.

"Lix- I wanna cum."- you whimper.

"I know love, but be patient. Just a bit more, I promise it's gonna feel amazing."- he coos at you, fingers working your nub faster and with more pressure.

You push back into him again and he grabs your hip as he starts flicking your swollen clit fast.

"Lixie, ah!"- you whine loudly, your slick coating his hand.

"I need you inside me!"- you add, holding onto the sheets.

"Mhm, later. I know you can cum just from this."- he says, as you keep jolting and whining.

You can't believe it's happening but your orgasm hits you like a wave, as you spill onto his hand, moaning loudly as he keeps massaging your sensitive nub.

"Oh fuck!"- you whimper when he slides his fingers to your folds.

"Interested in a deeper massage?"- his voice is low and dark as he leans down to your ear, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

"Mm, please Lixie."- you moan.

He slowly pushes two of his fingers into your sopping cunt, taking him in greedily as you were so relaxed and ready to receive.

Felix adjusts his position between your legs and it doesn't take him long to find your gummy spot.

"Lix!"- you groan when he starts gently fucking into it.

"Feels good?"- he asks, his lips brushing your ear as he scissors you open.

"Heavenly."- you moan out as he fucks you slowly, effectively massaging your walls, making your pussy clench on his fingers constantly, begging for more.

"Just relax."- he says as you keep pushing back on his hand, slowly fucking yourself on his fingers.

"I said relax."- he chuckles, lightly smacking your ass.

You gasp, calming down immediately, surprised by his commanding tone and actions.

You never thought your shy Felix would be handling you like this as you present yourself to him, to use you freely as he wants.

But all he actually wants is to bring you pleasure like you've never felt before, making sure to ruin every man for you so you only belong to him.

Eventually he speeds up, his fingers perfectly hitting your sweet spot and driving you insane, as you drip around him, the wet sounds are so loud that it makes you feel even more aroused.

Felix leans down and unexpectedly starts kissing and gently biting the flesh on your ass as he holds your hip and ruts his fingers fast into you.

"Ah, ah, Lix- Lixie, ah! Felix!"- you moan desperately as you tremble, squirting a fountain as he keeps on fucking into you, prolonging your orgasm as much as he can, teeth sinking into your flesh as you squirm under him.

"Oh..."- you're speechles when he pulls out, you can't feel your legs and your ears are ringing.

"You with me, angel?"- Felix hovers above you as he caresses your head gently.

"That was the best orgasm ever."- you exhale.

"Told you I wanna make you feel better."- he smirks, hearing you praise him boosts his ego and makes his cock twitch and throb painfully inside his tight boxers.

"Is there more?"- you chuckle making him laugh and he gently turns you to lay on your back.

"If you want, I can offer more special massages."- he smirks as his eyes roam all over your body, his hands squeezing your thighs and massaging them gently.

You look down to see his dick straining in his pants.

He follows your eyes and looks down too, just as you hook your fingers in his pants.

"I want your cock, Lixie."- you say as you slowly slide his pants down.

"You do?"- he looks a bit surprised and you giggle.

"Mhm."- you say as you finally free him.

"Oh."- you gasp. "You're a grower."- you add with a smirk.

"Oh shut up."- he looks embarassed suddenly and you start giggling again.

"Come here and kiss me first."- you say and his eyes soften as he leans down to kiss you sloppily, your tongues crashing against each other, his heavy cock pressed against you.

"So pretty."- you bit on his lip as your hands wrap around his length.

"What, my cock?"- he chuckles.

"Mhm. Want it so bad."- you whimper, and Felix groans lowly.

"You can have it, angel. Anything you need."- he says as he slowly pushes inside you.

"Mm. More."- your legs wrap around him, making him hit deeper as he keeps pushing his length inside you until he fills you up to the brim.

"Feeling relaxed?"- he asks, his hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear and gently touch your face.

"Mhm, I have no thoughts at all."- you give him a smile and he chuckles quietly.

"Then, let's keep it that way."- he says as he slowly starts sliding his cock against your walls.

Felix keeps working hard to make you satisified and relaxed, to get you into a state of pure bliss, even if it means putting his own pleasure at the back shelf as he makes you cum on his cock over and over again.

He fucks you until you're shaking and crying, gripping at his biceps and clawing at his back, whimpering how sensitive you are, your pussy sloppy and shaped to fit his cock, which is when he finally lets go, cumming inside you hard, filling you up with his hot cum.

And when you fall asleep in his arms, a small blissful smile on your face, Felix knows he has accomplished his mission.

And he will do it again in a heartbeat, anything to make you feel better.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Different DNA

Summary - A deeply vulnerable Jace struggles with insecurity, and as his wife, her sole job is to reassure him and make him feel cherished, using every means at her disposal.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2246

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Jacaerys Velaryon was undeniably a different breed, and everyone knew it. As his wife, my role was to ensure he always felt valued for who he was, despite what anyone else might say.

"They were saying it again," he murmured, resting his head against my chest as we lay together on our bed. I gently stroked his hair, feeling his soft sighs of contentment against my skin.

"You're not like the others," I said, and he looked up at me with his deep brown eyes, full of vulnerability. "And that's okay," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his face as he closed his eyes momentarily as if trying to believe my words.

"They called me plain-featured," he confessed, his voice tinged with sadness that cut through me like a knife. 

The pain in his eyes was unmistakable, and it broke my heart to see him so wounded by the cruel judgments of others.

"You're different, but they don't understand you" I reassured him, my fingers tracing his cheek tenderly. He leaned into my touch, seeking comfort like a cat craving affection.

"But... maybe they're right," he whispered, his voice trembling with doubt. "Maybe I am plain, unremarkable. How could someone like you love someone like me?"

"You my love are from a whole other world, a different dimension," I said softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "They can't see what I see, Jace. They don't know you like I do."

His eyes filled with unshed tears, and he looked away, unable to meet my gaze. "I do not deserve you," he said, his voice breaking as his insecurities came to the surface.

I couldn't bear to see him like this, so vulnerable, yet so strong. I wanted to protect him from the world that seemed intent on tearing him down. My heart ached at his words. I cupped his face, gently turning his head so he had no choice but to look at me. 

"Jace, listen to me," I said, my voice firm but full of love. "You open my eyes to things I never knew existed. You bring light into my life. You're everything I could ever want or need. And I'm ready to follow you, to be with you, no matter where that leads."

His eyes searched mine as if he was trying to find the truth in my words, the reassurance that he so desperately needed. 

He shifted then, moving to kneel in front of me, his hands cradling my face with a mix of reverence and desperation.

"Kiss me," I murmured, my eyes locking onto his, my need for him as clear as the love I felt.

"Make me yours, completely, permanently," I continued, my voice soft but intense.

He hesitated for a moment, his insecurities still holding him back, but then he leaned in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss filled with desperate longing. 

The kiss was deep and passionate, as if he was trying to pour all of his emotions into that single act, to show me how much he needed me.

His hands roamed over my body, urgent and possessive, as he gently pushed me down onto the bed. Every touch was a blend of hunger and tenderness, and I could feel the intensity of his need in the way his fingers explored my skin.

"Take me," I whispered when he momentarily pulled away to catch his breath. My voice, laced with urgency, echoed in the quiet of the room. 

"Take me," I repeated, my words a plea, a command.

He responded by trailing kisses along my shoulder, his lips warm and soft against my skin. 

Slowly, he began to untie the delicate ribbon that held my nightgown together, each movement deliberate, as if savouring the moment. 

My body arched into him, craving more, while my own hands slid beneath his tunic, feeling the hard planes of his muscular stomach beneath my fingertips.

With practised ease, he pulled the fabric of my nightgown down, discarding it carelessly to the side. His mouth continued its journey, leaving small, wet kisses along my chest, each one igniting a spark of pleasure within me.

"You're so perfect," he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with need. "I can't believe you're mine."

Jace was always a generous lover, ensuring that I was left satisfied and comfortable whenever we lay together but tonight, I wanted to give him the same level of attention, the same pleasure he so selflessly offered me.

I placed my hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. He stared at me, confusion flickering in his eyes as if wondering if he had done something wrong. I simply smiled a silent reassurance and pushed him further until he was lying down completely.

"Let me," I whispered, my voice gentle but firm. 

Slowly, I removed his pants, savouring the way his body responded to my touch, the way he shivered under my fingertips. Once he was fully exposed, I straddled him, leaning in close, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, his hands sliding up my thighs, gripping me as if he couldn't bear to let go. "I need you so much."

"You have me," I whispered back, trailing my fingers along his chest. "All of me. Just relax, and let me take care of you."

I began kissing down his neck, trailing my lips over his collarbone and along his chest. My kisses continued their descent until I reached his arousal, the anticipation building with each passing second. 

I glanced up at him, wanting to see his reaction, and was met with the sight of pure bliss in his eyes as he watched me.

A smirk played on my lips as I traced the tip of his hardened length with my tongue. His body immediately tensed, a soft groan escaping his lips at the sensation. 

"Gods, you're incredible," he moaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "I love the way you touch me."

"Does it feel good?" I asked, my voice low and sultry as I continued to tease him with my tongue, my hand gently stroking him.

"So good," he gasped, his eyes dark with desire. "You're perfect."

I pushed my head further down, taking him into my mouth, the taste of him intoxicating. I maintained eye contact, ensuring he could see the pleasure I was giving him. 

Slowly, I began to move up and down, my lips and tongue working in tandem to bring him the same satisfaction he always gave me.

His hands found their way to my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he pulled softly, guiding me with gentle encouragement. 

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I need more of you... I need all of you."

The sounds of his pleasure filled the room, and I knew without a doubt that this night would be one neither of us would ever forget.

As I continued to pleasure him with my mouth, his soft groans turned into deep, guttural moans that reverberated through the room. I could feel his body tensing beneath me, every muscle taut with the overwhelming sensations I was giving him. His usually composed expression was completely undone.

His fingers tightened in my hair, and his hips began to move instinctively, thrusting gently in rhythm with my movements.

I trailed my tongue along the sensitive underside of his length, feeling the way he shuddered in response. I could tell he was fighting to stay still, his hips twitching as he tried to keep from thrusting too forcefully, but I welcomed his need. 

I wanted him to lose control, to surrender to the sensations I was coaxing from his body.

His hands, still tangled in my hair, tightened their grip, and I could feel the barely restrained power in his touch, the way he held back despite the overwhelming pleasure.

I adjusted my angle, allowing him to push even deeper, and the sound that escaped his lips was pure ecstasy.

He was on the edge, teetering between holding on and letting go, and I revelled in the knowledge that I had brought him to this point. His normally steady voice was laced with desperation, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Please... don't stop... gods, please..."

His hands fell to his sides, clutching the sheets as he fought to stay grounded. His control was slipping, and I could feel it in the way his thighs trembled beneath me, the way his breath caught in his throat with every flick of my tongue.

But I wasn't finished. I wanted more, needed to feel the full connection between us. 

Slowly, I eased off, letting him slip from my lips, and I looked up at him, his face flushed with pleasure and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The sight of him, so utterly undone, sent a surge of desire through me, and I knew exactly what I wanted next.

I moved up his body, my hands trailing along his skin as I positioned myself above him. His eyes were locked on mine, filled with a mix of longing and gratitude as if he couldn't quite believe the pleasure I was about to offer him.

"You're my everything," he whispered, his hands caressing my hips. "I've never needed anyone like I need you."

With a slow, deliberate motion, I straddled him, feeling the heat of his arousal pressing against me. I reached down, guiding him to my entrance, teasing both of us with the promise of what was to come. 

"Ready for me?" I asked softly, a teasing smile playing on my lips as I hovered above him.

"I'm always ready for you," he replied, his voice hoarse with desire.

His hands moved to my hips, holding me gently but firmly as if trying to ground himself in the reality of the moment.

I lowered myself onto him inch by inch, gasping softly as he filled me. The sensation of him inside me was almost overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and connection that made me feel like we were two halves of the same whole. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and a deep moan escaped his lips as I began to move. I started with a slow, steady rhythm, letting us both savour the feeling of being joined together. 

"How does that feel?" I asked, my voice low and breathy as I moved against him, my hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles.

"Incredible," he groaned, his hands gripping my hips tighter, guiding me as I rode him. "You're everything I've ever wanted."

"Good," I whispered, leaning forward to kiss him, my lips brushing against his as I spoke. "Because I'm not stopping until I drive you crazy."

Every time I lowered myself onto him, a wave of pleasure washed over me, building in intensity with each passing second.

I leaned forward, bracing my hands on his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my palms. 

The look of sheer ecstasy on his face fueled my desire, and I began to move faster, grinding my hips against him as I sought the release that was building deep within me.

"You like that?" I asked, my voice breathless as I moved harder against him, my body trembling with the intensity of the sensations.

"Gods, yes," he gasped, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. "Don't stop, please..."

"I won't," I promised, my voice a mix of determination and desire. "I'm going to make you feel so good."

His hands roamed up my back, tracing the curves of my body as I rode him harder. Our breaths came in sync, each gasp and moan a testament to the connection we shared. The intensity of the moment grew, our movements more urgent, more desperate as we both approached the edge.

I threw my head back, a cry of pleasure escaping my lips as I felt myself teetering on the brink. He thrust up into me, meeting me with equal fervour, his own release not far behind. I could feel the tension building between us, the inevitable climax drawing nearer with every thrust, every movement.

Finally, the wave of pleasure crashed over me, and I cried out, my body trembling with the force of my orgasm. A moment later, he followed, his release spilling into me as he moaned my name, his voice thick with emotion.

"Gods, you're perfect," he whispered as the aftershocks of our lovemaking coursed through us. "I don't deserve you, but I'll spend every day trying to."

"You deserve everything," I whispered back, my voice full of affection as I leaned down to kiss him, our bodies still connected.

We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies intertwined, both of us trembling in the aftermath of our shared ecstasy. I collapsed onto his chest, my breath still coming in ragged gasps, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as we both came down from the high.

The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing, the warmth of our bodies creating a cocoon of comfort around us.

I nuzzled into his neck, placing a soft kiss on his skin as I whispered, "You're everything to me, Jace."

He tightened his hold on me, his voice barely more than a whisper as he replied, "And you're my entire world." His voice was filled with a mix of devotion and awe. "I'll never stop loving you."

We stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until sleep finally claimed us both, our hearts still beating in perfect harmony, knowing that no matter what the world said, our love was the only thing that truly mattered.

A/n - Saw an edit of him to this song (ET by Katy Perry) on TikTok and practically bolted to write this also really mad rn cause I just spent the last three days writing a 12 part series for Jace and like initially I loved it and then towards the end I was like tf is this, I literally have over 30,000 words just sitting there now.