#but for me it was starting to feel like an obligation

[basketball-lesbians]

Stiff

summary: Paige is insecure about the internet's assessment of her strap game, and Azzi helps her remember that she has nothing to worry about.

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

contents: smut, fluff, pwp, strap use, oral sex, fingering (once again really its just smut i cannot lie... it gets lowkey disgustingly filthy in a few places. its sweet though, they're idiots in love!)

wordcount: 9076

a/n: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait between freefall ch 1 and this upload- I got super busy between holidays and personal stuff going on, but I should be more consistent with uploads now. This fic was supposed to be shorter and... then it turned into 9k of filth. No questions at this time. Also, I had a few people ask, so I’m starting to do taglists- so do me a favor and if you’re interested in being included, just comment or message me and I’ll make sure to get you on there for future uploads. Thanks for reading and I hope y’all enjoy!

Theyre positioned on the couch of Paige's apartment in a way that's typical for them; Azzi sitting up with her legs out in front of her, crossed at the ankles while she reads- and Paige strewn out sideways across the other portion of the sectional, her head in Azzi's lap as she scrolls on her phone.

Azzi's right hand falls cyclically to play with the other girls hair in between flipping pages in an effort to keep her content while her focus is split between both her and her book.

Light streams through the window pleasantly, casting a golden glow on everything it touches, and the apartment is quiet- the other girls having gone out to a farmers market earlier in the day and leaving them alone together for the first time in what felt like weeks outside of spending the night in each others’ rooms.

The peaceful sunday afternoon silence they've struck up is rudely interrupted when Paige suddenly groans, rolling onto her side as she drops her phone away from herself like it just offended her, sending it bouncing onto the next couch cushion over. Azzi lets her book drop below her eyeline to look at the other girl, brows raised.

"Um... what was that about?" She asks tentatively, slow to engage for fear of further escalating her already always high energy and cementing the quiet moment they'd just been in as over.

Paige shifts closer to her, wrapping her arms around the younger girls’ waist and burying her face against her stomach, the loose blonde hair left out of her bun to frame her face tickling at the section of midriff exposed by the cropped camisole top the other girl wore under a grey sweat set.

Azzi sighs, setting her book down with the bookmark placed carefully to mark her place, bringing her hands to the girl in her lap fully- one moving to card through her hair and the other to rub her back.

"Hey. What's wrong, honey?" She asks gently, hands soothing in their slow motions. Paige nestles closer to her, holding her tight, her nose brushing the warm skin just above the waistband of Azzi's sweats. Azzi pretends the sensation doesn’t make her feel a little warmer.

"The internet, bro," The blonde finally grumbles, voice muffled where her face is pressed into her girlfriends' torso. Worry rises in Azzi's chest at that, her hands stilling.

"What? What happened?" She asks, pulling at Paige's shoulder to get her to sit up and talk to her. Paige frowns, wrinkling her nose as she obliges the prompt, rolling over to look up at the younger girls’ face from her lap.

Her expression is pathetic- eyebrows drawn together, blue eyes big and lips curled into a pout. Azzi can't help but chuckle at the sight, despite her mind drawing up worst case scenarios like it so often did. Paige groans at Azzi finding humor in the moment, drawing her arm over her face to hide herself in embarrassment.

Azzi smiles fully now, the silly nature of Paige's pouting easing the worry in the back of her mind. She takes in the half-obscured sight in her lap and lets it soothe her, appreciating every visible detail- the sharpness of her jaw, the length of her eyelashes as they rest against her cheeks, the prominence of her nose and cheekbones, the pretty shade of pink that adorns her soft lips.

"Babe, come on. What is it?" She asks, pulling gently at Paige's pale arm.

"You're gonna laugh," Paige whines, bringing her arm down from her face only to draw both of them up over her chest defensively, almost like a little kid would. Azzi rolls her eyes, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

"Oh my god, Paige. What is the matter?" She repeats, playful agitation biting at the corners of her tone despite the fact that her dimples give her underlying amusement away.

The older girl sighs dramatically from where she's set in Azzi's lap, waiting in silence for a five count before opening one eye to peep and see if Azzi is still looking, expectant for an explanation. She is. Paige sighs.

"They're sayin' I got stiff hips," She mutters, avoiding Azzi's gaze as the admission slips past her lips. Azzi’s eyes narrow as she furrows her eyebrows confusedly, having not heard her fully.

"They're saying what?" She asks, leaning closer slightly to be able to hear her better. Paige whines, shifting her posture antsily.

"Stiff hips, Az. They're sayin' I got stiff hips." She overenunciates, eyes becoming wide as she explains. Azzi holds her gaze, eyebrows high to match Paige's energy. She holds the expression for as long as she can before breaking, a laugh erupting out of her.

Paige groans yet again, rolling away from her girlfriend like she's trying to slink off the couch and into a puddle on the floor to avoid further embarrassment. Azzi reaches for her, stilling her progress with her hand around the other girls' wrist.

"Oh come on, you big baby," She chides, pulling her back into her lap, cradling her head as she shifts.

"Like they would know, anyway," She dismisses, hands coming up to grab her face, thumb brushing over the the hinge of her jaw as she presses a kiss to her forehead. Paige grins at that, sly and lopsided, holding Azzi's gaze like she's trying to be sure she heard it right.

"Aw, nah?" She smirks up at her, that stupid expression she reserved just for her girlfriend slowly spreading across her face.

Azzi hums. "Unless there's something you're not telling me," She teases, fingers toying with the collar of her crewneck, brushing her collarbones.

Paige smiles dopily, lifting her head and cupping the sides of Azzi's face, pulling her down gently just enough to connect their lips. It's slow and sweet and just a little bit wet, and Paige thinks about all the times they've kissed before and how it's never felt any less perfect than it did the first time.

Seven years later, and she still can't get over the feeling of how Azzi's lips feel against hers.

She shifts to sit up, the movement a little awkward on the way, and comes to settle upright next to the other girl, dominant hand settling just below her hairline on the back of her neck to ease her closer. She moans quietly into the kiss, unable to help herself, and then deepens it- leaning forward and pushing Azzi along with her, putting her on her back.

Azzi's hands meet over the back of the other girls’ neck as she settles over her, her hips snug against the younger girls' with their legs slotted between each other. Azzi bites gently at Paige's lip, and Paige has to choke back a groan as she gives into the chase, letting her tongue dart out to run along the other girls' bottom lip.

Azzi hums before slipping her tongue into her girlfriend's mouth, finding hers and running against it before sucking at it gently, drawing it out. Suddenly, they're pulling apart just enough for Paige to speak, still close enough that their lips to brush when she does.

"F'real though. Y'think I'm stiff?" She asks, her blue eyes full of conviction and concern as they meet Azzi’s once again. Now it’s Azzi’s turn to groan as she rolls her eyes beneath the blonde, much to Paige's dismay.

"Hey! I'm serious, dude," Paige pleads, looking at her girlfriend intently, impatiently awaiting a response. Azzi stays silent, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she tilts her head in consideration, hands still interlocked behind the other girls’ head.

"I mean..."

Paige whines, dropping her head to Azzi's chest. Although her intent was pure, she's pleased when her face nestles perfectly between the other girls' breasts, soft warm flesh surrounding her features. She could die here, she thinks.

"Oh come on, I was joking," Azzi says, trying to soften the blow. Her fingers run slowly along the back of her neck, wandering up to toy with the loose hair at the base of her bun.

"S'not funny," Paige defends weakly, speech muffled by the soft skin surrounding her face. Azzi watches her, evaluating for a moment, and then makes up her mind, narrowing her eyes and sucking her teeth as she does.

She sits up, climbing out from under Paige, and Paige looks at her incredulously, already primed to put on a dramatic show of great offense over the fact that the other girl would leave her from their comfortable position on the couch in such a vulnerable time.

She rises to her feet, turning as she outstretches her arm in front of her to hold her hand out, signalling for the other girl to grab it. Paige stares blankly from her place on the couch, unsure of what's happening.

"Come on," Azzi prompts, opening and closing her offered hand to add emphasis to her words. Paige's eyebrows furrow, her hair still tousled from their brief rendezvous seconds ago.

"Huh?" She replies, clueless, neck craning forward and one side of her lip curling as she asks to add emphasis.

Azzi sighs, stepping closer and taking both of Paige's hands into hers. She draws her upright into a sitting position, stepping into the space between where her feet are planted.

This close, Azzi can feel the blonde’s breath tickling at her stomach, her baggy sweatshirts’ zipper fixed low to allow her abs to still show- a decision she made deliberately when she’d put it on this morning.

Paige looks up at where her girlfriend stands above her and can’t help but think that it feels wrong to be in this position and not have her hands free to be able to wrap her arms around the other girl- to slip under her sweatshirt and feel her skin, to wander down and grab at her ass, to pull her into her lap.

"I said," She repeats, eyes locked to Paige's as she presses kisses over the other girls' knuckles, big brown eyes watching carefully with a glint of fire in them as she does it. The blonde holds her breath, lips slightly parted as her gaze drags from Azzi’s eyes to glance at the pink fullness of her lips and back.

"Come," Kiss. "Here," Kiss. "Then." Kiss.

Paige watches cautiously, a feeling that’s a healthy balance of being turned on and a little scared settling in her chest.

"I cant lie... I'm lost, what are we-" Azzi rolls her eyes again, dimples popping as she makes an exasperated face while stepping back, pulling as she goes to bring the taller girl up to stand.

"You're worried about having stiff hips, yeah?" She asks, her voice thick with a flirty tone that the blonde swears wasn’t there only a moment ago.

Paige stands slowly, letting herself be pulled, shrugging and then slowly nodding as she waits for a point to be made. Azzi comes in closer, leaning into Paige’s frame, dropping her hands so that one can settle over her hip, the other on her chest.

Suddenly the blonde is acutely aware of all of the places she can feel the other girl- not the least of which being her leg that brushes against her own as her foot settles between where her own are set, eliminating nearly every bubble of space between them. Paige’s breath feels thick as she breathes out, trying to resist the urge to swallow as she feels the warmth of the other girl braced against her.

"So why don't you come prove it to me that you don't?" Azzi challenges, voice sultry and sweet as she looks up at her, and Paige's jaw almost drops.

Azzi could hold her own, sure. Their little spats and back-and-forth nature were cornerstones of their entire relationship- always had been. They wouldn't be Paige and Azzi without the playful dynamic they always seemed to keep up.

But she was only bold to a point- usually, and for years now, there was a clear line they'd found, a place between gearing up to sex and actually getting there, where Paige had almost always just naturally taken over- at least to initiate things.

It wasn't always that way, per se, but it definitely was more often than not. Between that and the fact that Paige had basically been obsessed with her since she was 16, giving her anything she ever wanted at any indication she wanted it- in moments like these, Azzi had a way of catching her completely off guard.

"Wha- f'real?" Paige asks, frozen in place at the proposition. It was almost always Paige prompting, Paige setting the foundation, Paige leading- Azzi wasn't any less passionate about being intimate, she just liked to be led. And it worked well, because Paige liked to pull her along.

Azzi so openly putting it all on the table on a random Sunday afternoon, (and especially when she had been nose deep in a book less than 10 minutes before) was definitely not something Paige had really anticipated happening. Azzi quirks an eyebrow, digging her heels in.

"Unless you don't think you're up to the task?" She asks, voice donning a kind of feining innocence she only ever put on when she was being especially bratty.

Paige's face flushes at that, never one to give up a challenge- and she's on her feet, grabbing Azzi by the wrist and dragging her to her bedroom, determined to prove herself. Azzi giggles, pleased by the continuation of her perpetual ability to get what she wants from the blonde, and follows, only spurred on by her girlfriends' reaction.

Paige pushes the door closed behind them as soon as they enter the room and immediately grabs for the other girl, pulling her flush against herself by the waist. Azzi leans into the contact as their lips meet, hands coming up to settle on Paige’s chest as she deepens the kiss.

Azzi arches into the way the other girl is holding her, and Paige slips her hands up the back of her sweatshirt, any excuse to feel more of her. She steps them back towards the bed, slowing as she approaches to let Azzi get a feel for where the bed is before they go tumbling onto it.

They do, and Paige is quick to keep things progressing, catching herself with her hands to keep from falling over Azzi and then leaning back on her heels to pull her shirt over her head. Azzi's eyes track the movement carefully, watching her arms flex with the motion and dropping to look at her abs before darting back to her face when she realizes she's been caught.

Ordinarily, Paige would stop and tease, but today she's too eager. Instead, she reaches down, fingers grasping the zipper of Azzi’s sweatshirt, and drags it down, opening access to warm skin beneath it that’s been teasing her all day. She leans back in and nestles into the crook of Azzi's neck, dropping kisses against the soft warm skin there, their bare stomachs pressing against each other with the movement.

Azzi hums as her hands run up Paige’s back, keeping the other girl close and feeling the subtle flexing of the muscle there as she turns her head, kissing the side of Paige’s face where it’s nestled into her neck before pulling her back and recentering her above herself to reconnect their lips.

Paige shifts so one hand can come up between them to Azzi's stomach, pushing under her skin-tight tank top and bunching the small amount of fabric up onto her chest, revealing her abs and breasts. Azzi’s breath hitches at the motion, watching as her hands roam, admiring the contrast of the paleness of her skin against the deepness of her own, blood rushing to her head as she watches Paige go to work against her.

The blonde kisses down the younger girls’ neck and shoulders eagerly, nipping at her collarbones before making her way down to her chest and taking a pebbled nipple into her mouth. As she leans into her, the knee she has slotted between Azzi's legs pushes against her, giving her friction closer to where she wants it, making the other girls' breath catch.

She revels in the way she feels Azzi's breathing change underneath her, feels her start to squirm as she switches sides to show its twin the same affection before letting up in favor of progressing further down her body.

Her skin is warm and soft and smells like vanilla as she kisses down her stomach- it's more intoxicating than anything else Paige has ever felt in her life. She gets to her waistband and is about to pull her sweats down when Azzi taps her shoulder to get her attention.

She pauses, looking up at her with tented eyebrows as she hovers in place. "Hm?"

Once she stills, Azzi reaches down and grabs her face by the chin, eyes hooded. Paige wets her lips as she holds the eye contact, trying to steel herself and not let on the way her boxers are getting uncomfortably damp beneath her sweats.

"C'mere," She whispers, and Paige is immediately thanking god that her roommates aren't home as she climbs back up to oblige her girlfriends' request.

Their lips collide, and before she really knows what's happening, Azzi is pulling her close, locking her arms around her back before shifting hard to roll them both over and straddle her waist. Paige's mouth subconsciously falls open the slightest bit when she’s put on her back, and Azzi can't help but smirk.

She straightens her back and grabs at the bunched up fabric of her camisole that Paige had so impatiently pushed out of her way, pulling it up and arching her back as it goes to help it over her head.

Beneath her, Paige swallows and fixes her hands on her hips tightly, trying not to touch like a child watching a cake being frosted- watching desperately with a watering mouth as she takes in the scene unfolding in front of her. Everything about what she sees, she's absolutely obsessed with: her skin, her toned stomach, her perfect chest, her strong arms and shoulders, the beautiful way her dark curls cascade over her shoulders. She's perfect. So, so perfect.

"Fuck, Az," She mutters, eyes wandering over her frame. Azzi almost feels shy for a second with the way she's being looked at, but she manages to cut her thought process off.

After all, even with all the people in the world who said unhinged shit about her girlfriend online, she was the only one who got to sit half-naked in her lap whenever she wanted. Not a lot of reason to feel self conscious about that.

Azzi leans forward, hands grabbing the other girls’ to push them up and against the mattress for her own balance as she closes the gap between them to kiss Paige’s neck. The taller girls' legs naturally come up to settle with her feet flat against the bed, her thighs just behind Azzi's ass, keeping her close.

Azzi hums as she presses kisses up Paige's jaw, messy and warm and creating a feeling in Paige's gut that's very hard to ignore. The feeling of having her in her lap- breasts bare and pressing into her chest, ass pressing into her as she shifts- paired with the feeling of her full lips kissing their way across her neck and shoulders, curls tickling with the movement as they brush against her skin, is nearly enough to make her brain short circuit.

Having her hands pinned is torture- she's dying to be able to touch her. She pushes her hips forward, few other options available, and Azzi breathes in sharply at the contact, drawing back just barely to ground herself.

"Mmm, gotta be patient baby," She chides, renewing her efforts in the space between her girlfriend's neck and shoulder.

Paige groans. She wasn't used to not being able to pivot things where she wanted- to control the pace and the acceleration of things.

"Thought I was tryna show you sum," She argues, fighting hard to keep any trace of how pathetic she feels out of her voice when she says it. Azzi hums, nipping at her earlobe.

"Why don't you, then?" She counters, and Paige wastes no time in pushing up with both her hips and hands to roll Azzi back over, reclaiming her position above her.

They're both slightly out of breath once they resettle, and Paige supports herself over Azzi, holding the eye contact and letting their breath mix together in the minuscule amount of space between them.

Paige is acutely aware of the heat settling low in her belly at the way Azzi looks at her. Azzi, equally bothered, is trying hard not to squirm as she watches her girlfriend wet her lips, the veins in her hands and arms more prominent than usual after her display of strength to flip them back over.

"You gonna behave and lemme have my way w'you, babygirl? Or y’still need to get some energy out?" She asks pointedly, and a surge of pride goes through her when she sees the way a flush creeps across Azzi's face, no argument making it's way past her lips for once.

Balance restored.

Her big brown eyes peer up at her with the neediest expression she thinks she might have ever seen, and it doesn't take much convincing after that to hurry along, her point proven.

"A'ight then. I gotchu, mama," She says, pressing a single kiss to her neck before standing, letting her hands come to her hips as she surveys across her bedroom.

"Where'd that fuckin' thing end up, anyway?" She asks, and Azzi giggles from the bed, eyes lingering on her bare stomach as she turns her body, looking around the room.

"Closet, right? Had to move it when KK came in to play playstation?" She asks, and Paige turns to her, smiling.

"My girl’s so smart." She praises, reaching out to pat her leg as she walks past the bed to the closet. Azzi rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face as she tracks her with her eyes, biting at her finger as she watches her saunter over to open the closet door, sweats clinging low on her hips, boxer line peeking out just barely.

Paige stoops down to dig through a specific shoe box amongst the many that live in the small space. She knows she shouldn't be as turned on by the sight as she is, but there's just something about the way she looks, her legs spread and her arms settled on her knees as she balances on the pads of her feet while rummaging through the closet, searching.

It takes long enough for Paige to finally find it that by the time she's turning from the closet, victorious and holding the toy high above her head, she’s almost surprised to find that Azzi’s still looking at her. She lets the toy fall to her side as she comes to kneel on the edge of the bed in front of the other girl.

"Hey," She says, nudging Azzi's nose with her own, as she sets the strap and harness down above her head on the bed, out of sight. Azzi smiles at her, and for a moment, nobody else in the world exists, brown eyes meeting blue, their breath combining in the small space between them.

"Hey, yourself," She returns, reaching above her head to grab for the toy. Paige chuckles, spreading her arms wide in a stretch as she stands back up. Azzi’s eyes trail over her figure, taking in the sight of her stance, the way her abs flexed with the movement.

"Was gonna ask if you changed your mind, you seemed like you were zonin' out over here," She jokes, and Azzi makes a face.

"Sounds to me like you're getting nervous," She taunts, bringing the contraption in front of her face to get a better look at it. Paige clicks her tongue, shaking her head.

"Whatever, bro," She dismisses, leaning in to press a kiss to Azzi's forehead, hand smoothing over her curls lovingly as she hovered there.

"You sure you still wanna?" She asks, softer now, and Azzi nods, her focus clearly elsewhere as she shifts the harness to one hand and reaches out to grab her by the hips to maneuver her closer.

"If I can remember how to get this to work," She jokes, and Paige smirks, going to grab it from her. “I got it.”Azzi pulls it away from her prying hands, scoffing at her lightly.

"You never even put it on in the first place, dummy. Take your pants off and c'mere, I can figure it out." Paige laughs at that, hands going to untie the drawstring that's tucked into her waistband.

"Yes ma'am," She replies, stepping out of her sweats and then bringing her boxers along with them not long after, dropping them to the floor in a way that's all too familiar for the younger girl- makes it a little bit harder to swallow, too.

Azzi beckons her forward, putting significant effort into focusing on what she’s doing and not getting distracted by the perfect shade of pink peeking out from her girlfriend’s mound- and reluctantly, Paige goes.

"Here, step into this," Azzi says, holding a portion of the harness open for her, her eyes lingering on her girlfriends' naked frame. Paige chuckles, putting a hand on Azzi's shoulder to stabilize herself as she does as she's told.

She didn't remember it feeling this awkward the last time. Then again, it had been a while since they'd used it last- they’d both been so busy that any time that they’d found as of late to love on each other was kept entirely to quick hands and eager mouths.

Azzi furrows her eyebrows as her fingers go to work, adjusting buckles and straightening straps. Paige watches her face intently, trying not to feel silly.

"Turn," The curly headed girl prompts, and Paige follows the instruction mindlessly, feeling slightly like a kid getting their winter coat put on by a parent before being allowed to go outside to play in the snow.

Azzi tugs a specific section and it finally tightens- a little too fast, pinching at Paige's skin as it comes flush with flesh. The blonde jumps, disregarding the adjustments happening as she shoves her fingers between the harness and her skin to create a protective barrier and sooth the sting.

"Ow, Azzi!" She protests, and Azzi's head snaps up to look at her, eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry, baby. It was an accident," She soothes, running her thumb over the area and leaning over to press a kiss to it.

With that, it's already forgotten, the harness finally settled snug to Paige’s hips. Paige nods, mostly to herself, pushing her fingers underneath the straps once more to adjust herself to be more comfortable- and then she’s coming around to the other side of the bed and grabbing Azzi by the tops of her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the bed with no warning, causing her to yelp in surprise.

“Whoa, what are y-“ Paige shushes her, sinking to her knees, and loops her fingers under Azzi’s sweats, pulling them over her hips in one swift movement. Azzi watches the rushed movement with eager eyes, swallowing thickly while picking up her hips to help her tug them down.

Paige stoops down, and Azzi’s heart flutters in her chest as she starts to litter kisses on the insides of her thighs. The blonde is slow and intentional with her movements, arms coming to rest on the outside of Azzi’s spread knees as she sucks a purple mark into the other girls’ skin, soothing it with a swipe of her tongue and a chaste kiss afterward.

She continues to drop kisses as she moves up her thigh til she reaches her center, playing close attention to the subtle changes in Azzi’s breathing as she goes, and then slows, pressing a kiss to her clit through the thin cotton. Azzi lets out a breathy little gasp at the contact, neck craning to get a better view.

Paige presses another kiss, more pressure behind it than the last one, and then slips a little lower, repeating the motion. When she does, she finds the most perfect surprise waiting for her- Azzi’s completely soaked through the pretty purple panties she’s wearing.

“Oh my god, Azzi Jazlyn,” She remarks, looking up at the other girl with an amused look painted across her face. Azzi blushes, really blushes, and hides her face in her arm, a pouty little noise of protest falling from her lips at being mocked.

“Is it that serious?” Paige asks, tone dripping with sarcastic concern, and Azzi reaches down with the hand that isn’t obscuring her face to shove at Paige’s arm. The blonde just grins, shaking her head as she leans back and hooks her fingers under the waistband of the dampened fabric.

“Just teasin’, mama,” She soothes, voice husky as Azzi picks up her hips again.

“Y’know I fuckin’ love that shit,” She mumbles- mostly to herself- and she tugs the article over the swell of the other girls’ ass, eyes widening when they bring a string of glistening slick with them as they come away from the younger girls’ cunt.

She can’t help the groan that falls past her lips as she tugs them the rest of the way down, watching in disbelief as the strand stretches and the breaks, dropping to stick to the younger girls’ upper thigh.

Azzi hisses at the cold sensation, her face burning with embarrassment, and Paige quickly discards the pair of underwear behind her before her hands find the other girls’ legs again and she leans in, licking the slick off the supple skin of her upper thigh like she’s been in the desert and its the first drop of water she’s seen in days.

Azzi’s eyes drift back in a mix of disbelief and pleasure, biting at her lip in an attempt to keep her composure as Paige kisses the same place messily, leaving it wet.

She continues her trail of kisses up her thighs, one hand absentmindedly wandering over to the junction of Azzi’s hip, stopping there with her fingers held out as if signaling for Azzi to meet it with her own. She interlocks her fingers with her girlfriends’, and Paige looks up at her, a slight smile on her face before craning her neck back down, eyes still locked with Azzi’s as she licks into her cunt.

Azzi lets her eyes fall shut at the first contact, letting herself focus on the warmth of Paige’s tongue and the slick of her spit mixing with her own arousal over her clit. When she opens them again, she sees blue eyes still on her from between her legs, holding her gaze, careful to watch for any indication to stop- even though they both know it won’t come.

Paige is slow, letting her tongue run over her girlfriends’ pussy deliberately, reveling in how wet she finds her, how good she tastes. She sucks her clit into her mouth gently, and Azzi winces above her, curls pressed into the pillow as she kicks her head back and arches into the contact.

She lets her tongue come to assist the suction, running it over the base of her clit while she suckles at the head of it gently, and then lets it go, coming off with a pop!, pink lips glistening as they come away wet.

She brings her head back slightly and blows gently, the cold air sending goosebumps forming under Azzi’s skin, and watches her reaction carefully as she licks over it again. Azzi feels the other girls’ eyes on her and bites at her bottom lip, bringing her free hand up to palm at her breast as she holds the eye contact, teasing from where she's laid out.

Paige blinks slowly as she watches, eyebrows raising slightly- just enough to be noticeable, and she’s thankful her mouth is occupied so she doesn’t say something stupid in her awed state.

How lucky could one person get?

Azzi’s painted fingers move deftly to roll her pebbled nipple between her pointer and thumb, squeezing the mound of flesh to her chest and then repeating the motion, never breaking the eye contact. Paige watches eagerly and lets her tongue to continue to work her, slow and sensual and utterly pussy drunk, and Azzi is buzzing knowing how well she’s captured the girl between her legs.

Paige lets her tongue slip lower, the younger girls’ taste getting stronger and sweeter as she teases at her entrance- and Azzi gasps at the sensation, her right hand abandoning its efforts over her chest to come down her bare torso and grab at Paige’s hair, tangling into blonde strands still held back loosely by a hairtie.

"Fuck, Paige," She curses, her hips canting up and just slightly off the bed, smearing her slick across Paige's chin and nose. She pauses, giving an apologetic look when she realizes she's made a mess of the bottom half of her girlfriends' face, but Paige only chuckles.

She lets go of the younger girls' hand where their fingers are intertwined over her hipbone to bring both arms around her legs and over her hips to hold her still, fixing her in place before refocusing her efforts. Azzi whimpers at the feeling of being held so firmly while Paige knelt between her legs and went to work like a woman starved- so safe and desired and spoiled all at once.

She watches the slight flex of the blonde’s biceps as she holds pulls her impossibly closer, sloppy with her ministrations over the other girls’ clit, her jaw working as she alternates the shapes being drawn over the swollen nub to tease the most perfect little moans from her lips. The younger girl lets her newly free hands come up, crossing over her face in an attempt to hide how desperate she feels.

Paige smirks as she delves lower again, pushing into her cunt with her tongue and watching her facial expressions from between her legs, growing wetter by the second seeing how worked up she could make the other girl. Azzi's mouth hangs open in a silent gasp in response to the intrusion, eyebrows drawn up and together.

Paige opens her mouth wider, giving herself the leverage to fuck her tongue into her deeper- and Azzi picks a leg up to put it over the blonde's shoulder, improving the angle. The movement only makes Paige double down on her efforts, drawing back slightly to pull her right arm from its place over her hip in favor of bringing it low between them to meet the glistening slick of her pussy.

She keeps her tongue sliding in and out of her entrance, bringing her left thumb down over her pelvis to run over her clit. She’s aided by the wetness that's making a mess of her cunt- slowly spreading to her thighs now, too. Azzi whimpers, and the Paige borderline growls at the sound, drinking in the control she has over the other girl and the sounds she’s pulling from her lips.

She runs her tongue flat against her, running from entrance to clit, lapping up the juices she’d pulled since pressing the muscle into her needy cunt. She sucks her clit into her mouth again, letting the fingers of her free hand trail lower, tantalizingly slow in their movements as they ran deliberately teasingly along her folds, feeling the slickness of her juices over soft skin.

She lets her middle finger slip deeper, probing against her entrance, and Azzi’s breath catches at the feeling, hips bucking up in a desperate attempt to fill the ache inside of her.

"Ohmygod- please," She babbles, and Paige lets off her clit so she can sooth her. "Shh- I know, I know. You're okay mama, I gotchu.” She drops an open-mouthed kiss to the swollen bud.

“Jus’ needa stretch you out and make sure you're ready for it baby. S'been a while, hm?” She coos, lips brushing against her cunt as she says it, and Azzi whines, angling her hips so she feels her deeper. Paige hums at the observation, taking in the sight of the younger girls’ pussy as she has her way with her- glistening with wetness and the perfect shade of swollen pink.

"So needy for me, huh, baby?" Azzi nods deliriously, desperate for more- and Paige laughs sympathetically at her. "A’ight, sweetheart," She whispers, slipping two long, slender fingers in and curling them as she slides knuckle deep in one flush movement.

She presses deep entirely too easily, fingers brushing against her sweet spot far before the other girl had anticipated they would work themselves that deep- and its all she can do to whine at the sensation, throaty and guttural.

“Feels good?” The blonde husks, as if she doesn’t already know the answer. Azzi groans, humming a sweet little 'mhm' in response and hoping it’s enough, because it’s all she can muster. Paige eases in and out of her slow, reveling in how wet her fingers come away each time she draws them out of her pussy.

“Fuuuck, baby,” She husks, in awe of how perfect this girl is- how wet she’s gotten, how good she’s taking her fingers, how pretty her pussy is. Azzi whimpers, her hips chasing her fingers every time she draws them out, little ah, ah, ahs falling past her lips every time her fingers brush against that spongy spot deep inside of her.

Paige groans as she fucks into her gummy walls, chasing the high brought on by the younger girl’s delicious little noises. She's successful, Azzi keening when she strokes particularly deep- arching her back off the mattress, her abs flexing with the effort. The blonde watches eagerly, eyes hooded and lips wet as she observes every filthy detail of the unholy ministrations she’s working against Azzi’s cunt.

"'S it that good, baby? You like it when I stretch you out and get you ready for my dick, sweet girl?" Paige coos, and Azzi's too far gone to even manage a response, nodding deliriously with thick eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she just stares with a fucked out expression, breathy little noises spilling out of her with each curl of her girlfriends' long fingers against her inner walls.

Unable to resist the urge, she lets her tongue lash over her clit again, moving in fast flicks of motion that she has to put conscious effort into limiting the pressure of in order to prevent overstimulating the swollen nub that’s already flared an angry pink.

"P-please, P, need it," Azzi whines, and Paige looks up at her, undeniably pussy drunk. "Yeah? Tell me what you want, baby," She says, tone sultry and words slurring with lust in a way that was just for Azzi.

"More," Azzi whines, and Paige tuts at her.

"Nah- you know better. Ask me right," The older girl corrects before bringing her mouth back to her core. Azzi whimpers pathetically before taking a steadying breath, steeling herself.

“Please,” She chokes, desperate for more despite the fact that her eyes were already welling up with tears at the intensity of what the blonde was doing to her.

“Want it,” She breathes, voice breaking, and Paige lets her eyes fall shut for a brief moment so she can soak in the sound of her pleas. Her wrist works overtime to keep her fingers in motion inside of her, and her tongue swirls around her clit, soaking in the metallic taste of the puffy little button as she continues to tease at it.

“Need it- fuck, please? Want you to fill me up,” She begs, and Paige takes a deep breath from between her legs, nostrils flaring slightly as she attempts to ground herself while she kisses into the younger girls’ cunt sloppily, lips and chin covered in her arousal. It’s almost too good to bring her mouth away from.

“Okay, sweet girl,” She mutters before letting her tongue drag along her slit, the slickness making the motion easy.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” She promises, pressing a kiss to her clit before standing. She places one knee on the mattress, bringing her hand up to rub at the other girls' thigh affectionately.

"Scooch up, mama. Gimme some room to work here," She murmurs gently, and Azzi complies, her eyes never leaving the blonde's face, bringing her hands to the mattress and pushing herself back.

The blonde follows immediately, crawling toward her and dropping a kiss to the scar over her knee as she approaches before sitting up straight. She adjusts the width of her knees where they’re pressed into the bed as she settles into the best position she can manage, reaching down to grasp the base of the toy where it juts out into the small amount of space between them.

Azzi’s eyes watch carefully as she reaches out, running her pointer and middle fingers through her folds to gather wetness before spreading it over the toy. She watches Paige’s fingers as they run along the length of the toy, coating it in her slick, and swallows, suddenly starting to realize that the toy looked a little bit bigger than she had remembered it being.

To distract herself, she forces her eyes higher, takes in the sight of the girl between her legs- abs tight, pert breasts and puffy pink nipples on display, loose blonde hair framing her face and a concentrated look painted across her features that was absolutely entrancing.

Paige takes hold of the toy and shuffles closer until she can run the tip through her folds, and Azzi’s breath catches at the contact. The older girl wets her parted lips as she stares, revelling in the way the younger girls’ slick spreads along the silicon, allowing the shaft move easily up and down her slit from entrance to clit.

Azzi's breath is shaky beneath her, pretty brown eyes blown as she watches every movement eagerly. She lets the toy nudge against her entrance, admiring how her pussy clenches a kiss around the head at the intrusion, and Azzi whines up at her, expression pleading silently for her to progress- so she rocks forward, slow, eyes on the younger girls’ face to gauge off of.

A little gasp falls from Azzi’s mouth as her eyes fall shut, head pushing back against the pillows as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth. Paige’s tongue peeks out of her mouth, pressing against her bottom lip with the effort as she presses in further, torturously slow as she eases her hips flush with Azzi’s.

Azzi moans as she bottoms out, her fingers grabbing ahold of Paige’s arm where it’s braced against her leg to improve the angle.

She lets her hand linger there in a loose grip, holding on to her for the sake of touching her alone, watching the other girl admire her, feeling her muscles move beneath her skin with every motion. Paige’s hips rock back, eyes watching the toy slide out of her entrance before she eases forward again, starting to find a rhythm.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” Azzi slurs, drawing a smirk out of Paige.

“Yeah? You like that, mama?” She asks, voice low and raspy as she pumps in and out of her, eyes roaming over the other girls’ body hungrily. The younger girl nods, eyebrows drawn together and face tight as she concentrates on adjusting to the stretch, painted fingernails digging into Paige’s arm just barely as a whimper escapes past her lips.

Paige gambles a look down as her pace gradually picks up, and watches as the strap slides in and out of the girl above her in time with her strokes. She swallows hard, sucking in a steadying breath as she watches her pussy stretch around the toy, excess wetness accumulating in a thick ring around the base of the toy.

Eager to see more, she snakes her dominant hand between them, using her pointer finger and thumb to hold her lips apart so she can get a better look at the toy pumping in and out of her, pussy pulsing and stretching around the silicon cock. She presses her thumb to her clit, rubbing tight circles as she picks up her pace gradually.

“Fuck, mama- squeezin’ my dick so pretty w’that pussy. You like it when I stretch you out, baby?”

“Ohmygod, yes,” Azzi rushes out, barely coherent, and Paige watches as she takes it, moving with her to set the pace, hips chanting and abs tight.

“Yeah? Feels good, don't it princess? Y’feelin me deep?” Azzi hums out a pathetic little mhm, whimpering, and she can't help herself- she reaches out, running her hand up her stomach, squeezing at her tits when she gets to her chest, palming them and feeling the weight of them in her hand.

She groans, letting her head kick back. She could feel their combined wetness smearing all over her pelvis and the front of her thighs now, and the realization hits like a drug. Azzi’s hand comes to meet hers over her chest, not to stop anything she’s doing, just for the sake of being able to hold onto her- and Paige shifts, bringing one knee up to better her angle, pausing as she pivots, and then presses forward again.

Azzi groans at the new angle, her hips canting up to chase the motion and pushing Paige deeper, in turn drawing a whine from the blonde’s throat when the base of the toy pushes against her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” Azzi whimpers, spurred on by the knowledge of what fucking her like this is doing to the blonde. Obscene sounds fill the room- Azzi’s cunt squelching around the silicon cock, breathy moans falling from both of the pairs’ lips, the sound of their combined slick over the already prominent sound of skin meeting skin with each thrust from Paige.

It’s filthy, the way they’re rutting into each other, but god, did both of them need this.

Azzi arches her back, taking their joined hands and pushing them lower, and at first Paige isn’t sure what she’s doing, thinks maybe she’s ushering her to stimulate her clit again, but then she stops short, right above her pelvis. Her confusion quickly gives way to recognition, and she almost chokes when she feels it- she’s fucking up into the younger girl so deep that she can feel it perfectly just by having her hand braced over her stomach.

“Oh, baby- fuck,” Her hips stutter, overwhelmed between feeling how deep she’s fucking into Azzi and the sensation of the base of the strap rubbing against her clit. Azzi shifts, hooking her legs around her waist, and Paige leans further forward, bracing herself with her elbows against the mattress, body pressed to Azzi’s as she continues the snap of her hips.

Azzi’s moans are even clearer now- right there to lean over and swallow up with a kiss, so she does, connecting their lips as she rolls her hips fervently. It’s wet and messy and desperate, both of them moaning into it, and for a moment, the sheer desperation shared between the two of them is enough to carry it, both rutting into each other like it was their last moment on earth.

Azzi’s head kicks back when Paige draws in particularly hard, the blonde’s bottom lip dragging against the side of her face when she breaks away from the kiss to shift so suddenly. Her legs wrap around her tighter, arms slung around her back with one hand tangled into the bun barely still in place on her head and the other digging half-moons into her shoulder as she fucks her open.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” She babbles, and Paige curses under her breath, shifting her weight from one arm to the other to sustain the rocking of her hips.

She’s absolutely stoned on the sounds she’s drawing out of her lips- so committed to making her make more of them that the tiredness settling into her body is barely even noticeable. Azzi’s breaths get shallow and run together, little noises escaping her lips with every thrust, her hips and hands unable to stay still as she grasps for Paige like she’s not as close as physically possible already.

“Paige, I’m- oh fuck,” Her voice breaks, and the sheer amount of desperation in her tone is enough for Paige to be sure of what’s happening.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” She asks, and Azzi just nods, incapable of mustering any response beyond that in a coherent manner. Paige nods, pressing a kiss to the side of Azzi’s face, and braces herself to shift her weight on one arm, letting the other reach between them and find her clit.

The angle’s awkward and she knows she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long- but she also knows Azzi doesn’t need much more, just wants her to feel good as she goes over the edge.

“Show me, princess. Wanna see you cum on this dick, pretty girl,” She whispers, and Azzi whimpers, nails digging into her back as she arches her back, impossibly close. Paige’s heart is nearly beating through her chest, and she’s trying embarrassingly hard not to let on how she’s pretty sure she could cum, too, trying to focus on getting Azzi there.

“C’mon, mama. Doin’ so good, so pretty for me. Let me have it, sweet girl,” She coos. Azzi nods desperately, shaky breaths heaving from her lungs as she chases the edge.

"Don't stop, don't stop," She pleads, and Paige hums, acknowledging the request as she presses a kiss to her face again, back tense as her hips roll into her at a pace she has no earthly idea how she had possibly kept up this long aside from pure obsession and a desperation to make her girl feel good.

"Never, baby. I gotchu, you're okay. Let go for me," She urges, and Azzi purses her lips, eyes fluttering shut and dimples popping as she tips over the edge of her climax.

Her head pushes back against the pillow and her eyes eyes screw shut, legs tightening even further around Paige's waist. A guttural moan escapes from her throat and for once, she doesn't even care how loud she is.

Her breaths draw deeper as she shudders through the remainder of her orgasm, little spasms of pleasure washing over her body, and Paige nuzzles close, dropping soft kisses to her shoulders as she slows her efforts. Beneath her, Azzi finally relaxes, body slumping against the mattress and her head lolling to the side to rest against Paige's forearm where it's pressed into the mattress supporting her weight.

Her hand comes down and entangles with Paige’s where it’s working her clit slowly, wincing as she pulls it away. “Too much,” She whimpers, and Paige chuckles airily, nodding.

“Okay, babygirl,” She replies, keeping the younger girls’ fingers intertwined with her own as she rests her hand on her waist.

“You good if I pull out?” She asks, and Azzi nods slowly, a hint of hesitation in her eyes. “But… slow, okay?” She asks, voice small, and Paige swears she almost melts at the expression on her face.

“‘Course, baby. I’ll be gentle, I promise,” She assures, pressing a kiss to the shorter girls’ forehead before starting to ease the toy out.

“You okay?” She asks, giving the other girl a distraction as she works herself out from inside of her. Azzi nods, her fingers fidgeting lightly with Paige’s where their hands were intertwined.

“Yeah, I’m good,” She nods, her chest still heaving big breaths. She winces when Paige eases the toy the rest of the way out, but Paige is quick to soothe, pressing kisses to her shoulders as she leans further down.

"Good job, baby. Did so good f'me," She praises, and Azzi soaks it in. Paige sits up again, pulling at the buckles of the strap to try and get it to loosen enough to slide out of, and Azzi can’t help but giggle.

“Come here, dummy,” She teases, leaning forward to reach her. Paige obliges her request, picking up her hands so she has space to work, watching as she manages to release all the cinched down straps in the amount of time it had taken her to figure out which direction was tightening or loosening the device.

“I dunno how you do that, but you amaze me, f’real,” Paige mutters, a dopey grin on her face as she looks at the other girl, and Azzi rolls her eyes, a grin creeping across her face.

“You’re so dumb,” She dismisses, lovesick expression on her face despite her words as she pulled the excess of the straps taut, making it easier for Paige to slip out of them. She does, and once she pulls it off, she immediately discards the contraption onto the floor to deal with later.

Azzi chuckles at the thud it made against the ground, pulling Paige close, reveling in the feeling of the warmth of her skin against her own. She let her hands start to roam, fingers exploring expanses of soft skin that only she got to touch like this.

“You’re so perfect,” She whispers to the blonde, and Paige chuckles, a light flush spreading across her chest. Her hand settles on her waist, holding her close, while she lays on her back, one hand slung behind her head.

“You think so?” She asks, and Azzi nods, bringing her lips to drop kisses along her shoulders.

“Definitely,” She confirms, lips brushing against her collarbones. “Good strap game, too. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, after all,” She says, and Paige can’t help but laugh.

“Thank you, baby. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” The blonde replies, running her hand up Azzi’s bare waist affectionately.

“Mmm, I definitely did,” The younger girl whispers, her lips trailing up her neck, teasing a path to that one spot behind her ear that always seemed to drive her crazy.

“Now I think it’s my turn to make sure you enjoy yourself, hm?”

For once, Paige has no argument.

a/n: Thank you guys for reading and thank you again for your patience while I finished this, seriously! Comments and reposts are appreciated, remember to let me know if you'd like to be included in taglists in the future!

Disclaimer: Sorry for the robbery at the end, I really intended to include that scene but I was already at 9k words so I decided to just wrap it up. If y'all want a second part or smth, lmk!

[hms-no-fun]

this is like the first Big Transfem Question (whether your egg cracked because someone asked "if you could press a button and be always born a girl right now would you," or whether you just came out to someone for the first time and they asked "omg so are you gonna get/have you gotten The Surgery?") and everyone has their own answers, and their answers often change over time.

i know when i first came out i was pretty firmly disinterested in bottom surgery. part of this was a consequence of having tomboy gender and not really having much bottom dysphoria after HRT made unwanted erections a thing of the past. i felt deeply conflicted about the expectation that as a trans woman obviously i wanted to pursue Traditional Femininity. it quickly grew apparent to me that the pathway to the kind of polished acceptable transness you see in media is a lot of expensive procedures and surgeries and training, and as a lifelong broke bitch i resented that. especially when a trans youtuber made a jab at a clocky transfem earning her transmisogynistic harassment by essentially not trying hard enough to be a woman, that's when it really crystallized for me that i wanted nothing to do with this kind of post-drag-race bitchy high femme gender superiority. it's one thing to say that it's hard work to pass in public as a tall clocky trans girl; it's another thing entirely to act like it's her fault that she's clocky when there are real material and structural roadblocks to her reaching the standard of femininity you're expecting (to say nothing of whether or not she even WANTS to be that kind of feminine). so for me, surgery and laser and vocal training all got wrapped up in this tangle of resentful obligation that i neglected out of spite. i wanted to be a woman in a queer way, not in an assimilationist way.

but like, i did and kinda still do have that baby-trans feeling of like... well, if i could go back in the oven right this second and just sorta swap out for a vagina, i'd do it. this distinction felt important to me because i read a lot of posts about how sex for post-op trans women didn't feel the way they hoped it would, that the sensations were number and the recovery times were terrible and having to dilate was immensely painful and came with huge complications if you didn't maintain it. like there's that awful blaire white clip where she just straight up calls her vaginoplasty "an open wound" that's always trying to heal, and even as you know that's bullshit you kinda can't help but see gruesome post-surgery pics and recovery timelines and be like... well damn idk if i want to put myself through that!

what i've come to understand is that so so so so much of this perception discourse is colored by self selection bias. people don't post when they're pussy is working correctly. people don't post when the sex is good. i mean, maybe they do, but they don't post it in the same places they'd post recovery pics and ask for transition advice. someone who avidly posts through their post-op recovery probably stops posting once their new situation starts feeling normal. you can create the impression for yourself reading this stuff that the gauzy bloody swollen recovery phase lasts forever and is basically the entire experience. on top of that you can convince yourself that the end result never looks like a "real" vagina, because even after the gross part is over and done with it still takes months to a year or more for it to settle into its final shape. so there's ten million pictures of obvious post-op pussies because people post through it when they're sad, then time passes and you learn the rhythm of your new anatomy as it grows into itself, and the whole thing stops feeling like a such big deal. none of which is visible in the posts.

i've now had several friends go through various forms of gender affirming surgery, and the biggest surprise to me has been that it really doesn't seem THAT bad? somehow i got it in my head that these recovery timelines could stretch out for aaaaaaaages, but a friend of mine got the cadillac of bottom surgeries that used a bit of stomach tissue for the interior (paid for with medicaid) and she was back up on her feet in, like, two months-- albeit with serious restrictions on vigorous motion. sure, it seemed uncomfortable, but nowhere NEAR the level i was expecting. dilating is just free time for her to watch anime. same for top surgery, same for an orchi-- there's like a brief window of time where it's an inconvenience, and maybe complications can arise but generally? it kinda just seems like not a big deal. it's not this horribly traumatic invasive disgusting painful process-- it can be some of those things, probably it will be at least one of them for some amount of time, but very likely not all of them and not all at once and rarely to the extreme that we're sometimes led to believe.

honestly, the most annoying, invasive, violating part of surgery is getting the surgery approved. which is fucking hilarious considering the conservative firestorm against trans people is like 80% predicated on the assertion that trans people have too easy access to surgery. are you kidding me??? every trans person i know who has gotten any procedure, afab or amab, has had to get multiple letters from doctors/psychologists, gone through the assessment steps with a healthcare provider and surgeon, then had the whole approval process drag on long enough that their letters expired (a thing letters can do, apparently) which meant having to get new ones which meant pushing back the timeline again. like the level of pathologization and infantalization around essentially medically means-testing these procedures is fucking gonzo. it is a demeaning, demoralizing process ESPECIALLY if you have medicaid, where a parade of medical professionals take turns debating whether or not you're one of the crazy ones who's just doing it for kink and will immediately sue for malpractice afterwards (a cohort that definitely exists in real life), and it can go on for YEARS! if you're a working class trans woman who has to constantly prove her poverty to stay on food stamps, or maintain disability payouts, or just access any social program at all your free time is already dominated by these insanely accusatory administrative burdens that are constantly on the lookout for any excuse to cut you off because you're presumed to be an aspiring welfare queen. so to add the dehumanizing rigmarole of getting gender affirming surgery on the pile as an expected step of transition, at a time when even the nominally left party in the united states wants to make accessing such care even harder, is genuinely so fucking cruel on so many levels it defies my ability to discuss them without going into a frothy-mouthed rage (not very feminine of me, i know).

but the upshot of this is, i've now seen that despite all these burdens, surgery is worth it. most every trans person i know who's gotten one has come away feeling, in some sense, better than they expected. i don't want to oversell it as this like magically perfect experience, it's not, and obviously i haven't gotten surgery myself so i can only speak to what others have told me. but like someone i know got an orchi a couple months ago, and she went in worried about retaining sexual function only to come out after a few weeks of recovery feeling hornier than ever. her bottomwear fit better and made her feel less dysphoric. and somehow, psychologically, it was like a weight lifted off her mind. she felt different, truer to herself in some way. i've seen first hand the nuclear explosion of euphoria the first time a trans girl can really BOUNCE her post-op breasts. conversely i've witnessed the astonishing transformation of a trans man after top surgery, how his entire wardrobe and physical presence completely turned on its head and suddenly he just exuded self-ness. and all of these are trans people who spent years on waiting lists, struggling through letter expiries and clinic closures and staff changes and policy updates and inconsistent insurance requirements. all of them went through a period of recovery, and while some had complications that made their recovery difficult, nobody i know regrets it.

so, yeah, idk. i'm still on the fence about surgery for myself-- i think i'd like an orchi? or perhaps one of those really experimental surgeries where you get a bit of both. i'm certainly still intimidated by a lot of aspects of the process, but it's not scary to me the way it seemed when i first started transitioning. i guess if there's any message to this post it's that this is why having IRL queer community is so important. you might not feel brave enough to get surgery yourself, but someone else is, and maybe by being friends with them through the process (maybe by taking care of their cats while they're stuck in the hospital) you can slowly demystify it and realize that maybe you had the wrong impression all along.

A question for transfems, pick the option that matches the closest to you:

---

Option for nontransfems that want to click buttons: here.

[woozinhos]

Can we get an Ateez Yeosang x Reader who can't stop squirting when he fuxks her?

You and Yeosang had been dating for a while now, and tonight, you were feeling particularly needy. As soon as you got home, you couldn't keep your hands off each other, and before long, you were in bed together. Yeosang could sense how desperate you were, and he was more than happy to oblige. He kissed you passionately, his hands roaming over your body as he explored every inch of you. As he touched you, you found yourself getting wetter and wetter, your body craving his touch. Yeosang noticed this and smirked.

"Someone's eager tonight," he said, his voice low and seductive. "You're so wet for me already."

You moaned in response, your body arching up against his as he continued to touch you. Yeosang moved his mouth down to your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin as his fingers found their way between your legs. He started to rub your clit in slow, firm circles, and you couldn't help but squirm beneath him. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you felt like you were on the edge of something incredible.

"I love the way you respond to me," Yeosang whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "You're so sensitive, so responsive."

Yeosang continued to work you with his fingers, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation. He knew just how to touch you, just how to make you moan and gasp with pleasure. And as he pushed you closer and closer to your release, he whispered in your ear.

"Let go, baby. Let me see you come undone."

You cried out as you finally tipped over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body shook with the force of it, your legs trembling as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Yeosang watched you intently, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of you coming undone beneath him. He continued to touch you, prolonging your orgasm and making it even more intense. As you started to come down from your high, he moved his fingers away from your clit and gently stroked your inner thighs.

"You're so beautiful when you come," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "I could watch you all day like this."

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips moving against yours with a slow, lazy passion. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only served to make you even more aroused.

Yeosang broke the kiss and smiled at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ready for more?" he asked, his hand trailing up your thigh. You nodded, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Yeosang chuckled at your eagerness and moved to position himself between your legs.

"I'm going to make you squirt again," he said, his voice low and husky. "I want to see you come apart for me over and over again."

Yeosang lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed into you, groaning as he felt your tightness envelop him. He paused for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size before starting to move. His thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, but they quickly became faster and more urgent as he felt his own arousal building. He watched you intently, loving the way your body responded to him.

"You feel so good," he panted, his hips snapping against yours. "So tight and wet for me."

You moaned and clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he continued to move inside you. The feeling of him filling you up was overwhelming, and you knew you were close to coming again. Yeosang could sense it too, and he increased the pace of his thrusts, driving into you harder and faster. He reached down between your legs to rub your clit, his fingers moving in tight circles.

"That's it," he growled. "I can feel you getting close again. Come for me, baby."

Your body tensed as you felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm, your mind clouded with pleasure. Yeosang continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release.

"Come for me," he repeated, his voice strained. "I want to feel you come all over me."

And with a final thrust, you did just that. You cried out his name as you came, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. Your inner walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper into you. Yeosang groaned as he felt your body clenching around him, the sensation driving him wild. He thrust harder and faster, chasing his own release as he continued to rub your clit.

"You feel so good," he panted, his eyes locked on yours. "I could do this forever."

He leaned down to capture your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he continued to move inside you. He was getting close now, his movements becoming more frantic as he felt his own orgasm approaching. Yeosang grinned down at you as he continued to thrust into you, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You're so insatiable tonight," he said, his voice teasing. "I can't keep up with you."

He gave your ass a playful smack, his fingers digging into your skin as he increased the pace of his thrusts.

"Not that I'm complaining," he added, his smile growing wider. "I love it when you're like this."

You moaned and arched up against him, your body responding to his touch and his words. You loved the way he was taking charge, the way he was using your body for his own pleasure.

"I can't help it," you panted, your voice breathless. "I just want you so badly."

Yeosang chuckled and leaned down to nip at your earlobe. "Well, I'm more than happy to give you what you want," he whispered, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. He started to move faster and harder, his hips slamming against yours with a force that made you gasp. You could feel yourself getting closer to another orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation.

"I'm not going to last much longer," Yeosang grunted, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. "You feel too good, baby."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you as you felt your orgasm building. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure.

"I'm close," you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "I'm so close, Yeosang."

He groaned in response, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he felt himself getting closer as well.

"Come for me," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "Come for me one more time."

You cried out as you came, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Your legs shook as you felt the hot liquid gushing out of you, soaking the sheets beneath you. Yeosang watched with a mixture of awe and satisfaction as you squirted, his eyes dark with desire. He continued to rub his cock against your sensitive flesh, prolonging your pleasure.

"You're so perfect," he whispered, his voice filled with adoration. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Yeosang groaned as he came, his hot release spilling onto your already sensitive flesh. He continued to stroke himself, milking every last drop of cum out of himself as he looked down at you.

"You look so pretty like this," he said, his eyes roaming over your body. "All marked up and messy."

Yeosang smirked as he continued to use his cock to spread his cum over your pussy lips, his eyes glinting with a possessive gleam.

"Mine," he said, his voice low and possessive. "You're all mine."

He leaned down to kiss you, his tongue claiming your mouth as he continued to rub his dick against you. Yeosang pulled away from the kiss and smiled down at you, his expression softening. He gently traced his fingers over your face, his touch gentle and tender.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes filled with affection. "I love you so much."

[denim-devil]

✫ PT 2 | Bet U Wanna | S.B ✫

Summary - Ben was a douche, the biggest one you’ve ever met, yet something changed in him, especially after meeting you, after coming to realisation that your feelings may be mutual, you decide to push him to his furthest…

“do you understand?”

Ben’s fingers trailed against the top of your tongue, sinking in further, feeling the wet warmth of your throat, the pool of saliva gathering at the entrance of your mouth gushing out to coat the thick digits.

You nod hesitantly, still unsure what was happening, the tension thickened so much so that it distracted you, his smirk grew fonder once you started to bob your head manically, trying to keep yourself focused, trying your best to forget the ache which grew heavier by the second.

“Didn’t hear you, say it louder, only good sluts get rewards…”

He chuckled with a sweet undertone of malice as if his victory had already happened, as if he owned every inch of you yet you tried to cope with knowing he had you dumber by each passing second, his meaty claws squeezing you tight, he had you exposed for himself and his own greed.

Pulling his fingers away gave you some power back to atleast answer, a polite, timid “yes” was the only word that you could muscle up, still wondering what he had in store for you.

“That’s what I like to hear, now turn around, ass up and face down, I wanna see what it’s like…hitting you from the back, gonna bust these balls doll?”

His demeanour had changed completely, he wasn’t as soft, his hard cut edges making an appearance yet it still had you scrambling to your feet, met with his darkened eyes, lust filled and hungry.

Silence fell over you both, heavy breathing mingled, he licked over his lips before darting forward, his tongue sloppily licking it’s way into your mouth, you accepted with no restraint, allowing the burley man to squeeze at your waist, pulling you forward into him.

He grunts, his tongue lazily lapping over your own, spit mixing and growing thick as you passed eachother kisses that reminded you of sunsets and leather, rough yet slow and sensual, maybe that was the kind of man Ben was.

“Fuck yeah, gonna get me in trouble one of these days sweetheart, now…like I said, on the couch-“

His whispers were sharp with dominance, his tongue nothing but pure filth and abomination, he yearned for you, Ben wanted to uncover every single inch of your skin from your neck to your crack, his walls completely crumbled.

Eager fingers do work for your belt, unraveling the leather before you crawl onto the sofa, head nestled into the line separating each cushion, burying yourself and your shyness once you reveal his source of infliction.

He whistled like a business man willing to throw it all away at the same stripper he’d been visiting all week, it was shameful and embarrassing yet Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away, glued to the way your back arched and how your ass popped like a wanted poster, in your face and bold, he was once step closer to breaking you in and it brought nothing but adrenaline and pride.

“You really fucking want this? You want me to bury my dick so far your gonna see stars darlin’? Cause I’d be more then happy to oblige.”

It felt like your brain had short circuited, not sure what to say or do accept show him just how much you wanted this, although he wasn’t oblivious to how you kept looking forward, cheeks red and burning hot, your body on fire.

Ben was so sure of himself, leaning over your arched figure, pressing his entire weight into you. His lips left kisses which were joined by the prickles of his stubble, he made you felt everyone, slowing making his way down your spine, no skin left untainted by his venom.

Taking his time was a virtue, seconds turned into minutes, torturous and invigorating but that’s exactly who he was, watching you squirm in place, the same reporter he lost so many loads to in his hands finally before him in all your naked glory, he bit at his tongue once he reached his destination, sinking to his knees behind you.

“Gone all quiet on me? I’m sure there’s something that’ll have you speak up for me…”

Ben chuckled before slowly sinking his face between your crack, strong hands spreading your cheeks like butter on toast, smooth and quick making sure there was enough space to slot into you like a coin, he’d lose so many if you were a gambling machine.

“Ben—“

It wasn’t that you were questioning him, no, you were intrigued, his hot breath making your hole twitch as if it was an invitation that even Ben couldn’t say no to, his eyes glued to the very spot he was going to devour with every breath.

it drew him in, the skin surrounding your pucker almost velvet-like once a finger skims over the patch. You shiver forcing the goosebumps to stick. Ben almost felt apologetic with his movements, the slowness accompanied by the sudden sharpness, his hands massaging the dough-like muscles in hopes of riling you up, even in the slightest.

Inhaling, he sucks in his bottom lip before smirking. He had a plan, one you seemed shyly to unfold which reflected Ben and his needs also, as the dominant he wanted to wreck you, no more being careful, he needed this as much as you.

The two of you stilled, relaxing into one another. Without much encouragement Ben made the first move, his tongue, wet and warm flicked widely against your hole, leaving a trail of thick saliva coating your entrance.

Ben ushered out breathily before burying his tongue back in, growling, he wiggled it up slowly, the tip swiping over your twitching hole. You push back with need, searching for the piece that had you feel whole.

The vulgarity only made things hotter between you both, the way his tongue began to lavishly lick each and every crevice you offered all the whilst being held down by two particularly strong hands, Ben had his ways and you could only follow his lead.

“Yer taste so damn sweet darlin’-“

With each lap he edged between delving and dipping his tongue inside, even in the slightest you began to curl up, the sensitivity that followed each swipe pushed your body forward back into the pillows, his beard scratching against the now puffy, abused skin adding layers to the pleasure you were receiving.

One of his hands sneakily sink lower, slowly fisting around your leaky cock, hard and aching, you release a hiss giving Ben the impression that not only did you want this, you needed this.

“Ben- fuck- please, I-I need you”

His hand eager to please began it’s torturous pace, flicking his wrist back and forth in time with his tongue, watching as you sink fully into the cushions before you, muffling your needy whines.

Still keeping a fistful of his hair, you feel the warm slobber start to leak down between your thighs, the base of your balls soaked with his saliva. Each lap resulted in slick, lewd smacks and slaps which bounced from wall to wall, filling your ears with nothing but the sound of his actions.

Your cock joined unison, his spit now turned lube had you mush, easily enveloping you, feeling the constant brush of his glove over your tip, tight and harsh, the coil within already threatening to snap.

“That’s it sweetheart, bounce that fat ass back for me”

Smirking lightly against the pillows following that noise, you wiggle your hips against his face allowing his tongue to slip inwards, spread wide, wide enough to start a thrilling pace.

It’s not long before one of his hands slip away from your hip, eagerly dipping down into his boxers, pushing the fabric low enough that he bounces out, a thud-like smack joining the pants and lewd laps, his cock smacking up against his abdomen.

You felt open, broken, his beard scraping you red raw, how could you say no? You were practically brain dead, both of you lost in your own pleasure, Ben could tell by the way you twitched desperately in his hand that you were close, he had every right in him to pull away, collecting the spit within the corners of his mouth to wad on your hole before returning back to the onslaught.

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna show me how much a slut like you can take?”

Ignoring his own needs, his other gloved hand squeezes your hanging testicles like a stress toy, fondling and squeezing. That’s when it happened, your whole body going stiff, his face still buried in your boy cunt, smirking all the whilst his hand carries on, feeling each spurt of your load jolt out and splash onto his fingers.

“Fuck, sir p-please…”

He wasn’t stopping and the fact you even insisted whilst drenched in sweat, body limp, your cock oozing a thick layer of cum had him questioning how far you were willing to take this, he wasn’t done, far from it.

You look back at him, his hair tousled in different directions, his beard and lips glossy with saliva, you were so done for.

“You think I’m done? That’s not even half of what I can do…”

[darcytaylor]

Theorizing vs. Facts: Let’s Talk

One thing that keeps popping up in fandoms (and life in general) is the mix-up between theories and facts. Let’s break it down:

A fact is something we know for sure - confirmed, verified, undeniable. A theory is a guess - sometimes informed, sometimes wild, but it’s still a guess. It’s when we take what little we know, add in what we think, and arrive at a “what if” scenario.

Here’s how this applies to some current discussions:

Nicola and Jake

Nicola and Jake hang out.

They go to events together.

They are in the same friend group. These are all facts.

Is Nicola dating Jake? There’s a possibility, sure. But since neither of them has come out and said they are, that’s still speculation. You can talk about signs, actions, or what you think it all means, but until the main players confirm it themselves, it’s still a theory (maybe even an informed one), but not a fact.

Luke and Antonia

Luke and Antonia are in the same friend group.

They have gone on vacations/traveled together.

Antonia posted a video at the same restaurant Luke was at in Rome. These are facts.

That’s what we know (and yes, there are other facts). The rest - whether they hang out one-on-one, whether Antonia was in Rome specifically to see Luke, or anything else - is speculation. Saying they’re in a relationship might be informed speculation, but it’s still not fact until the main players say so.

Luke and Nicola

They are on the same show and play each other’s partner.

They did a world tour for the release of season 3 of Bridgerton.

They have a unique relationship (and no, I’m not saying it’s romantic) that nobody in this world will truly be able to understand. These are facts.

We don’t know whether they hang out in private - they might, and they might not. All of that is speculation. And honestly, they have no obligation to share who they do or don’t spend time with in real life. Who they are dating or not dating.

(Obviously, with all of the people I mentioned above, there are more facts out there, I just named a few)

Now, here’s the part that’s been on my mind:

Sometimes people say they’re just “looking at the signs” and piecing things together because they’ve been in the fandom for a while and have the “information.” But what information do you really have? Things posted on social media, where everything is curated and never shows the whole picture?

I’ve been in this fandom for a long time, too. Most of that time, I wasn’t posting - I was a silent lurker. I’ve followed the actors since 2020. Some might think that gives me more knowledge about what’s going on, but it doesn’t. I’ll never claim to have insider knowledge, because I don’t know any of the people involved personally.

Do I maybe have more context about the wild speculations and in-fandom fights that have happened? Sure. Do I get sent things in private messages and asks because I now have a blog? Yes. But I really don’t have more facts about these people than anyone else, because most, if not all the facts are easily attainable. It’s the speculations people cling to that make them feel they have more information or insight. But guess what? Fan theories and speculation aren’t facts.

Now, I know what I’ve written here is very black-and-white, but that’s what facts and non-facts boil down to. It’s in the grey areas that theories and speculations are born. And while I do think there can be some value in exploring those grey areas, we have to remember - they still aren’t facts.

Look, I get it. People like to feel special. They want to believe they have unique insight into celebrities’ lives because they’ve followed them for years or been in the fandom for a while. But that doesn’t make you more knowledgeable than the next person. It doesn’t mean you have insider information or a clearer picture of what’s really going on.

And honestly, it gets weird when people start putting labels on others they don’t even know in real life. Relationships - even friendships - are nuanced. There will never be a pretty little box that all relationships in this world will fit into. When you label people based on limited knowledge, you’re creating a parasocial dynamic that’s both extreme and invasive.

A problem comes when speculation gets repeated so often that it feels like fact. Suddenly, a harmless guess becomes “proof,” and then people start arguing over something that was never confirmed in the first place.

So, here’s my little PSA:

🌟 Speculate responsibly. It’s okay to guess and wonder, but make sure it’s clear that’s what you’re doing. Also, there are things that just shouldn't be speculated on. Have some class. Have some empathy. Have some grace. 🌟 Acknowledge what’s real. Facts are facts. Theories are theories. Let’s not blur the lines. Nobody - and I mean nobody - has more information about people they do not know than the rest of us. We are all just fans of people in a TV show. 🌟 Stay grounded. The truth might not always align with the most entertaining theory - and that’s okay.

Let’s keep theorizing and speculation fun, don't stress. ❤️

[ostensiblyfunctional]

Lore lore lore loreeee

I also have a sword! It's a cheap wooden one I got at a Pride festival! I planned on painting it when I first got it, and years later it is still languishing in my closet, with not a speck of paint on it ^^;

I'm thinking about getting into drawing! I used to doodle a lot while I was in high school, but I haven't touched a sketchbook in literal years and it makes me sad :(. But I read a fic that put the drawing itch into me, so hopefully I'll actually start learning soon.

I'm currently working on a crochet hook holder! Working on it feels vaguely like hell on earth, because I'm using it as a scrap buster, and there are. So many ends to weave in. OUGH.

I use nearly all my stickers on shoeboxes! I have this paranoia about putting stickers on things I don't plan on getting rid of, which is why my computer and water bottles have such little personality lol. Because eventually those thing are going to get replaced, right? Or too damaged to use, because I have an unfortunate tendency to smack my water bottles into things and dent them. So I repurpose shoeboxes into storage containers and with all the stickers on those things, no way am I ever going to throw them away.

I had a wolf phase when I was young! I'm pretty sure it's the fault of this one picture book I had that was about wolves (I think it was about Yellowstone wolves? Maybe?). I was also really into Guardians of Ga'Hoole, so you can imagine my excitement when I realized the same author had a series about wolves.

Tags without obligation: @reesiereads, @vivid-mercury, @creaticare, @psyched-swan, @wisepuma23

IF YOUR SEEING THIS, SAY 5 THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF AND TAG 5 PEOPLE

I was an sonic fan.

I try my best to stick to the canon.

I love pop & rock.

I know a lot about anime(like jujutsu kaisen) so some people misunderstand me that I like anime.

I suck at gaming

@aurora-starlight-silly @miracle-negative @r31ncl0udcry @zoepreppyutfan @fruitcake5

[taylortruther]

different anon but I really don't think it's wrong or a reach to read that "kill" as possibly negative. that just makes the song more human to me, personally, but no one is obligated to read it that way and I wouldn't claim to know what Taylor intended by it...... I also think it's maybe specifically a better line because the kill could be positive or negative. if someone thinks the song is more meaningful if it's purely positive, which I see would be a cool contrast within Taylor's discography, that's fair, but I don't really see what the issue is with reading that line that way...... I sometimes think swiftie spaces suffer from being unable to decouple possible readings of songs from personal interpretations of Taylor. Finding some anxiety in So High School shouldn't be equivalent to dooming Taylor's current relationship but it sometimes feels like that. I don't mind people wanting to analyse Taylor herself through her songs (within reason) but we're not obligated to do it, in the same way gay interpretations of Taylor's music don't have to mean anything regarding her sexuality... what's the difference here?

i'm not resistant to that interpretation because i am afraid of "dooming" her relationship (my interpretations of hoax say hello), so please don't put words in my mouth. i'm resistant because it doesn't make sense to me given the tone of the song as a whole, which is basically: you make me feel light and free, and it is a little bittersweet because my life hasn't been that way, but this relationship is simple and loving and makes me feel out of my mind because i am so in love with you. it's taylor's "this kiss."

(eta: also, that anon is telling me to "admit" something so let's also keep in mind the conversation was probably not started in good faith)

[the-astrophel-system]

How did you come to be anti-endo?

I actually managed to avoid the endo community for a really long time when I was first researching osddid. eventually i did made my way over to tumblr and even then i managed to be oblivious to the community. i cant remember how exactly i first encountered the community. but after having mostly accurate information given to me, i was like. this obviously doesn't add up.

i remember encountering the term "demo system" over on tiktok. and i was so fucking disgusted by it. you cant try this shit out. you cant choose to have this. the more i heard from these "origins" the more i want to debunk and educate.

i believe a good portion of the problem is that people are misunderstanding themselves. either they have forgotten their trauma (which is normal), or they down play their experiences and think that just because it wasn't the worst of the worst, they can't have osddid. but yeah, i feel like thats a portion of the endo community and i have empathy for that.

what i dont have empathy for is people who actively spread misinformation. you need trauma for cdds. simple as that. and you cannot have a comparable experience to cdds if you do not gave trauma. (all "you" is purely general. not specifically you. unless of course, you identify as endo)

as someone who is spiritual and communicates with my dead relative quite frequently. channeling and mediumship is not comparable to being a system.

as someone who understands how this disorder functions, creating alter egos for yourself, creating imaginary friends, or talking to your original characters in your head, is not comparable.

as someone who has experienced religious trauma, claiming that your spiritual or religious beliefs are comparable, is incredibly insensitive. you cannot force people to believe in your religion. so therefore, i have absolutely no obligation to engage in your religion if i dont want to. and again, you cannot prove this is a legitimate thing, so therefore its not fucking comparable.

from the start, i was against it. it makes a mockery of a disorder, and people are so fucking stubborn and caught up in validating themselves, that they cannot take criticism and try to figure out what is scientifically happening.

thanks for the question

[admirationandromantics]

Could you please write something about Chris or Josh with a virgin reader? How they'd react when they found out? How their first time would be like? Both of them strike me as virgins as well but idk🤷‍♀️

Yes, I also imagine both of them as virgins. Josh seems like he’s been all talk, no action. And Chris? Well, I feel that one is obvious. Anyways, I’ll do both in this post, and for the sake of the writing, the reader is the only virgin, not the guys. They’ve both had sex before. Just because it’s easier to work with. Anyway, enjoy <3 

Chris

He’s not surprised when you tell him, he did not think you were, but the reveal gives him a little comfort as well. Why, you ask? Because he doesn’t need to match himself up to someone else. He’s confident in his ways, and that he can make you feel good, but at the same time, this guy will never stop being insecure, and that small part of it relieved him a little. 

What he also does feel anxious about is the fact that he’ll be your first. And what do people say about their first time? Awkward, weird, nothing went as planned… He wants to make sure that your first time goes well, and that it was a good experience. “I promise, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy” “Yeah, yeah. But I’m gonna make you happy for another reason than that too” 

If you are the VERY romantic type, he’ll set everything up. A nice dinner, candles, music etc. He wants you to remember this, and trust me, remember you will. 

One of his goals is to drag out the foreplay as long as possible, wanting you to be drenched and needy for him. Better to go too slow than too quick. This makes the makeout session last way longer than necessary, and you’re starting to get impatient. “C-Chris, I need you now” “No, no, just a little bit longer” he whispers, hand in your hair, pulling you towards him. 

It’s firstly when you start unconsciously grinding on his thigh that he finally understands how down-bad you are, and he starts working on your clothing. He’s fast and gentle with his hands, easily unclasping and removing your bra. 

The cold air hitting your nipples while he admires you, hands groping and lips sucking. You can’t do anything but throw your head back, gripping his shoulders for support as he continues his assault. 

You guys move on, getting each other's clothes off, and him getting on top of you, fingers digging into your heat as you whimper. He continuously asks if you’re okay, if you’re in pain or uncomfortable. 

“You sure you want to keep going?” “Y-yes” “I can stop if-” “I swear, I’ll kill you if you stop now” “Oh? well then” a smile creeping on his lips as he drags out his fingers. 

He positions himself, using your juices as lube as he slowly moves up and down, getting ready. “Okay, we’re gonna take this slow, okay?” You nod, taking a deep breath as he fills you up, small moans leaving your mouth. He leans over you, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss, swallowing each of your sounds while pressing into you. 

“How’re you feeling?” “Fuck, just give me a couple of seconds” you whisper, adjusting and comprehending. He smiles, nodding and spending the time kissing your upper body, everything from your lips down to your breasts. 

After a while, you give him the signal, urging him to start moving. He obliges, always watching your reactions attentively to be sure you’re okay. 

As the night draws to a close, you spend the night in his arms, sleeping and cuddling. Of course, when you were done, he had a glass of water ready for you, packing you deep into the sheets and caressing your hair. 

Josh

Josh is not surprised that you’re a virgin. His suggestive comments here and there getting you so riled up that he only made the assumption. He does not feel that much pressure, only wanting your time with him to go well. 

He can be really romantic, each touch he makes both attentive and calculated. When you’re making out, he’s respectful until you ask him not to be, causing a rougher man to grope and bite you. He still doesn’t go the full way, wanting to be careful and make sure that some type of trust is established before going to second base. 

One day, you’re laying on his bed, a movie playing in the background when your attention turns to each other. This leads to a long make out session, clothes thrown across the room, but still not going further than your underwear. 

You’re hot and bothered, wanting him to take you right now. You smile as you feel him growing hard beneath you, reciprocating that craving. Thighs around his torso, ass on his pelvis, you lean down, leaving kisses on his neck and asking. “Josh, I want you” “Right now? Are you sure?” “Yes” 

He spins you around, making you gasp from your back hitting the mattress. His hands wander over your chest, going behind and unclasping your bra. You sit up a bit, helping him take it off, throwing the garment on the floor. 

“And you want to do this?” “Yes, I do” “Right now” “Are you not up for it?” “Holy fuck, I’m holding back with every fiber of my being” “Stop holding back” 

He watches you while pushing himself into you, making sure that you’re not getting hurt, and can stop at any time. He captures your lips in his, both of your moans filling the room every time you stop for air. 

“Fucking hell, you’re so tight” You can only whimper in reply, feeling him fill you up, struggling to control himself as he wants to ravage you. He gives you time to adjust, letting you signal to him when he can start moving. 

When you’re done, he holds you, praising you and asking how it was. He’s attentive and sweet, asking if you would like a bath or a shower.

[sassypotatoe1]

I tried fidget toys for a good while with no luck. Start embroidery and crochet and I suddenly pick significantly less. Sometimes the enrichment has to be the exact right type for it to actually work. Keep looking, you'll be surprised the difference it makes when you do an activity that scratches your brain just right. I hand stitch things that I could save a whole lot of time machine stitching, because doing it by hand is the literal perfect stimulation for me to self regulate.

It's also so okay if your enrichment changes over time. A type of activity won't necessarily be effective all the time forever and ever. Whatever helps you now is good. When it stops helping, try something new until you find the next thing that helps. You are under zero obligation to finish a project you're doing for your own enrichment in a set amount of time, or at all. I jump between projects based on the type of stimulation I need. I have 3 major projects currently, a granny square double blanket, a painting and a proof of concept lino printed tote bag set. I do it tiny bits at a time like I'll paint for 30 minutes before doing something else. I have a painting from when I was 17, which is 8 years ago, that I'm still working on.

Do what makes you feel good as long as it doesn't harm yourself or others and you're golden honestly. It's the same as that wait until your shampoo and conditioner are finished at the same time thing. Find a reason, find a coping mechanism, find a support system, and I prommy it gets better. Not perfect I'll never be sick again better, but I'm better at coping with it every day better.

Over the years I've learned so much on here about various things to improve mental health and your outlook, and then I talk to someone who isn't on tumblr and I'm like oh wow, they don't even know about how to have enrichment for your enclosure. They don't even know how to not assume the worst about everyone and everything! Bananas.

[dreamyyesenia]

Get to know me better / Ten People I'd like to know more about

Thank you so much to everyone that tagged me @girlwithnojobcom @azoressims4 @abbysimsfun @queeniecook @likelyamused @itmeansiris @rosienthe Ilysm!!

Last Song: "To Keep You From Breaking" by Kelsey Woods - iykyk ;) I mostly listen to instrumental music atm.

Favorite Color: All shades of blue but I love midnight and ocean blue the most.

Last Book: "Mistborn" by Brandon Sanderson. Currently Reading "The Ever King" by LJ Andrews. I go back and forth between Fantasy - Fantasy Romance with a couple of contemporary Romances and/or Historical Fiction Books thrown in as a palette cleanser. SciFi I like as well but I don't like space-stuff (it freaks me out)

Last Movie: Probably LOTR tbh. I'm not into movies at all, I get overstimulated. Has to do with my hypersensitive personality (it means that your Thalamus, the part of your brain that's supposed to filter stimuli is much more "open" which leads to many many stimuli hitting you at the same time) and autistic tendencies.

Sweet, Savory or Spicy: Can't have spicy, I think I'll choose sweet but not in a sugary way. I like cake, ice-cream, cookies with less sugar but a lot of natural flavour from fruit, chocolate etc.

Current Obsession: Reading, my Kittens, TS4, Science, Playing the Piano. It's been this way for 20+ years if I'm obsessed with sth I won't let it go. Currently I'm very hyper fixated on reading though. Like, I just want to read all day.

Last Thing I googled: Cats Post-Surgery Tips 😸

Looking Forward to: Honestly just getting better health wise, seeing my kittens grow and developing distinct personalities, tackling my TBR, playing through the next storyline I have planned for my AKS-save and hopefully being able to start working again this year. I miss it like crazy though I won't be able to work as I used to before my illness. Doesn't matter, I just want to get back to it <3

I honestly don't know who to tag because I'm SO late to this. Sorry guys, I've been very low-energy this week. I'll tag randomly

@igglemouse @nitrozem @helloavocadooo @hashimasims @besimmer @cakepoppresent @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants @acidheaddd @hula-zombie @justmyblog05

If you have already done this or don't want to, feel free to ignore of course. Please never feel obligated to participate in these, I oftentimes forget or I feel too shy. It's fine. Love and appreciate you all so so much <3

[movingmusically]

Hi I have a request that the female lead is also an actress and austin thinks she is cheating on him with her co star make it angsty but with a happy ending please

And I love your fics btw

Author’s Note:

I used Luke Grimes as the costar because I binged Yellowstone over the holidays, and, well, let’s just say he made me feel a certain type of way. Feel free to replace him with someone else when you read!

Word Count: 10,785

Masterlist

The Way Back

The days on set blurred together, one long string of early mornings, late nights, and quick meals eaten out of styrofoam containers. This project was the biggest of your career so far—a gritty, romantic drama with sweeping landscapes and an emotional arc that pushed your limits. It was the kind of role you’d dreamed of since the start of your career, the kind that could define everything that came next.

You loved it, truly, but it was exhausting. And demanding. Every ounce of your focus had been poured into the project for the last two months, leaving little time for anything else—especially your relationship with Austin.

Not that he didn’t understand. He did. Austin had spent years working the same unpredictable schedules, throwing himself so completely into roles that you’d once joked he could disappear into them entirely. He’d laughed, saying he’d come back in one piece—but understanding each other’s worlds didn’t make the strain of long-distance easier to bear.

Lately, the distance had felt sharper. Calls had grown shorter, text exchanges briefer. You told yourself it was the hectic pace, that Austin had his own obligations, and you both trusted each other. But there were moments—like now, when the pang of missing him felt sharper—that made you wonder if it was enough.

Your co-star, Luke Grimes, had made the process more bearable. From the start, the two of you had clicked in a way that felt easy and natural, finding camaraderie in the chaos. Luke was laid-back, quick to laugh, and refreshingly grounded—a sharp contrast to the pressure surrounding the project. He’d been the one to make the cast group chats less awkward and to break the tension during gruelling days on set.

Most importantly, he was professional. There was a clear boundary of mutual respect between you, a comforting balance of work and light-hearted friendship. It was the perfect working relationship.

But even perfect could be misread.

It hadn’t escaped your notice that Austin wasn’t entirely sold on the dynamic. He’d teased you about it early on, his tone light but carrying the faint edge of something unspoken. You’d brushed it off, assuming he’d get used to hearing Luke’s voice in the background when you called him from set or mentioned something funny Luke had said.

“You’ve got quite the scene partner, huh?” Austin had remarked once during a late-night call. His voice had been warm, but the faintest thread of tension laced his words.

“He’s great,” you’d replied, keeping your tone casual. “Super professional. It’s been a lot easier having him around.”

Austin had hummed, a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement. “He sounds like a good guy,” he’d added after a pause, but there’d been something in the way he said it that stayed with you long after the call ended.

Now, weeks later, you couldn’t help but wonder if that lingering doubt had grown.

The day’s scene only added fuel to the fire. It was one of the film’s most pivotal moments—an emotionally charged kiss between your characters, set in a sweeping meadow under the golden light of late afternoon. The director wanted raw vulnerability, an authenticity that meant rehearsing the scene over and over until every movement, every glance, felt seamless.

Luke, as always, had been a steadying force. “We’ll get it,” he’d said after the first take, flashing you a reassuring grin. “It’s like muscle memory. Just don’t overthink it.”

You’d nodded, grateful for his calmness. By the time the cameras started rolling, you’d slipped into the rhythm of it, the rest of the world fading as you and Luke worked through the scene.

What you hadn’t accounted for were the fans and paparazzi lurking just beyond the set’s fence line. You’d caught glimpses of them between takes—fans with their phones out, photographers with long lenses, all of them angling for the perfect shot. It wasn’t the first time you’d had to deal with onlookers, but the weight of their stares, paired with the intimacy of the scene, made your chest tighten.

By the time the director called it a wrap, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, bathing the field in warm light. You were drained, your mind already drifting to the quiet comfort of home—and Austin. It had been days since you’d had a proper conversation, and guilt tugged at you as you packed up your things.

“I’m out for the night,” Luke said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He paused, his easy grin softening. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, offering a tired smile. “Just ready to crash.”

“Same. Don’t let the vultures get to you.” he added with a chuckle, nodding toward the edge of the set where some photographers were still milling about. You laughed lightly, waving him off before heading to your car.

By the time you got home, exhaustion had won. You barely made it through a shower and a quick attempt at dinner before collapsing into bed, your phone charging on the nightstand. The thought of calling Austin lingered, but sleep overtook you before you could press the button.

The buzzing of your phone woke you the next morning. You blinked against the sunlight streaming through the window, your stomach sinking as you saw the missed calls and unread texts from Austin.

10:12 p.m.: Hey, call me when you can.

11:45 p.m.: Are you okay?

1:00 a.m.: Never mind. Good night.

Shit. You groaned, running a hand through your hair as guilt settled like a stone in your stomach. You’d slept through all of them. With a sigh, you typed out a quick reply.

Morning. I’m so sorry, I crashed early last night. Call you soon?

With no response, you set the phone down and got ready for the day, trying to shake the unease creeping in.

But when you arrived on set, unease gave way to dread. Crew members whispered in tight circles, their voices carrying snatches of words like “chemistry” and “photos.” You didn’t need to ask what they were talking about; the look your makeup artist gave you as you stepped into your trailer said it all.

Your hands shook as you unlocked your phone. The headlines were everywhere. Paparazzi photos of you and Luke from the previous day’s scene were splashed across every entertainment site—intimate, romantic shots of the kiss, interspersed with candid moments where you and Luke had laughed between takes.

You felt sick scrolling through them. Headlines like “New Power Couple?” and “Chemistry On and Off Screen?” blurred together as your chest tightened. This wasn’t just invasive—it was wildly misleading. Luke was married, for God’s sake.

You didn’t even notice you’d been holding your breath until it rushed out in a sharp exhale. Slamming your phone face down on the counter, you closed your eyes, willing the tightness in your chest to subside. This was the last thing you needed.

The day passed in a haze. You texted Austin a few more times but got nothing back. By the time you finally worked up the nerve to call him during your lunch break, his voice on the other end felt distant.

“Hey,” you said softly, leaning against the wall of your trailer. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone clipped. “Saw your texts.”

Your chest tightened. “Austin, if this is about the photos—”

“I didn’t say it was,” he cut in, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

Your stomach twisted. “Okay.” You took a steadying breath. “But it feels like it.”

There was a long pause on his end, the kind that made your throat tighten and your heart ache. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but the edge hadn’t disappeared. “I just… I don’t know. It’s just… hard to see. That’s all.”

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to stay calm. “You know what the job is. You know this doesn’t mean anything, right?”

“I do,” he said after a beat, but his hesitation cut deeper than his words. “It’s just… hard to see you like that with someone else.”

You exhaled softly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “Then let’s talk about it properly. When are you free?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, long enough to make your heart tighten. “I’ve got Sunday off,” he finally said. “I could drive up.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Good. Come here, and we’ll figure this out.”

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his voice softening just enough to give you hope. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

When the call ended, you let your phone fall to your lap, staring at the blank screen as a dull ache settled in your chest. You’d made plans to talk, but the unease lingered. It wasn’t like Austin to hold back, and the weight of his hesitation hung heavy in your mind.

You pushed the thought aside, telling yourself that Sunday would come soon enough—and that you’d make him see what you already knew in your heart.

Sunday came quicker than you expected, though the week leading up to it had felt like an endless slog of rehearsals, night shoots, and rushed meals. You barely had time to think, which in some ways, was a relief. But as soon as you woke up that morning, nerves churned in your stomach like a storm waiting to break.

The day crawled by in slow motion, each hour stretching as you tried to focus on anything but Austin’s visit. You cleaned your apartment twice, rearranged the throw pillows on the small couch, and rehearsed conversations in your head until none of them felt right. By the time his knock came in the early afternoon, you were almost too tense to move.

But when you opened the door and saw him standing there, your heart lurched in recognition. Austin looked like he always did—comfortable, familiar, achingly handsome in his usual jeans and t-shirt. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and though he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a shadow there, subtle but undeniable, that made your chest ache.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey.” He hesitated for the briefest moment before leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. His touch was warm, but fleeting, and it left a hollow feeling in its wake.

As he stepped inside, you caught the faintest scent of his cologne—woodsy and clean, something that always felt like home. He looked around the small space with an air of quiet restraint, his movements careful, like he wasn’t sure where to land. You gestured toward the couch, and he followed, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor for a moment before lifting to meet yours.

The silence between you was heavy, thick with everything unsaid. You sat beside him, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, and started with the basics. You talked about the week—how hectic it had been, the night shoots, the endless rehearsals—and he told you about his latest projects, his words measured but distant. The conversation felt stilted, like a puzzle with missing pieces, and every pause only seemed to magnify the distance between you.

Finally, you decided to address it head-on.

“I saw the photos,” you said carefully, your voice steady but soft. You watched his face for any sign of reaction, your pulse quickening when he stiffened slightly. “I know they didn’t help.”

Austin let out a long sigh, his hand running through his hair as he leaned back against the couch. The gesture was familiar, but the weight behind it wasn’t. “It’s not the photos,” he said after a moment, though his tone told a different story. “I mean, yeah, they’re hard to look at. But it’s more than that.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. You frowned, shifting to face him fully. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor before meeting yours again. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow breath, like he was bracing himself. “It’s just… we haven’t had much time together lately. And with everything going on, it’s easy to let my mind wander.”

The honesty in his voice cut through you like a knife. Your chest tightened as you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his hesitantly before lacing through his. His grip was warm but hesitant, and it made your heart ache even more.

“Austin, you know what the job is,” you said gently, trying to meet his eyes. “You’ve been here. You’ve done this. You know how much it means to me.”

“I do,” he said quickly, his gaze softening just slightly as it met yours. “And I’m proud of you. I really am. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around his. “I miss you too. And I hate that this has been so hard. But you know I’d never… I mean, Luke and I—”

“I know,” he cut in, his voice firm but steady. “I know nothing’s happening. But seeing those photos… hearing his voice when we talk—it’s just been a lot.”

His words were careful, but the vulnerability behind them was unmistakable. You exhaled softly, squeezing his hand as you leaned closer, your voice unwavering.

“Then let me make this clear,” you said, your eyes locked on his. “I love you, Austin. You. Not Luke, not anyone else. You’re it for me.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His eyes searched yours, the tension in his face slowly unraveling as your words sank in. His shoulders relaxed, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly as he let out a quiet breath.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “I just needed to hear it.”

You stayed like that for a moment, the silence between you shifting into something lighter, more fragile but no longer heavy. Slowly, you felt the weight begin to lift.

The rest of the day passed more easily. You walked through the quiet streets near the set, your fingers brushing his as you strolled past shopfronts and small cafés. The conversation flowed more naturally, laughter slipping back into the spaces where tension had lived just hours before. When you sat down for a late lunch at a cozy café, it almost felt like nothing had changed.

By the time Austin left that evening, the warmth between you had returned. He kissed you before he left, his hands cradling your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. It was a kiss that said more than words, one that carried the promise of everything you’d built together.

But even as you stood in the doorway and watched him drive away, a small part of you couldn’t shake the unease lingering in the back of your mind. You’d made progress, yes—but something told you the worst wasn’t behind you yet.

The following weeks passed in a blur, the rhythm of set life pulling you back into its relentless pace. You and Austin texted more often, exchanged calls when you could, but the strain of distance still lingered in the quieter moments. It was better, but not perfect. And you weren’t sure if “better” was enough to soothe the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

You threw yourself into a surprise you’d been planning for his birthday, something to bridge the gap even though you wouldn’t be together on the actual day. It had started as a small idea—a collection of your favourite photos and videos together—but as the days passed, it evolved into something more. Late at night, after long days on set, you poured hours into a video montage. It became a celebration of your story: grainy selfies from the early days of your relationship, clips of Austin laughing, candid moments of him playing guitar, and quiet shots of him lost in thought. You even found a video he’d taken during one of your first dates, his voice narrating the scene as he tried to make you laugh.

You added everything you could find—every moment that made your chest ache in the best way. The video felt like a love letter, stitched together from fragments of your life together, and the thought of showing it to him filled you with equal parts excitement and nervousness. Would it be enough to remind him of everything you’d built? Of how much he meant to you?

Luke had unknowingly helped in other ways. During one late-night conversation on set, he’d mentioned a rare book Austin had been hunting for, something he’d talked about months ago when the three of you had chatted over dinner. “I think I know a guy who can track it down,” Luke had offered casually, his easy grin making it clear he didn’t think twice about it.

“Seriously?” you’d asked, your eyes lighting up. “That would be amazing.”

He’d waved you off with a chuckle. “Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.”

You poured every spare moment into the birthday surprise, letting it be your anchor amidst the chaos of work and distance. The thought of seeing Austin’s reaction—of being there to celebrate, even if a little early—kept you going.

By the time the video was finished, you couldn’t help but watch it back late one night, headphones in as you lay curled up in your apartment. The soft glow of the screen illuminated the quiet pride on Austin’s face after wrapping a show, the way his smile widened when he realised you were filming him. You’d added your favourite song to the background—a track he’d played for you during one of your first road trips together—and the combination was enough to make your throat tighten.

You saved the file, feeling a little lighter as you closed your laptop. Luke had managed to find the book for you, and everything was falling into place. For the first time in weeks, you felt hopeful.

With the video complete and the book set to arrive soon, the timing couldn’t have been better. A holiday weekend meant you had a rare break from filming—a whole two days to spend together without the interruptions of work or distance. You’d already arranged to drive to Austin’s place, planning to surprise him with an early birthday celebration. The thought of watching his reaction to the video, of handing him the rare book he’d been searching for, filled you with a quiet thrill.

This wasn’t just about his birthday; it was about reminding him of everything you’d built together and why it was worth fighting for. You couldn’t wait to bridge the gap, to let the moments you’d worked so hard to collect speak louder than the distance ever could.

The morning you left for Austin’s, you were buzzing with anticipation. The drive felt endless, even though you’d timed it perfectly to avoid traffic. As you navigated the familiar streets leading to his apartment, the weight of the past few weeks began to lift. For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to hope—hope that this weekend would bring you both back to where you belonged.

When you arrived, Austin opened the door with a soft smile. “Hey, stranger,” he said, pulling you into a warm hug. You melted into his embrace, breathing him in as his arms wrapped around you.

“Hey,” you murmured, looking up at him. The tension from your last conversation seemed to have eased, though there was still something guarded in his eyes. You brushed it off, determined to focus on the time you had together.

The evening unfolded quietly, the two of you slipping into an easy rhythm of takeout and soft conversation. It felt familiar—comfortable even—and you let yourself hope that maybe the weekend would bring you closer again. But as the night wore on, there was an undercurrent you couldn’t quite shake, an edge to the silences that stretched between you.

After dinner, as you curled up on the couch scrolling through your phone, a message from Luke popped up: Book’s been shipped—should be there tomorrow. Glad I could help with this one.

You couldn’t help but smile, relief flooding through you as you read the words. Finally, the last piece of the birthday surprise was falling into place. Quickly, you typed out a thank-you message, your fingers flying across the screen: You’re the best. This is going to mean so much to him.

When you glanced up, you caught Austin watching you. He was leaning against the armrest of the couch, his head resting on his hand, his expression unreadable. “What’s got you smiling like that?” he asked, his tone light, but something in his eyes gave you pause.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, locking your phone and setting it aside. “Just finishing something up.”

He nodded, but his gaze lingered a little too long before he turned back to the movie playing softly in the background. You felt the weight of his unspoken questions pressing against you, but you pushed it aside, determined not to let anything ruin the weekend.

The next morning, the atmosphere was still quiet but tense. Austin had been up before you, brewing coffee and scrolling through his phone at the kitchen counter. You tried to shake the unease creeping in, focusing instead on the anticipation of the book’s arrival.

Just before noon, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. Glancing at the screen, you recognised the delivery service number. “I’ll be right back,” you said casually, as you headed for the door.

Austin looked up from his mug, a questioning flicker in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

Outside, the air was warm and thick, clinging to your skin as you made your way to meet the courier. A small smile tugged at your lips when you saw the package in his hands—small, neatly wrapped, and containing the rare book you’d gone through so much effort to track down. You signed for it quickly, tucking it under your arm as you headed back inside, your excitement bubbling.

When you walked through the door, Austin was standing in the living room, his arms crossed and his jaw tight. His gaze dropped to the package in your hands before snapping back to your face.

“Who was that?” he asked, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard.

“Just a delivery,” you said lightly, stepping past him to set the package on the coffee table. “Why?”

His eyes followed you, narrowing as the tension in the room thickened. “You’ve been sneaking around all weekend,” he said, his voice low but taut with frustration. “Always on your phone, stepping outside to take calls… What’s going on?”

Your chest tightened as you spun to face him. “Austin, it’s nothing. I told you, I’ve been working on something.”

He took a step closer, his tone rising with anger. “With Luke? Is that what this is about?”

Your heart dropped. “It is Luke I’ve been talking to, but—”

“But what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “You’ve been glued to your phone, smiling at his messages, sneaking off to take his calls. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

You froze, disbelief washing over you. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes,” he said bitterly, his voice trembling with restrained anger. He hesitated for a beat, his jaw tightening, before the words spilled out. “Are you fucking him?”

The words hit like a slap, the room spinning for a moment as they sank in. You stared at him, stunned, your pulse pounding in your ears. “What the hell did you just say?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” he snapped, his hands thrown up in frustration. “You’ve been so secretive—what else am I supposed to believe?”

Anger flared in your chest, hot and blinding. Without thinking, you grabbed the package and shoved it into his chest. “This!” you yelled, your voice trembling. “This is what I’ve been sneaking around for!”

He stared at the package, taking it from your hands, his expression flickering from anger to confusion. “What…?”

“It’s for you!” you shouted, tears pricking at your eyes. “For your birthday! I’ve been working on a surprise—putting together a video, finding this book. Luke helped me track it down because I wanted it to be perfect. And now you’re standing here accusing me of cheating? With him?”

His expression crumbled, regret flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “You did mean it, or you wouldn’t have said it. You just assumed the worst.”

The weight of his words—and the betrayal they carried—crushed you. Tears spilled over as you stepped away from him, your hands trembling. “I can’t believe you’d think that of me.”

“Baby, I—”

“No,” you said firmly, holding up a hand to stop him. “You don’t get to ‘baby’ me right now. “I trust you, Austin. When you’re surrounded by people who adore you, working with beautiful women—I trust you. The way you look at everyone, always charming, always making people feel like they’re the centre of your world—I never question it, because I know you, and I know us. And I thought you knew me, that you trusted me the same way.”

His lips parted as if to respond, but you pressed on, your voice firm. “Trust isn’t negotiable, Austin. If you can’t give me that, then I don’t know what we’re even doing.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Austin reached for you, his hand hovering just inches away before dropping back to his side. His face softened, his shoulders sagging as his anger dissolved. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “I messed up.”

“It’s not just a mistake,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you can’t trust me, we don’t have a future.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your shaky breaths. You took a step back, your voice softening. “I love you, Austin. But I can’t stay here right now.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned and walked toward the bedroom, the weight of your heartbreak settling over you like a storm. Your vision blurred with tears as you packed your bag, trying to ignore the sound of Austin’s footsteps behind you—or the way his voice cracked when he said your name.

“Please, don’t go,” he said softly, his voice raw with regret.

You paused but didn’t turn around. “I need time. And I think you do too.”

You finished packing and zipped your bag with trembling hands. Before you left the bedroom, you reached into the side pocket and pulled out the small memory stick containing the video. You walked to the counter, placing it down gently with a handwritten sticker that read Play Me.

“Happy birthday,” you said quietly, your voice breaking as you turned to the door.

His eyes searched yours, the regret in them almost enough to shatter you. “I don’t want to lose you.”

You didn’t answer, stepping out into the warm air as the door clicked softly behind you. Your heart ached with every step, the sting of his accusation lingering like a wound, raw and bleeding.

The hotel room was small but clean, its walls painted in muted tones that felt both calming and stifling. You sat on the edge of the bed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, the weight of the day pressing down on your chest.

You’d left Austin’s apartment hours ago, but the tension lingered like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting. Every word of the argument replayed in your mind, cutting deeper each time. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, willing the tears to stop.

Your phone buzzed, the sound sharp in the quiet room. You hesitated before reaching for it, your heart sinking when you saw Austin’s name. A voice note.

For a moment, you debated letting it sit there, unheard. But your thumb moved on its own, hovering over the play button before finally pressing down.

His voice filled the room, raw and heavy with emotion. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but I need to say this. I messed up today. I let my insecurities get the better of me, and I hurt you in ways I never should have.”

You closed your eyes, the sound of his voice twisting something deep inside you.

“There’s no excuse for what I said, and I don’t expect you to forgive me easily. But I need you to know how deeply sorry I am.”

The words hung in the air, each one a mix of regret and desperation. His voice cracked as he continued. “I watched the video. I… I don’t even know how to describe it—seeing every moment you chose to include, hearing our song in the background. You put so much love into it, and I… I let my own fears blind me to everything you’ve done for us.”

Your throat tightened, a fresh wave of tears pooling in your eyes as you listened.

“When I think about the way I looked at you today, the things I said… I hate myself for it. You’ve always trusted me, even when you had every reason not to. And instead of showing you that same trust, I doubted you. I doubted us. That’s on me, and I’ll carry it until I can prove to you that I’ll never make that mistake again.”

The note ended with a long pause, as though he were gathering himself. “I don’t want to lose you. But I know I’ve given you every reason to walk away. If you can give me another chance—whenever you’re ready—I’ll be here. I love you. Always.”

The recording ended, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Your hands trembled as you set the phone down, Austin’s words echoing in your mind. Tears came then, hot and unstoppable, as you curled into yourself on the bed. The ache in your chest didn’t lessen, but the sharp edges dulled just slightly.

You weren’t ready to respond—not yet. But as you stared at your phone, Austin’s voice still lingering in the room, a sliver of hope pushed through the cracks.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the hotel room, soft and unassuming. You woke up with a dull ache in your chest, the weight of Austin’s voice note from the night before lingering. Sleep had been restless, your mind replaying his words alongside every sharp moment of yesterday’s fight.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the packed bag sitting near the door. The thought of leaving felt heavy, but not for the reasons you’d expected. The weekend you’d planned—filled with laughter, connection, and the hope of repairing the distance—had turned into something entirely different. And now, there was nothing left but to move forward.

After checking out of the hotel, you slid into the driver’s seat of your car and gripped the steering wheel, staring out at the quiet street in front of you. The video, the book—they’d all been meant to remind Austin of your love, to pull you both closer. But now you wondered if they had only exposed the cracks you hadn’t realised were there.

The drive back to your apartment near the set felt endless, the road stretching out in front of you. The radio played softly in the background, but even your favourite songs couldn’t break through the thoughts swirling in your mind. You hadn’t responded to Austin’s voice note yet. Every time you reached for your phone, the words you wanted to say eluded you.

By the time you pulled into the lot outside your building, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in muted oranges and purples. You grabbed your bag from the trunk, the familiar rhythm of life near set tugging at you like an anchor. But even as you walked toward your apartment, the weight of everything you’d left behind refused to lift.

Inside, the space felt cold and empty. You set your bag down near the door and wandered into the small kitchen, absentmindedly filling a glass with water as you tried to push the unease from your chest. Tomorrow’s schedule was packed, and the last thing you could afford was to let your personal life bleed into your work. But the thought of stepping onto set, of pretending everything was fine, felt like an insurmountable task.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, the vibration breaking the silence. You glanced at it briefly, a notification flashing across the screen—a low battery warning. Your hand hesitated before reaching for it, you knew exactly what still waited. Austin’s voice note, daring you to listen again. You didn’t press play. Instead, you opened a blank message, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard.

I made it back safely. Thanks for the note. I need some time, but… I heard you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk.

You hit send before you could overthink it, your chest tightening as the message delivered. Setting the phone aside, you walked into the living room and sank onto the couch, your elbows resting on your knees as you stared at the floor.

Tomorrow would come too soon, but tonight, at least, you could sit with your thoughts—however heavy they might be.

The next day started earlier than you wanted it to. The sun wasn’t even up when your alarm cut through the quiet, pulling you from restless sleep. Your first instinct was to reach for your phone, but you hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. You had nothing to say yet—nothing that wouldn’t unravel everything you were holding together.

By the time you arrived on set, the hum of activity pulled you into its current. Crew members bustled around, adjusting lights and equipment, while the director barked instructions. You kept your head down, focusing on the pages in your hand, but the weight in your chest refused to ease.

Luke’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Hey.”

You looked up to see him leaning casually against the craft services table, his coffee in hand. His expression softened when he saw you. “How was your weekend?”

The question hit harder than it should have. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words tangled in your throat. Tears welled up unexpectedly, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.

Luke’s eyes widened in alarm. “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, swiping at your cheeks. “Nothing. It’s fine. Just—just a long weekend.”

He frowned, stepping closer. “This doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’ Come on, talk to me.”

You wanted to tell him it was fine, that you didn’t need to unload on him. But the concern in his voice—and the fact that he wasn’t letting it go—made you falter. Finally, you exhaled shakily and whispered, “It’s Austin. We… we had a fight.”

Luke’s expression shifted, a mix of sympathy and curiosity. “About what?”

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “It’s complicated. Just… things got tense, and I left early.”

Luke nodded slowly, his brow furrowing. “Did he say something stupid?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. He said something really stupid.”

Luke crossed his arms, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. “Did he… at least like the book?”

The question caught you off guard, and your composure cracked further. A sob escaped before you could stop it, and you pressed a hand to your mouth, shaking your head.

“Oh, shit,” Luke muttered, stepping closer with a look of alarm. “I didn’t mean to—”

You waved him off, managing to choke out, “I don’t even know if he opened it.”

Luke’s expression softened, and he let out a quiet sigh. “Hey, whatever it is, it’ll work out. He’s a good guy, but even good guys can be idiots sometimes. And if he doesn’t realise how lucky he is, that’s on him.”

You managed a weak smile through your tears, appreciating the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks, Luke.”

He shrugged, his grin returning. “Just telling the truth. But seriously, if you need anything, I’m here.”

His words settled something in you, a small crack of light in the darkness you’d been carrying. You wiped your eyes and gave him a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of rehearsals and blocking, the familiar rhythm of set life forcing you to push everything else to the back of your mind. The scene you were working on wasn’t particularly emotional, but holding it together felt like walking a tightrope. Every word, every movement felt like a performance within a performance, your heart and mind elsewhere entirely.

During a short break, you found yourself sitting in a quiet corner near the trailers, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for, but the sight of Austin’s name in your contacts made your chest tighten all over again.

You set the phone down and pressed your hands against your eyes, trying to will the ache away. You’d responded to his voice note, but you hadn’t heard back. It wasn’t surprising—he was likely giving you the time and space you’d asked for—but the silence felt heavier than you’d expected.

Luke appeared again, holding two bottles of water. He held one out to you, his expression careful but warm. “Thought you could use this.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it gratefully.

He sat down beside you, his usual easy confidence tempered with quiet concern. “You holding up okay?”

You nodded, though it felt like a lie. “Yeah. Just… trying to focus.”

Luke studied you for a moment before leaning back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine, you know. It’s okay to feel like crap sometimes.”

You let out a soft laugh, more out of surprise than amusement. “Is that your motivational speech for the day?”

“Hey, I’m full of wisdom,” he said with a grin, but his tone softened as he added, “Seriously, though. You don’t have to carry all this on your own. It’s okay to let people in.”

His words stayed with you long after he left, echoing in your mind as you went back to work. You weren’t used to leaning on people—not really. But maybe, just maybe, he was right.

That evening, you sat cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, the faint hum of the city outside your window the only sound. Your script was open in front of you, but the words blurred together as your thoughts drifted back to Austin.

The video had been meant as a celebration of your relationship, a reminder of everything you’d built together. But now, it felt like a painful question mark—something you weren’t sure he’d even wanted to watch. You stared at your phone, wondering if he’d responded to your earlier message.

Your heart skipped when you saw a new notification. Not a text, but another voice note.

For a moment, you debated leaving it unread, the fear of what it might contain weighing heavily on you. But your thumb moved on its own, pressing play as the sound filled the room.

“Hey,” Austin’s voice began, softer this time, like he was treading carefully. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you, but I’ve been thinking about what you said. And I know I screwed up—badly. But I just… I wanted you to know I’m trying to figure out how to make it right.”

There was a pause, and you could hear the faint sound of him taking a shaky breath. “I watched the video again. Twice, actually. And I can’t stop thinking about everything you put into it. The way you see me… it’s more than I deserve after everything I said.”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“I know you need time, and I’m not going to push you. But I just… I want you to know that I’m here. And when you’re ready, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. I love you.”

The message ended, leaving you in the quiet once again. You set the phone down slowly, Austin’s words still ringing in your ears. The ache in your chest was still there, but it felt just a little less heavy.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to hope.

The end of the shoot was still three weeks away, but the pace on set had only intensified. Every day felt like an uphill climb—early call times, late nights, and a director who was determined to wring every ounce of emotion out of every scene. You kept your head down and pushed through it, pouring yourself into the work, but the weight of everything happening with Austin lingered like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

It had been three days since you’d sent that message from your apartment: I need some time. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to reach out—it was that you didn’t know how. What could you even say? The apology he’d left in the voice note had been heartfelt, but the hurt from that weekend still sat raw in your chest.

Each night, you’d lie awake in the quiet of your apartment, your phone sitting untouched on the nightstand, as you turned the argument over in your mind. You hated how it had ended, but you hated even more that you didn’t know how to fix it.

A few nights later, after another exhausting day on set, you sat on the couch with your dinner untouched on the coffee table in front of you. Your phone was in your hand, your thumb hovering over Austin’s name in your messages.

Finally, after what felt like hours of debating, you typed out a short message:

I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know how to feel right now. But I think we need to talk.

Your finger lingered over the send button before you finally pressed it. The moment the message delivered, your stomach twisted in a tight knot of nerves. Would he respond? Did he even want to?

Your phone buzzed almost immediately, his reply popping up on the screen.

I want to talk. Whenever you’re ready.

You stared at his reply, the words blurring slightly as your emotions twisted in ways you couldn’t quite name. Relief, guilt, and the lingering ache of hurt all tangled together, leaving you frozen in place. You wanted to reply—to say something, anything—but no words came. How were you supposed to move forward when it felt like the ground beneath you wasn’t steady?

Setting your phone aside, you leaned back on the couch, closing your eyes as the exhaustion of the day pressed down on you. His words had been clear, open, and patient. But patience wasn’t what you needed from him right now. You needed effort. You needed proof that he saw what he’d done, that he understood how much he’d hurt you. And that he was willing to do something to fix it.

As the week dragged on, you buried yourself in work. The director’s intensity left no room for distraction, and every scene demanded more than the last. But even as you poured everything into your performance, Austin lingered in the back of your mind. You thought about the way he’d looked at you that weekend, the way his words had sliced through you like a blade.

It wasn’t fair—what he’d accused you of, how quickly he’d jumped to the worst possible conclusion. But the more you thought about it, the more a troubling realisation began to take shape. Austin wasn’t insecure because of you. He was insecure because of himself.

You’d always admired his charm—the way he could make anyone feel special, the way his confidence seemed unshakable. But now you wondered if that confidence had always been a mask. He’d never talked much about his struggles in the industry, but you knew they existed. The pressure to stay relevant, to be perfect, to constantly prove himself—it had to weigh on him. And maybe that weight had bled into your relationship, twisting his perspective until he saw threats where none existed.

It didn’t excuse what he’d done. Not by a long shot. But it gave you context, a glimpse into why he might have doubted you so deeply. And as much as it hurt to admit, part of you still wanted to find a way back to him.

The weekend came and went, the end of the shoot creeping closer with each exhausting day. You hadn’t responded to Austin’s last message, and the silence between you felt heavier with each passing moment. It wasn’t that you didn’t care—it was that you didn’t know where to begin.

One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, you found yourself sitting on the balcony of your apartment, the city stretching out below you in a wash of golden light. Your phone rested in your hand, the message thread with Austin still open.

You took a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill your lungs, and typed out another message. This time, it was longer, less cautious:

I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened. I know you’re sorry, and I know you meant what you said in your message. But I need to understand why you doubted me. Why you doubted us. I need to know that if we move forward, it won’t happen again. Because I can’t go through that twice, Austin. I can’t.

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the send button. Then, with a shaky exhale, you pressed it. The message disappeared into the ether, leaving you staring at the screen, your heart pounding in your chest.

This time, his response didn’t come immediately. The minutes stretched into an hour, the silence gnawing at your resolve. You tried not to overthink it, telling yourself he needed time to process your words.

When your phone finally buzzed, the tension in your chest loosened, but only slightly. You opened his message, your eyes scanning the words.

You’re right. You deserve answers. Can I come see you? I want to explain everything. I need to.

You blinked, your mind racing. Having him here—face to face—felt overwhelming. But at the same time, it was what you needed too. You couldn’t do this over text. Not when there was so much at stake.

Your fingers moved quickly, typing out your reply before you could second-guess yourself.

Okay. Let me know when.

The moment the message sent, your stomach flipped. You didn’t know what he would say, or if it would be enough. But at least now, there was a chance to find out.

You’d known Austin would arrive that evening, but it didn’t stop the nerves from settling in your stomach throughout the day. He’d texted that morning, letting you know he’d leave around noon, and you’d spent every spare moment bracing yourself for the conversation ahead. Knowing didn’t make it easier—it only gave your mind more time to overthink.

The shoot felt endless, every scene dragging as the director pushed for perfection. You threw yourself into the work, but the hours ticked by slowly, each one pulling you closer to the moment you’d have to face Austin.

By the time you wrapped for the day, exhaustion clung to you, but it wasn’t just from the work. As you stepped out of the building, the late summer sun hung low in the sky, casting everything in golden light. You paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath as you tried to steady yourself. This wasn’t going to be easy, but you’d both made it clear that talking was the only way forward.

When you arrived home, the quiet stillness of your apartment greeted you, a stark contrast to the turmoil in your chest. You set your bag down and wandered into the kitchen, trying to distract yourself with the small rituals of unwinding—filling a glass with water, rinsing out a mug that had been sitting on the counter since morning. But no matter how hard you tried to settle, the anticipation of Austin’s arrival gnawed at the edges of your focus.

It had been two weeks since you’d seen him. You didn’t know exactly when he’d get there, but the waiting felt endless. Every sound outside the window made your heart jump, and by the time you heard the knock on the door, your hands were trembling.

You opened it slowly, your breath catching when you saw him standing there. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes were red-rimmed, like he hadn’t slept—or like he’d been crying. He stood there for a moment, just looking at you, his expression a mix of exhaustion, regret, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t speak. Neither of you did. The silence hung heavy between you, until your tears spilled over, hot and unstoppable. That was all it took—Austin stepped forward, his arms wrapping around you almost instinctively, pulling you into a hug so tight it left you breathless. For a moment, you stayed stiff, unsure whether to let yourself give in, but the warmth of his embrace, the way his hands pressed into your back like he was holding on for dear life, finally broke through. Slowly, you melted into him, your face burying against his chest as the sobs you’d been holding back poured out.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not yet. You just stood there, wrapped in him, the warmth of his embrace cutting through the chill that had settled over you for weeks. It felt safe. It felt like home. And for a moment, you let yourself lean into it, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt like you might lose him all over again if you let go.

He slid one hand up to gently cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading softly through your hair. He rested his chin on the top of your head, holding you close as if trying to steady both of you. You stayed like that, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. Then he tilted his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head.

His hand stayed at the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your hairline, and his other arm tightened around your waist, keeping you impossibly close. You could feel his breath against your skin, shaky and warm, and the moment stretched between you, fragile but full. He tilted his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

Before you could register what was happening, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. It was tentative at first, as though he were afraid to push too far. But there was a quiet urgency in the way his lips moved against yours, a deep longing that poured into the kiss. For a moment, you let yourself respond, your lips parting as you kissed him back. It felt like coming home, like warmth flooding into every frozen corner of your heart.

But then the weight of everything settled in, and you turned your head, stepping back just enough to break the contact. “No,” you said quietly, your voice trembling as you met his gaze. “We can’t just… go back to that. Not yet.”

Austin froze, his expression crumbling for a moment before he nodded, his hands falling to his sides. “You’re right,” he said softly, his voice laced with pain. “We need to talk.”

Austin stepped inside hesitantly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he glanced around the familiar space. You closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment to gather yourself. The weight of the past weeks sat heavy between you, the silence stretching like a thread waiting to snap.

You nodded toward the couch. “We should sit.”

He followed without a word, settling on the edge of the cushion with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. You sat across from him, leaving enough space to remind yourself why you couldn’t just fold back into him, no matter how much you wanted to.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try the beginning,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm swirling in your chest. “Why, Austin? Why did you think that about me?”

He winced, your words hitting like a physical blow. His shoulders sagged as he looked down at his hands. “It wasn’t you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “It was me. My own shit—my own insecurities. I let them take over.”

You frowned, searching his face. “What insecurities? You’ve never been like this before.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve always been like this. I’m just good at hiding it. You’ve always been so sure of yourself—so confident in who you are and what you want. It’s one of the things I love most about you. But me? I’ve spent so much of my career feeling like I’m one misstep away from losing everything. Like if I’m not perfect, it’ll all fall apart.”

You stared at him, his words sinking in.

“And when I saw those photos—when I saw you with someone who’s just as talented, just as driven—I let those insecurities take over. I let them convince me that I wasn’t enough. That maybe you’d realise it too.”

Your heart twisted at the raw honesty in his voice. “Austin…”

He shook his head, cutting you off. “I know that’s not an excuse. What I said to you—it was cruel and unfair. I didn’t trust you, and that’s on me. Not on you. You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you, and I hate that I made you feel like you had to defend yourself.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

“I need you to know that I see how badly I messed up." he said quickly, his voice cracking. "And I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against the walls you’d built since that weekend. “Austin… I appreciate what you’re saying. And I believe you mean it. But trust isn’t something you can just fix overnight. It takes time.”

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “And I’m not asking for you to forgive me right now. I just want a chance to show you that I can be better. That I can be the man you deserve.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache, but the hurt from that weekend still lingered. “You accused me of something I would never do. Do you know how much that hurt?”

He looked up then, his eyes red and glassy. “I do,” he whispered. “And I hate myself for it. You trusted me, and I broke that. I don’t know how to make it right, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying if you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling over you. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant them—that he was genuinely sorry. But the hurt was still there, a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

“I want to believe you,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “But I’m scared, Austin. What if this happens again?”

“It won’t,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I promise you, it won’t. I can’t lose you. I don’t want to lose us.”

“You need to understand something,” you said, your voice steady but firm. “I chose you. Every day, I choose you. And if we’re going to move forward, you need to trust that—completely. Because I can’t keep doing this if you don’t.”

He nodded, his expression resolute. “I do trust you. I’ll prove it to you, I swear. Just… tell me what I need to do.”

You shook your head, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not about what you can do, Austin. It’s about what you believe. Do you believe in us? Do you believe I’m in this with you, no matter how hard it gets?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his voice steady despite the tears shining in his eyes. “I believe in us. And I’ll never doubt you again.”

The sincerity in his words broke something inside you, the last wall you’d built around your heart crumbling under the weight of his apology. You leaned forward, your hands trembling as they found his. “You really mean that?”

“Every word,” he said softly, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you. More than anything. Please… don’t give up on me. On us.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he reached up to wipe it away, his touch gentle. “I love you too,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “But this isn’t going to be easy.”

His fingers tightened around yours, his breath hitching as relief washed over his face. “I don’t care how hard it is,” he said, his voice unwavering. “As long as it’s with you.” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

For the first time in weeks, the weight in your chest began to lift. It wouldn’t be easy—he’d hurt you in ways that would take time to heal. But as you looked at him, his face open and raw with emotion, you knew one thing for certain: he was worth it. You were worth it. And together, you’d find your way back.

The rest of the evening passed in gentle conversation, the kind that reminded you why you’d fallen in love with Austin in the first place. There were no grand declarations, no over-the-top promises, just quiet honesty and mutual understanding. The two of you sat close on the couch, your hands brushing occasionally, until the night deepened and the quiet hum of the city outside became the only sound in the room.

When you finally stood to clear away the empty mugs and plates from your impromptu dinner, Austin followed, taking the dishes from your hands and placing them in the sink. His presence was steady, grounding, and when you turned to face him, his gaze softened, his hand brushing against your cheek.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked quietly, though there was a hesitation in his voice, as if the thought of leaving you again was something he couldn’t bear.

You shook your head, the weight of the day finally slipping from your shoulders. “Stay,” you murmured, your voice soft but resolute. “I want you to stay.”

Relief flickered across his face, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll stay.”

The rest of the night passed in quiet intimacy—not the charged kind that had defined so much of your relationship before, but something softer. He held you close on the couch, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns against your back. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe, the tension between you slowly unraveling with each steady beat of his heart.

By the time you both moved to the bedroom, the exhaustion of the past few weeks caught up with you. Austin pulled you close under the covers, his arms wrapped securely around you as if to shield you from the weight of everything that had happened. His lips brushed against your hair, and you felt his breath hitch as he whispered, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond with words—there was no need. Instead, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his as sleep began to pull you under. For the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest felt manageable, the steady warmth of his presence a quiet reminder that you were moving forward together.

By the time morning came, the warmth of Austin’s presence lingered like a quiet reassurance, even as he kissed your temple softly and promised to be waiting when you got home. The day on set was as hectic as ever, a blur of lines, takes, and the ever-present hum of final-week chaos, but the thought of him waiting for you brought a grounding sense of calm.

When you finally stepped through the door that evening, the first thing you noticed was the soft glow of candlelight. Your living room, usually cluttered with the remnants of long workdays, had been transformed. A simple dinner for two sat on the small table by the window—pasta, wine, and a plate of your favourite garlic bread. Austin stood near the table, his hands in his pockets, looking almost shy.

“Hey,” he said softly, his lips curving into a tentative smile.

You froze, the day’s exhaustion melting under the warmth of the scene. “What’s all this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a little self-conscious. “I know we’re not supposed to just jump back to normal, but I wanted to do something for you. To say thank you—for giving us another chance.”

Your chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t with pain. It was the kind of emotion that made you want to cry and laugh all at once. “Austin…”

“I know it’s not much,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said—about choosing each other every day. I want to start showing you that. Not just in big ways, but in the little ones too.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” His voice was steady, but his eyes were vulnerable, like he was waiting for you to tell him if he’d gotten it right. “Because you deserve to be reminded how much you mean to me. Every day.”

The words landed like a balm on the raw edges of your heart. Slowly, you stepped toward him, your fingers brushing against his. “You’re doing it, Austin. You’re proving it.”

His relief was almost palpable, the tension in his shoulders easing as he smiled. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Dinner was quiet, intimate, filled with soft laughter and the kind of conversation that came naturally between the two of you. It wasn’t perfect—not yet. But it felt like a step forward, like you were slowly finding your way back to the connection that had always been there.

Later, as you sat on the couch with Austin’s arm draped around your shoulders, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What’s that?” you asked, your head resting against his chest.

��You’re almost wrapped here, right?” His voice was careful, but hopeful.

“Yeah.”

“I thought… maybe we could take a trip. Just the two of us. Somewhere quiet, where we can spend time together without distractions.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, surprised. “You’d want to do that?”

He smiled, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I want to go wherever you are.”

The simplicity of the statement made your heart swell, and for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest was replaced with something lighter. It wouldn’t be easy. But as you looked into Austin’s eyes, you knew you were both ready to fight for what you had.

“I’d like that,” you said softly.

And when he leaned down to kiss you, it felt like the start of something new—fragile but full of hope, with the promise of better days ahead.

[annafayeink]

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Chapter Two

Lu leaned against the counter, absently playing with a baguette like a philosopher pondering the mysteries of life. “You know, the key to a convincing lie is to anchor it in truth.”

“Is that so?” I lifted an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms.

“Absolutely,” he replied, unflinching, dipping into the professorial voice he reserved for when he was lecturing someone. “It's basic psychology. People are more likely to believe a lie if it's anchored in something real. That's why we should stick to things we know—places we visit often, mutual friends, things we've both experienced in some way. It makes the story feel lived-in. Plausible.”

“I'll take your word for it, Professor Mangione.” I bit back a grin. “You seem disturbingly good at lying. Should I be worried?”

“I've read my fair share of books on human behaviour.” Lu smirked, picking up the baguette before resuming his pacing like a man on a mission.

“Remind me never to play poker with you.”

He chuckled. “Truth is, lying is not much different from storytelling. The same principles apply. Every great story needs a consistent internal logic. If we’re going to make this convincing, we need to think like writers.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t deny that his point made sense. “Fine, O Wise One. How do we make our fake relationship Pulitzer-worthy?”

“Glad you asked.” Suddenly animated, he gestured wildly with the baguette as he spoke. “People believe what feels authentic. If our story has details that are too perfect or too rehearsed, it'll fall apart. People will start picking at them—”

“Like a loose thread on a sweater, yeah.”

“But if it's imperfect, unpredictable, and grounded in who we are… then it works.”

“I can do imperfect,” I say. “My life is one big ball of entropy.”

“Exactly,” Lu grinned like I'd just proven his point. “If we lean into that, sprinkle in a few real moments—your terrible dancing, my savior complex—we’ll be untouchable.”

“Terrible dancing?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You're right,” he replied with mock seriousness. “That was unfair. ‘’Terrible’ doesn't quite capture it.”

I threw a balled-up napkin at him, laughing despite myself.

“We will need to set some rules,” he declared, jabbing the bread in my direction for emphasis. “Without rules, things get messy.”

“Messy? Like crumbs on my floor?” I flicked a stray flake from the croissant he’d brought over earlier, trying to keep a straight face.

Lu shot me a sharp look and placed the baguette on the counter again. “I’m serious. If we're not convincing enough, my mother will sniff out the truth faster than you can say ‘respectable’.”

I couldn't imagine what his mother would do if she found out we were faking it. I'm guessing it would probably involve shame, a string of painfully awkward family dinners for him and absolute social suicide for me.

“And what happens if she does?” I asked, arching a brow. “What’s the worst-case scenario here, Lu? You get disowned and have to slum it with the rest of us peasants?”

His smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, but long enough for me to notice the way his shoulders stiffened. A tiny pang of guilt pierced my heart. I’d only meant to tease, but something about his expression made me wonder if there was more truth to my words than I realized. The smirk that followed was smooth, almost too smooth, like a patch slapped over something cracked.

“Actually, worst-case scenario, she tries to set me up with someone like…” He grimaced comically. “Anastasia Ricci.”

That made me wince instinctively. Everyone knew about Anastasia Ricci. From what I’d heard, she collected red flags like they were limited-edition handbags. “Fair point. Let’s avoid that.”

“So,” he clapped his hands, the motion as confident as if he were running a boardroom meeting instead of scheming in my tiny apartment. “Shall we build our magnum opus of fake love?”

I snorted, grabbing a notebook from my desk. I couldn't decide if his ability to spin convincing lies so effortlessly was impressive or just a little unnerving. I decided I wasn't ready to find out, so I leaned into humor instead. “If this ends up being more work than my actual relationships, I’m charging you for my time.”

While I wrote Fake-relationship Commandments in all captions at the top of the page, Lu plopped down on the couch next to me.

When he took a peak at the notebook, he laughed that easy, confident laugh of his. “Okay.” Rule number one: no going off-script.”

First commandment: thou shalt not improvise, I wrote.

“If the details don't align, people start asking questions,” he continued. “Questions lead to scrutiny. Scrutiny leads to exposure. We have to commit to it completely, because it is confidence that sells the story. Act like you belong in the lie, and most people won't even think to question it.”

“The more real it feels to us, the harder it is for anyone else to see through,” I agreed. “So, what's the timeline here?”

He thought for a moment. “If anyone asks, we’ve been dating for six months.”

“Six months?” I frowned. “Why not three? It’s more believable.”

“I think three is too short. Six gives us enough time to seem serious but not so long that people wonder why they haven’t met you before.”

I sighed, conceding with a small shrug. “Fine. Six months. How did we meet?”

He grinned with a familiar mischievous glint in his eye. “Obviously, I saw you painting one of your masterpieces in the park and was so captivated I tripped over a bench trying to talk to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. If anyone was tripping, it’d be me. Over my own feet.”

“Okay, fine.” He laughed again, the sound warm and unguarded. “How about we met through a mutual friend? Chelsea, maybe? She’s always dragging people to those weird wine-and-paint nights.”

“That works,” I said, nodding and scribbling.

“We also need specific touchpoints—milestones,” Lu said, his tone growing more thoughtful. “A first date, for example. Something cute and memorable we can refer to in conversation. Something that sounds like… us.”

I tapped my pen against the notebook, thinking. “Obviously, I dragged you with me to my favorite art gallery.”

“Yeah,” he said immediately, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “The one on Main.”

I froze, my pen hovering just above the page. “You… you remember that?” I asked, looking up at him, thinking about the dozens of galleries I hauled him through over the years and wondering how on Earth he remembered which one I preferred.

His gaze was steady, the kind of look that felt like it could see right through me. “I actually listen when you talk, Cate.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact yet filled with a quiet sincerity—caught me off guard. Warmth spread through my chest, rising to my cheeks as if the room had suddenly been plunged into a furnace. My throat felt tight, and I forced my focus back to the notebook, pretending to be absorbed in jotting down the details.

“Okay,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended, betraying the flutter in my chest. “What’s the next rule?”

Lu leaned back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms as he considered. “Rule number two: no overcomplicating things. The simpler the story, the easier it is to stick to. If we try to make it too elaborate, we’ll trip ourselves up.”

I raised an eyebrow, still jotting notes. Second commandment: keep it stupid simple. “That’s ironic coming from you. Your entire life is one big overcomplication.”

“Fair,” he admitted with a smirk. “But this is different. We’re not building a soap opera here, we’re creating a believable romance. Keep it straightforward—dates, conversations, little quirks about each other. No crazy exes, no dramatic love triangles.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “What about PDA?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Hmm. Let’s keep it natural. Enough to sell the story, but nothing over the top. We’re supposed to look comfortable, not like we’re trying out for a rom-com.”

“So no making out in front of your mom,” I deadpanned.

Lu barked a laugh, the sound sharp and carefree, but then something shifted. “Definitely no making out in front of my mom. But…” His voice dipped just slightly, quieter now, and his gaze flicked to my lips, lingering there for a breath longer than necessary. When his eyes met mine again, the teasing glint was gone. “There has to be chemistry. That’s non-negotiable.”

I froze, caught in the weight of his words—and the weight of his gaze. For a second, I couldn’t tell if he was still talking about the plan or if we’d wandered into something else entirely.

“Obviously,” I managed, my throat dry. I forced a small laugh that didn’t quite land. “If we don’t look convincing, we might as well call the whole thing off now.”

The air between us shifted, thickening like a storm cloud waiting to break. My pen hovered over the notebook, but I couldn’t make myself look away. Did he feel it too? Or was I just making things weird, overthinking the logistics of playing pretend? Maybe it was just the idea of kissing my best friend that had me spiraling.

“Holding hands? Sure,” he said finally, breaking the spell as he leaned back against the couch, his tone lighter now. “An arm around your shoulders? No problem. But…” He shrugged, an easy smile creeping back onto his face. “Anything beyond that, and we’re venturing into uncomfortable territory—for both of us.”

My chest tightened at his words, an ache I couldn’t quite name settling in. “Yeah,” I said lightly, nodding as I wrote it down. “We don’t want that.”

Third commandment: Minimal touchy-feely.

When I glanced up again, he was grinning at me, his usual charm back in full force, the moment slipping away like sand through my fingers. I let it go, choosing to believe the slight tremble in my hand was from the coffee I hadn’t had that morning.

“Any other rules?”

“Yeah,” he said, his expression more serious now. “We need to keep this between us. No one else can know it’s fake—not Chelsea, not your nosy neighbour, not even the barista at that coffee shop you love. The fewer people who know, the lower the risk of it getting back to my family.”

“Agreed,” I said, writing it down. Fourth commandment: Loose lips sink fake ships.

He leaned forward again and reached out to touch my shoulder. “Just… trust me, okay? If things get weird or someone starts digging too deep, I’ll handle it. You just have to trust that I’ve got your back.”

The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. He made it all sound so simple, but I couldn't shake the feeling that pretending to be his girlfriend might be the most dangerous thing I'd ever agreed to. I hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright! What’s missing? Oh—how about our favorite shared memory? You know someone’s going to ask about that.”

I snorted. “I don’t know, Lu. Do you have a favorite memory of me?”

He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I’ve got one. Remember that time we went to the beach and a seagull stole my sandwich? You nearly died laughing.”

I burst out laughing at the memory. The smell of salt and sunscreen was still as sharp as if it had been yesterday; Lu glaring at the seagull with the sandwich dangling from its beak and me laughing so hard I could barely breathe. “That’s actually perfect. Let’s go with that.”

He grinned. “See? We’re naturals at this.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I warned, though I couldn’t help smiling as I wrote it down. “Okay, last thing: our couple’s song. Suggestions?”

He groaned. “Ugh. Can’t we skip that? It feels so fake.”

“Everything about this is fake, genius. Just pick something.”

We spent the next fifteen minutes arguing over options, vetoing anything too obvious or cliché. Finally, we settled on a random indie song he’d shown me once and neither of us could stop humming for the next seven to ten business days.

“Alright,” I said, closing the notebook with a flourish. “Fake-relationship Commandments complete. Is there anything else you need to cover?”

Lu leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. “Nope. We’re ready to moonlight as con artists.”

He made it all sound so easy, like slipping into a role was second nature to him. But something about the way he looked at me—so steady, so sure—made me feel like maybe I could pull it off without actually tripping over my own feet.

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth of his smile was contagious. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t end in disaster.”

“It won’t,” he said confidently. “Trust me, Cate. We’ve got this.”

___

For the tag list, click here ✨

@mrsmangione286 | @nosebeers

[ft-3racha]

tw: smut!! bj, facefucking, d/s dynamics, degradation, praise

„fuck baby, just like that“, jisung rasped, borderline growled, as his dick slid even deeper down your throat. you swirled your tongue around his tip just the way you knew he liked it before bobbing your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks in the process. he fucking loved it when you gave him head; (almost) nothing could beat the feeling of your mouth around his cock. and you loved doing it: seeing him all hot and bothered, a slight sheen covering his forehead, tousled waves framing his gorgeous face, lips agape releasing the most beautiful sounds to ever exist. he looked ethereal, magnificent, and you would do anything he asked you to.

his big hand in your hair brought you back into the moment, fingers nestling inbetween your strands, pulling and guiding you. using you. „gon‘ fuck your beautiful face baby, okay? you‘ll tap my thigh if its too much, yeah pretty?“ all you could do was nod, just like he knew you would. his hips slowly started thrusting upwards and into you, holding you by your hair as if you were nothing but a toy. it was a rare sight to see him let go like this completely, but hell was it a sight. his thrusts grew rougher every time, grip on your hair still firm but not hurtful. „so good.“ jisung was lost in the pleasure, too deep into it to back out now. he wanted to hurt you, but hurt you in a good way. fuck your face so hard you‘d choke and gag until your eyes got all teary and beautiful. so that is exactly what he proceeded to do.

only minutes later you found yourself with tears running down your face gagging on jisung‘s cock as he dove it down your throat until your nose kissed his pelvis. drool ran from your face down his cock and balls, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. „such a messy little slut, aren’t you?“ the degrading words had you clench around nothing, your heartbeat almost switching location. „look at me“, he ordered, voice deep as the sea. you did as you were told and looked up at hin with fucked out teary eyes. he moaned and, with a particularly sharp thrust, made you gag so obscenely that any pornstar would be jealous. „fuck yes, you love gaggin‘ on my cock, yeah? mouth was made to be used like a cocksleeve.“ you tried to nod, but he did not give you a break.

after a couple more thrusts they became sloppy. he was close. „gon‘ come down your throat. better not waste a single drop“, was all he said as a warning, and you obliged. so when he held you by your scalp, shoved his cock down your throat to the hilt and came hard you swallowed every drop that he gave to you.

it took him a couple of deep breaths and the fade of his orgasmic haze before he opened his eyes again. „are you okay, love? did i hurt you?“ his brows furrowed in worry, big boba eyes staring at you. you quickly shook your head, reassuring him that you are okay. his shoulders dropped instantly and he made sure to take good care of you. not because of what you did, but because of what you meant to him.

[froggerland]

For the cold boys ask please tell me how you feel about Ned Little ❤️❤️❤️ Thank You!

THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!!

I am so normal about him you can't imagine how normal I am about that man.

Anyways:

First Impression: I think almost everyone has the same experience with this one: when you first watch the show you don't really register him for the first five episodes or so and then you either love him or are very much neutral about him. I vaguely remember the scene where he's standing next to Jopson looking like a kicked dog while Crozier yells at him and I think that's when I took note of him like "ohh poor boy let me give you a hug :(" I really fell for him in the second half of the season (first mainly bc hes pretty. Im a simple woman sometimes and im not afraid to admit it) and I cannot stress this enough how much the last scene where Crozier finds him half frozen with the chains on his face has altered my brain chemistry. That was the fr the point where I was like "okay so I'll never be normal again EVER huh"

Impression Now: I love him. I love him so so much on so many layers. For one I need him biblically bc I believe I can fix his ass and his sad energy and big cow eyes have bewitched me body and soul. Matthew McNulty was born to sport mutton chops and look increasingly disheveled while on a death march in the canadian arctic. But I can't put into words how much I relate to him. I am him, he is me. Genuinely if I was put on that stupid expedition in his place I would've made all the same (bad) decisions. I can literally name two other characters in media I relate to and those are Kat from Euphoria (only the first season version and I think if I watched the show now I would throw her off this list) and Connel from Normal People (him just,, big time). They just don't make characters that messy, pathetic and sad very often!! Or I'm not watching enough tv to find them but when I saw Ned throughout the season I was like "wow I relate to him so much and idk what that says about me". I feel like I went on a tangent there but I love him he is such a dear. He tried so so hard to do right and keep things under control bc he hates chaos but he was just so overwhelmed and had to deal with Croziers shit for way too long (I'm trying to sound smart rn bc people have very nuanced but sometimes also kinda weird takes on his character. Believe me I see him as more than sad wet puppy man but I don't have the words in the english language to express that)

Favorite Moment: Any scene he's in ever? Duh?? No but if I had to pick one I'd say the dundy intervention when he finally tries to put a foot down to rescue Crozier but they all just dismiss him. The way his eyes water. I. Mmh. I think I'm obligated to name his last scene as well bc that one makes me cry everytime even if I just see a gif of it, it's just so haunting and so so sad

Idea For A Story: Oh. Uhmmmmm. I'm really not a writer so I can't come up with anything cool on top of my head except let Ned be happy and comfy and warm. Tuck him into bed and give him soup. That's all

Unpopular Opinion: I can't really tell what's an unpopular opinion bc I've seen basically every take ever on him from "he is a pushover how did he even get his job" to "he's actually a meanie with big time anger issues" so. Maybe that I think he would've been a good lieutenant with a different captain on a more chill cruise. He'd do very well keeping order and the respect of the crew if he didn't have to be the doormat and errands boy for his alcoholic captain while starving in the arctic. I'd dare say 99.9% of life on a ship was more chill than the franklin expedition so maybe he wasn't the best lieutenant ever but he would've done a good job if the stakes weren't THAT high

Favorite Relationship: Started as a Joplittle stan, became a Sojoplittle truther and now my favorite is Solittle. I love my two dog boys, I love how they parallel each other (they were narrative foils your honor). But honestly anything goes, everyone deserves a bite out of nedward <3

Favorite Headcanon: That animals love him. Saw that on my feed a few days ago and yeah, agreed. He's definitely a cat person and they just flock towards him (extended hc that jirv loves animals so so much but they just hate him for some reason. So when the ships cat sneaks in during meetings jirv tries to get her to come towards him but the cat's like "ew no church boy" and jumps into Ned's lap who pets her but also prays he won't get yelled at by Crozier for this)

[evolymynnhoj]

across timelines — johnny cage !

sum. seeing you again amidst armageddon overjoyed johnny, but, were you the you that he knew? whatever or whoever you were, all he knew was he was glad to see you alive.

author's notes. beyond pressing 'read more' – everything you'll read is purely fictional and based on the mind; spelling and grammar mistakes, spot them and get a price (aka my thanks), moreover, feedback and comments are highly valued! i hope you have a good reading experience. love, ian. ౨ৎ‧₊˚ ⋅

tags ・・・ johnny cage x reader, character death, angst, hurt/comfort, very mcu gamora and quill coded. does not accurately follow the storyline of mk1.

word count ・5.9k

send an ask → find more on the navi → find more on the mortal kombat masterlist !

johnny was still in place, motionless, his breathing stopped.

seeing your body drop down the floor, hearing it thud. bruises and scars decorating your skin, and blood weeping from your body staining the floor scarlet.

he could swear he'd watched how the life force drained from your body and dissolved into the wind, all from giving your all in the war to subdue your own mother, or at least one who was a splitting image of her.

"Y/N!!" he'd cry out, snapping from his trance. he'd run to your disheveled state, everything around you faded to black. "y/n.. no.. don't .. stay with me" he would plead, breaths heaving in desperation, trying to find reason and sense, how does he end your misery. his touch was delicate, afraid of hurting you even further, his hand would caress the back of your head and he would bring your half-asleep body closer to him. "y/n.. stay awake.. liu kang.. he can help you.." he would try, he would try to convince you, to convince himself, just to keep you with him, to persuade you to stay.

"johnny.." a soft plea in your voice, barely conscious, you were losing too much blood at this point. black spots clouded your vision, if you weren't fighting tooth and nail just to stay awake you probably couldn't feel how heavenly it was to be held by the jonathan carlton this way. finally. was this all it had to take? for him to finally hold you close... to hold you so tight, to never want to let you go. agonizing as it was, you'd force yourself to lift up your hand to his face, faintly feeling his ease into your touch.

"i'm here, y/n.." he'd reassure you. nothing felt better knowing, you know he's here with you. a small smile fell on your lips, before gradually, your eyes began to close. brows furrowed, johnny started panicking. "y/n? y/n? hey, don't be like this— y/n, y/n wake up!" he'd try to shake you slightly, until he shaked you more. "Y/N WAKE UP!" he'd cry louder, but to no use... you were...

"NO!"

johnny jolted from his slumber.

... gone. you were gone. truly... gone. forever.

his shoulder slump, his morale and his energy on the down low. it was the middle of the night and he'd awoke from his nightmare to another, the real one, this time. he couldn't bring himself to sleep again, he'd thought of you endlessly that night, dreading the fact of his not being there for you, that night where you had gone. why wasn't he where you were? why wasn't he with raiden and liu kang, why couldn't he stuck with you, like he promised?

how could he have slept at a time like this... gods only know how. a creeking noise would play in the dead of night, alerting johnny who arose from where he'd lain. "johnny.." he called, glowing white eyes, solemn and hints of worry in his voice – the god of fire and thunder wasn't well on hiding the heavy weights on his shoulder – johnny thought subconsciously, above all his concern, was his own exhaustion, what possibly could liu kang be barging inside his room for?

"come.. we must go." the lord said, it was not a simple ask, moreso an obligation.

this was it.

the .. the thing he had promised months ago, though at this point, it's felt like years for johnny.. this was.. this was gonna be the thing that would change the arc of his life..

for the better?

nah, how could it be? when you were... dead.

and he couldn't have done anything to prevent it. hell, liu kang couldn't. so how's this for the better? if it's without you?

he shrugged the thought off, he has to focus on now, as he walked alongside valiant warriors facing up against those who cowered up those stairs that descended from the heavens down to this hellscape.

"let's fucking dance" he'd say to himself, bouncing up and down to pump up in preparation, jazz and all.

then it began ...

cacophonies of war cries echoed from above and from behind him as everyone charged at each other. it was fucking arma fucking geddon. johnny rushed to reach the top, kicking, throwing, and punching anyone in the face, gladly, in their nuts— who got in his way. everytime he did, that sweet killer smile grew on his face, brushing off the sweat and blood that adorned his skin whilst continuing his descent towards the skies.

he was well on his way, when something suddenly clung to his ankle and dragged him down a LOT. "fuck!" he cursed out before trying to get back up, seeing who this fucker was trying to come for him, he was having none of it.

it was...

him.

"well if it isn't.. me" the other johnny seemed almost taken aback seeing johnny,

"just gonna put this out there, i'm the sexy one." johnny would taunt at him even when he was slightly struggling to get on his feet but he found himself bouncing right again ready to take this son of a bitch who was another version of himself, the other would just scoff, "yeah? well i'm sexier." a smirk etched on his stupid face, he would regret that for sure, johnny thought.

the other would launch forceballs at johnny but his were red, it was nothing to our ol' jonathan – dodging it like the plague. punishing the other with a crushing blow to the sternum with his shadow kick. he would laugh at his other who'd fall on his ass, groaning in pain, he'd go back to running up where he was supposed to go.

he ran and ran like there was no tomorrow, because it really felt like there wasn't gonna be anymore. he threw forceballs at anyone who got in his way, not caring anymore, he was gonna get up there and stop this shit.

and he got so close, closer, and closer!

and.. finally, he was there.

wow.. that was.. easy.

he'd scoff at the absurdity, that proved to be a mistake– when he got knocked down a few the pavement of the heavens.

"ow, what the fuck" he kept cursing, everyone's out for him today, no, literally.

he was about to crush the son of a bitch who tried him without pulling back his punches this time, when suddenly his arm clashes with theirs and time is stuck and still, as his eyes gaze back to the same eyes he'd missed terribly.

"...y/n..?" a call to the wind, above a whisper but beneath a yell, his heart doesn't know whether to pick up its pace in absolute euphoria or to slow down and cherish the small time in seeing you again.

oh he was so happy... so happy, he'd let his guard down.. as you did, surprisingly.

"you're alive..." a revelation to him.

an even bigger revelation to you,

who was this man? and why was he looking at you like this? ... nobody, you don't know this creep. you're alive? when had you not been?

"more than ever." you'd say, before swiftly moving forward to knee him in the groin. he'd groan aloud from the heavy impact.

kung lao hissed imagining the agony johnny must've experienced, "hurt like a bitch" johnny described poorly, eyes down, almost as if he wasn't upset at it, finding humor in the interaction with.. someone who resembled you. he almost laughed, but he'd smile smally instead.

he knows. he knows that lookalike wasn't you, because he remembers the you he'd known.

and he had no intention of forgetting you, ever. because across all the timelines that existed, of all the y/n's and the johnny's out there.

to him, the only y/n that mattered was you. and he knows you shared that sentiment. he was wholeheartedly yours, just the same way, you were his.

he would mourn you, for life.