#and the voice acting feels way more natural

[thomamaru]

Scripted Hearts: The Star, His Love, and His Spotlight...

Synopsis: Rin loves it when you wear his jersey. He may not show it, but deep inside, it shows that you are only a fan of him and nobody else's. The one day you wear it outside, you encounter his brother.

Tags: Rin Itoshi x gn!reader, jealous and protective! Rin itoshi, Sae is a tease, fluff

You’re on your way to meet Rin after his late practice, lazily wearing one of his jerseys since he left it at your place after a shoot. It feels soft and oversized, the number 10 sprawled across your back. As you pass by a café, someone calls out.

“Nice jersey.”

You turn, heart skipping as you recognize Sae Itoshi. Rin’s older brother. The famous Sae Itoshi—international soccer superstar and household name. You’d seen his aloof expression a million times in interviews, but now he’s standing a few feet from you, a brow raised.

“Thanks?” you stammer, unsure of what else to say.

“I didn’t know Rin lent you that.” His voice is cool but mildly amused. “Must mean you’re important to him.”

You chuckle nervously, “Uh, something like that. Are you visiting?”

Sae steps closer, a faint smirk gracing his face. “Something like that. Mind if I join you for a moment?”

As Sae chats with you, you find yourself less overwhelmed and more fascinated. He’s charming and charismatic, making light jokes about Rin’s dramatic nature, though there’s a sharpness in his tone whenever he mentions his younger brother.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rin walking up the street. His hoodie’s pulled low, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture already rigid when he notices Sae speaking with you.

Sae follows your gaze, and a glimmer of mischief lights up his eyes. Before you can figure out what he’s planning, Sae leans in.

“Stand still,” he says casually, pulling out his phone.

“What—?”

Click.

The sudden flash blinds you, and before you can react, Sae pulls back with a smug grin. Turning to Rin, who’s now glaring at the scene from just a few feet away, Sae holds up the phone as if to say, See this?

“Later,” Sae says coolly, walking past you to casually bump shoulders with Rin. His exit is punctuated with a stuck-out tongue that only Rin can see.

You turn to Rin, still stunned. “That was...weird.”

Rin doesn’t answer. His teal eyes are locked on the spot Sae disappeared, his jaw visibly clenched. Without a word, he turns and starts walking ahead of you.

---

From that point on, Rin becomes...strange.

He starts hovering closer, always making sure his arm rests around your shoulders or that he’s the one holding your hand—even in situations where it isn’t necessary.

He starts nitpicking things. “Why were you talking to him for so long?” “You looked too comfortable.” “Don’t trust anything he says.”

During a red-carpet event, he leans in closer than usual when photographers ask for a couple shot, his lips brushing your temple with a pointed, "Mine," under his breath.

At first, you think he’s just being protective. But after the third time you catch him scrolling through his phone (most likely checking Sae’s social media), you finally confront him.

It’s late at night, and Rin is at your place, brooding on your couch while you try to get some work done. When he sighs for the fifth time in ten minutes, you slam your laptop shut.

“Okay, spill.”

Rin flinches but doesn’t look at you. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird ever since we bumped into Sae. Don’t lie.”

His lips tighten into a thin line as his fingers tap against his knee—a rare show of nervousness. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not ‘nothing.’ Rin, if something’s bothering you, just—"

“I didn’t like it.”

You blink, startled by his bluntness. “…Didn’t like what?”

“The jersey,” he says softly, staring at his hands. “You wearing my number. His number. Him acting like you…” Rin takes a deep breath, the words almost growled: “...like you’re someone he can mess with.”

“Oh.” You sit back, realization dawning on you. “You’re jealous.”

His head snaps up, his teal eyes wide. “I’m not—”

“You’re definitely jealous!” you say, stifling a laugh.

“I’m not!” Rin protests, his voice rising slightly before softening. “It’s just… I don’t like the way he looks at you. Like he’s better than me. Like he can take you—”

“Rin.”

Your voice makes him pause, and when you place a hand on his cheek, his rigid expression crumbles just slightly.

“I’m with you because I want you. Not Sae, not anyone else. Just you.

He swallows hard, leaning into your touch. “You mean that?”

“Of course, I mean it.” You smile softly. “Though, for the record, I like when you get a little possessive. It’s cute.”

Rin groans, burying his face in your neck as you laugh.

---

The next day, Rin posts a picture of the two of you in his jersey on his private account—a candid shot of you laughing on his couch while he watches you with a rare, genuine smile.

Minutes later, your phone buzzes with a notification.

Sae Itoshi: Guess he made his move, huh? Cute.

You laugh, showing Rin the message. He narrows his eyes, snatching your phone and typing a single reply.

Y/N : Stay away.

When you glance at him, his glare softens into a small smirk. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, pulling him closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only because of you,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours.

And for once, you’re okay with that.

(*￣∇￣)ノ

[austinbutlerslovers]

Rebound Romance

Label Mature 18+

Summary After filming a movie where you and Austin become too intimate, the lines blur causing rumors swirl at the premiere about you together following his recent breakup.

🔗 Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin enduring a break up • Austin trying to remain professional • catching feelings • undeniable chemistry•filming a sex scene• unexpected orgasm during sex scene • denying feelings • acting indifferent • reuniting • rekindling romance • sneaking away • semi public sex •sex hidden in a theater during a premiere • P in V • against a wall • rushed orgasms • cream pie.

Inspired by multiple messages written asap (edited )

Rebound Romance

It’s the night of the premiere, and everyone in the cast should be buzzing with excitement. The flashing cameras, the glamorous red carpet, and the thrill of the audience seeing the film for the first time should make for an electric atmosphere.

The historic theater, draped in shimmering lights, looms behind you, its marquee proudly displaying the film’s title. The night should feel like a celebration of months of hard work and anticipation. But instead, it is overshadowed by the swirling drama surrounding Austin’s recent breakup.

Austin, stands a few feet away on the red carpet, his piercing blue eyes flickering under the relentless camera flashes.

His hair, once buzzed for another role, is now growing in soft waves that frame his sharp features. He looks striking in his tailored black suit, the crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sense of ease. But his smile, the smile that usually lights up a room is hidden tonight.

He’s the male lead of the film, and every interviewer seems more interested in prying into his personal life than asking about the movie. “How are you holding up after the breakup, Austin?” “Any chance for reconciliation?” “Do you feel the film’s themes mirror your personal life?” The questions come rapid-fire, their tone more probing than sympathetic.

Austin, usually so composed and charismatic, looks tense. His easy smile falters as he navigates the minefield of invasive questions.

“I don’t think there’s anything I want to share about that, but thank you for providing the space,” he says, his voice calm but firm. His professionalism is evident, but so is the tightness in his jaw, the faint tension undeniable.

You watch from a few steps away, your heart twisting at the sight of him trying so hard to hold it together.

You’re no stranger to the spotlight yourself. Draped in an elegant white gown that hugs your figure perfectly, you’re every inch the Hollywood starlet tonight.

The shimmering fabric gleams under the lights, the dramatic slit along the leg adding a touch of allure. Yet, the weight of the night dulls any confidence the dress might have inspired.

Your own breakup, though quieter and far less public, has been a shadow trailing you for weeks, making your questions just as relentless, though they take a different angle.

“Do you and Austin have real chemistry off-screen?” one reporter asks. “Your scenes together feel so authentic—was it hard to leave those emotions on set?”

You smile politely, keeping your composure despite the way your heart races. “Austin and I worked incredibly hard to bring these characters to life,” you answer smoothly, your voice calm but firm. “We had amazing chemistry as co-stars, and that’s what you’ll see on screen. We’re both just excited to share this story with the world.”

“With both of you ending your relationships after filming, is there something more than just on screen chemistry there?” another chimes in.

Your eyes flick to Austin briefly before you return your attention to the reporter. “I think speculation is natural, but for both of us, this project was always about the work. We’re proud of the story we’ve told and are excited for everyone to experience it.”

The reporter nods, satisfied with your answer, and your publicist steps forward, urging you to wrap up the questions due to time constraints. “Thank you, everyone,” you say politely, nodding at the reporters before stepping away from the line.

As you walk past Austin, your eyes catch his again, and the dimness in them tugs gently at something deep inside you. He isn’t himself tonight, and you can’t help but feel awful for him.

You had gotten to know Austin well during the months of filming. Though your on-screen time together was relatively brief, your off-screen bond was immediate and undeniable. 

He had a charm that made it impossible not to laugh, and the way he listened, really listened, when you talked about your life made you feel seen in a way few people managed.

Between takes, there was always a spark—flirty teasing, lingering touches, stolen glances that neither of you could deny. Yet neither of you addressed it, letting the tension build with every passing moment to bring more depth to your scenes.

The intimacy coach had pulled you both aside more than once to encourage a more genuine connection between your characters, urging you to bring more authenticity when the cameras were rolling.

“It’s about making a fake scenario feel real,” she reminded you both, her gaze shifting between you and Austin after you both hesitated to give in during a particularly steamy kiss scene.

You nodded, Austin doing the same, and slowly you began testing each other’s boundaries, seeing how far you could push a scene to make it believable,

Until the lines began to blur.

Your kisses deepened, becoming fare more real, lingering with an intensity that was impossible to ignore and his hands moved with confidence, grazing over your curves with an intimacy that felt far beyond the script.

When the director yelled “Cut”, neither of you pulled back as quickly as you should, the charged silence between you like a confession neither of you dared to admit.

It didn’t take long for the tabloids to catch wind of the chemistry between you two.

Photos of you laughing together on set or walking shoulder-to-shoulder to your trailers began circulating, and while it wasn’t scandalous on its own, it stoked the fires of gossip.

Headlines speculating about your relationship began appearing everywhere, feeding the public’s growing fascination.

But everything paled in comparison to the biggest turning point of all.

Your sex scene

You both knew it was coming, the intimacy coach had worked closely with you for weeks, helping you establish boundaries and create a space where you could perform without crossing personal lines.

The goal had always being to make a fake situation look real. But when the night of the shoot arrived, neither of you could have predicted how real it would feel.

You stood just off-camera, dressed in a red crop top and mini skirt that left little to the imagination. Beneath it, you wore only a modesty cover designed to keep your lower half technically covered during the topless scene.

Your breaths came heavy as you ran through the scene in your head, trying to ground yourself. You trusted Austin. You cared for him even him. You wanted to get the scene right and you were more than prepared to do it.

When Austin approached you, his easy charm was on full display, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice low and playful, “if this doesn’t make the tabloids, nothing will.”

Despite your nerves, you couldn’t help but giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. His words were light, and as you looked up at him, you couldn’t help but feel an unspoken comfort in his presence.

His touch was casual but warm as it landed briefly on your arm, and he leaned in closer, his voice softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, your mind clouded with more thoughts than you could explain. “Yeah. I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered just slightly.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, scanning your face as if to make sure you were telling the truth. His gaze, always focused, softened slightly as he smiled. “We’ve got this,” he said, his voice low and reassuring as his hand trailed up your arm, stopping just shy of your shoulder.

The rig was set up—a complex swivel system designed to pan from the wall to the bed—and you took your places. Austin stood close, wearing a simple tee and jeans that held to his frame just enough to hint at the physique underneath and the thought crossed your mind unexpectedly, that you’d be seeing it all for the first time tonight.

When the director called, “Action!”Austin’s lips met yours, and you fell into the kiss as you had so many times before.

Your hand moved to his neck as his hands found their mark on your waist. The choreography came naturally, each of your practiced kisses and touches on cue.

But as he peeled his shirt off, your eyes locked onto his physique in awe, and when he slipped your crop top off, his breath caught at the sight of you.

It was a sound only you noticed, just before the warmth of his bare chest pressed against yours for the first time, the intensity of the scene immediately overwhelming you both.

Your focus wavered as his skin pressed hot against yours, his heart pounding harder than your own. His kisses grew more insistent, his breathing shallow, and the way his hands roamed your body felt like a discovery for both of you.

When he lifted you onto the bed, his touch became firmer, more powerful. He stripped both of you down to your modesty covers, the last thin barrier between your bodies. As his hands grasped your curves, his body pressed closer, his narrow hips settling between your thighs with a physical precision that was maddening.

Your breath caught as your eyes met his, and for a moment, it felt real—too real—as the world narrowed to just the two of you. The cameras, the crew, everything else faded into the background.

His lips brushed against your neck, his breaths hot on your skin as your fingers tangled in his hair. His hips rhythmically pressed against you harder, his kisses unrestrained as you felt yourself begin throbbing with need, the thin barrier between you doing little to dull the maddening friction on your clit. You wanted to stop, to break the moment, but you couldn’t. It was too good, too consuming.

Every movement of his body was fueled with desire, his restraint barely holding on, as though he was on the edge of losing himself completely to you.

Your body betrayed you, your hips tilting to meet his as he ground against you, intensifying the sensation for you both. Your breathless moans grew louder together, the heat between you unbearable.

Your heart pounded as his grinding grew more focused, his hardness pushing against your clit with intimate precision until your core was throbbing beneath him.

And then it happened.

You began to orgasm in front of the crew, the camera, everyone. Chills spread across your body, soft cries escaping your lips as your fingers clutched at him instantly. Your eyes locked onto his, blown wide, pupils dark and full of heat, mirroring the intensity of his own.

The flush across your skin deepened as he rocked against you harder, faster, his movements desperate, giving you exactly what you needed—what you both needed—and for a fleeting, reckless, moment, you wanted it to be real.

Then he slowed, his body stilling above yours as realization dawned. The tension in the room shattered like glass, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, his voice filled with shock and disbelief at what you both had just done.

Your eyes were blown wide, breaths panting as you stared at him, wondering how you would ever recover from this as your gaze locked onto his, desperate and unguarded.

The director’s voice broke through the haze. “Cut!” he called, his tone sharp, but you barely registered it, and Austin didn’t move, his body still shielding yours as he processed what had just happened.

An assistant rushed over with a robe as Austin finally began to sit up. Carefully, he lowered one hand to cover himself as he slid off you.

You couldn’t help but glance down, catching a glimpse of him, completely hard in the modesty pouch, before quickly tearing your eyes away, your cheeks flushing hot.

You sat up slowly covering your chest, your body still humming with the echoes of his touch, the intimacy of the moment lingering long after it should. The air felt heavily charged as everyone waited for the verdict.

The director’s sharp gaze was locked on the playback. “That,” he said, pointing at the screen, his voice cutting through the tense silence, “That is cinema.” His tone brimmed with excitement. “It’s raw— it’s real. It’s going to leave people speechless.”

The director turned to you and Austin, his eyes wide with unrestrained enthusiasm. “It’s visceral, it’s unhinged, it’s… it’s perfect.” He praised.

The director’s words did little to ground you as you glanced over at Austin. He was still catching his breath, his face flushed, his eyes remaining on yours longer than they should. You couldn’t tell if he was thinking about the success of the scene or what had just happened between the two of you.

An assistant slipped your robe over your shoulders, snapping you back to reality, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing about this moment felt right.

As your eyes met Austin’s again, his expression mirrored your own—uncertain, searching.

Something had changed, shifted irreversibly in your worlds, and no amount of acting could ever make it go back.

After that moment on set, you and Austin reacted as though the intimacy of that scene, the rawness of what had happened between you, was just part of the job.

Neither of you wanted to acknowledge what it meant or the ways it had already started to change you.

On set, you now kept a professional demeanor, giving the crew nothing more to gossip about.

Outside of work, you avoided personal conversations entirely. The blog sites and tabloids, however, continued to speculate, fueled by the way the two of you had once looked at each other on and off camera.

By the time you reached the final scenes of the film, you’d both mastered a calm detachment.

You delivered your lines with precision, but the reality of what fueled your connection was always still there.

You had both learned to bring intimacy into a scene without even touching, communicating volumes through a glance, or a shift in your stance —because you both knew you could physically never let it happen again.

Then came the final day of filming, the last scene, a climactic kiss on a windswept beach as the sun dipped below the horizon .

You were both standing barefoot on the cool sand, the golden light casting everything in soft, dreamlike hues. The waves crashed gently in the background, the salty breeze tugging at your hair. The scene was meant to capture a reunion, a moment of undeniable love after so much struggle.

The director called, “Action!” and you moved toward each other, your steps hesitant, your breaths shallow. The dialogue was simple, sparse, but every word carried weight.

“I was scared I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your eyes searching his.

Austin’s voice was low and trembling. “You’ll never lose me. Not again. Not ever.”

When his lips met yours, it was supposed to be a kiss of triumph, of love finally won. But the second his hand found your cheek, the second your fingers slid into his hair, it all came rushing back.

The chemistry, the longing, the unspoken yearning. Everything you had buried came to the surface in that moment. His lips pressed to yours like a plea, his touch possessive but gentle, and you couldn’t hold back the tears that welled in your eyes knowing it was over.

As the camera panned around you, capturing the fiery sky, the lapping waves, and the raw emotion etched into both of your faces, the lines blurred again.

For those few seconds, it was everything you couldn’t say to each other spilling out in one final kiss and when the director called, “Cut!” the confusion in your chest was unbearable.

The set plans for your lives were already written, and you both followed them precisely.

You finished the wrap party with polite smiles and distant goodbyes, each carefully avoiding anything that might complicate the delicate balance you had both worked so hard to maintain.

The risks were too great, the potential fallout too devastating and you walked away, pretending the connection you shared was just part of the job—no matter how much it lingered in every quiet moment after.

Now, at the night of the premiere, the lives you once knew lay shattered in the aftermath of what you both tried so hard to ignore.

The choices you made, and the ones you didn’t, were cemented, the weight of it all hanging heavily between you, unspoken but undeniable.

The theater was buzzing as the cast made their way to their seats. You were ushered toward the middle row, where you’d been assigned to sit, but just as you were about to lower into the chair, Austin’s hand gently caught your arm.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Sit with me” he said with a calming reassurance.

You looked to him in confusion as he stepped past you and leaned toward the director standing in his row. “Do you mind if I sit with her?” Austin asked, his tone casual but sincere.

The director’s face lit up with amusement, clearly enjoying the spontaneity of the request. “I love that idea,” he said enthusiastically, already signaling to a nearby producer. “Let’s see how we can make it work.”

After a brief exchange with the producers, adjustments were made, and Austin turned back to you, his hand still lightly resting on your arm. “Come on,” he said with a boyish grin leading you to the now empty seat beside him.

“What is all this about?” you whispered as the two of you settled into the middle of the row, surrounded by murmuring audience members and the rest of the cast.

“We don’t have dates,” he smirked casually, his eyes glinting as he looked at you. “Might as well keep each other company.”

You couldn’t help but smile, resting back in your chair as the lights dimmed.

For the first time in months, you felt the warmth of his teasing banter, the ease you’d missed so much.

As the opening credits begin to roll, your eyes briefly flick over to Austin, catching the faint smile on his lips. You know the story playing out on the screen isn’t the only one unresolved, but for now, you let yourself enjoy being next to him again.

The movie is fast-paced, edgy, and captivating, and the audience responds with gasps and laughter at all the right moments. Austin leans in close every so often, whispering his thoughts about certain scenes.

His voice is low, his breath warm against your ear, and you find yourself looking forward to his comments each time.

He points out details you hadn’t noticed during filming, his passion for the craft shining through, and the familiarity of it makes you feel like nothing has changed between you.

But then, the scene begins—the two of you standing in front of the apartment building at night, neither of you willing to part ways without a proper good night.

The kiss unfolds on the massive screen, larger than life. The camera lingers on every detail, the way his hand cradles your face, the tilt of his head as his mouth moves against yours.

His lips press hungrily devouring you with a desperation that is both overwhelming and impossible to look away from.

On the massive screen, it’s almost too much. Every sigh, every gasp, every subtle shift of your bodies together is magnified, filling the theater with an intensity that leaves the audience silent.

You can feel the weight of Austin beside you, his stillness matching your own, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. The tension is too heavy between you.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, knowing exactly what’s next. The tension in your body rises, unbearable, until you can’t take it anymore.

Quickly you stand before the sex scene starts, whispering a quiet apology as you excuse yourself, weaving through the row and slipping out of the theater.

By the time you make your way to the hall ramp at the side of the theater, you’re gasping for breath. You don’t know if you want to go back in or leave entirely, but the weight of it all presses down on you. You lean against the wall, hyperventilating as you try to regain your composure.

“Hey,” Austin’s voice breaks through the haze. You look up to see him standing in the dim walkway, concern etched across his face as the movie flickers off to the side behind him. “You okay?” he asks softly, but you shake your head, unable to speak.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice steady and gentle. He reaches for your hand, his touch grounding you as he leads you down the ramp to a secret entrance. Pushing open a black door, he steps into an even darker space under the theater and guides you inside.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you follow him up a narrow flight of stairs.

“You’ll see,” he says, his tone calm but laced with something unspoken. He pushes open another door, and you step inside, realizing you’re in the projection room.

The space is larger than you imagined, dark and humming with the faint noise of equipment. The only light emanates from the gigantic projector system that dominates the room with a large vent on top channeling the heat away. Rows of digital storage towers line the walls, blinking faintly, while a white control screen displays the movie times and automation settings.

You can’t help but look around in stunned silence. “How do you know about this?” you ask.

Austin smiles faintly. “I studied everything about film. The technical side always fascinated me.” He reveals.

He leads you to the front of the room, where the flickering lights of the movie illuminate the glass.

From the window next to the projector, you have a clear view of the entire theater below. The audience is engrossed, watching as the sex scene you filmed together begins playing in vibrant detail across the massive screen.

“It’s better watching it from up here,” Austin admits, his voice quiet and reflective.

You nod, the intensity of the moment easing slightly as you take in the scene from a different perspective. The emotions that had been swelling within you begin to fade, the distance from the audience providing a strange sense of detachment.

Austin’s gaze remains fixed on the screen, watching the two of you together. The way the camera lingers on your bodies, the intense eye contact, and passionate touches. You both look beautiful—perfect, almost unreal, but the hidden truth of filming the scene lingers in both your minds.

“I could never stop thinking about us,” Austin confesses, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes still on the screen.

“Neither could I,” you admit, your voice quiet, tinged with vulnerability.

The air between you shifts as Austin’s hand brushes lightly over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says, his voice laced with regret, his eyes searching yours.

“Don’t be,” you whisper, the words soft and honest.

His eyes look into yours , and you feel the weight of everything between you, the unspoken emotion that lingers. He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, pausing as though waiting for you to pull away.

When you don’t, he gently pulls your face to his, pressing his lips to yours in a feather-light, kiss. The softness of it lingers, your breath catching as his lips move tentatively against yours, testing the boundaries.

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, and his kiss deepens, building gradually, your mouths moving in sync as the tension that’s been simmering between you begins to spill over.

His hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as the kiss grows more intense, his lips parting against yours, as you feel the warmth of his tongue brush along yours.

He presses his body closer, pushing you back against the small side viewing glass, his breaths quick and uneven, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own.

The air between you is charged with unspoken need, heavy and undeniable as the tension that’s been building for so long finally begins breaking. Every inch of him radiates desire, and you can feel it in the way his hands linger on your hip, hovering just above your exposed skin.

Reaching for his hand, you guide it to the slit of your dress, feeling his breath stutter against your lips. His fingers graze the edge of your thigh, tentative at first, and then he exhales a deep, shuddering sigh as his palm slides further.

He’s lost in you, his touch becoming more confident, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties. The teasing pressure sends a jolt through you, your breaths growing shallow as his lips graze down your jaw to your shoulder and trailing upward hungrily until he finds your neck again.

His kisses grow feverish, his lips parting against yours as his hand lingers, his fingers gliding over your clit above your panties testing the limits of your desire.

Your body responds instinctively, moving into his touch, the tension between you reaching its breaking point as his name falls softly from your lips.

You feel him press against your thigh, his hardness evident, his body trembling slightly as he fights to keep control. Both of you are panting now, your bodies pressing instinctively against each other.

“What are we doing?” he whispers, his voice raw and laced with need, his lips brushing against your ear.

You tilt your head toward him, your voice soft but steady. “What we should have done a long time ago.”

His eyes search yours, full of want, full of the unspoken need that’s been simmering between you for far too long, and without hesitation, his thumbs hook into your panties, sliding them down until they fall to the floor.

His breaths fan over your neck, warm and uneven, as he grips your thigh and wraps it around his waist, pulling you close.

The way he holds you, the intensity in his gaze, speaks volumes. His desire for you is overwhelming, raw, and all-consuming.

He positions himself, the pressure building as the feeling of him pressing into you steals your breath.

He groans softly against your lips, your slick wetness making his need is for you overwhelming , almost too much for him to contain.

He’s incredibly hard, the feeling of him stretching and filling you inch by inch making your head tilt back against the glass.

He pushes into you slowly leaving you gasping, your body clenching tightly around him, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he claims the deepest part of you.

His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he pushes further, the tension between you almost unbearable until he’s fully inside.

He waits with his body finally flush against yours, the sensation overwhelming and utterly perfect, his breaths heavy as he grounds himself in the reality of having you.

Then he pulls back thrusting in devastatingly deep, each time like a silent promise, a claim that he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into you.

His hand slides up to your face, cupping your jaw as his kisses grow hungrier, deeper, his need growing with every stroke as he holds your thigh around his waist.

Your hands find his neck, your nails grazing his shoulders as he picks up his pace rocking you against the wall, thrusting so hard it makes you gasp.

His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your thigh, sliding down to grip your hips and pull you even closer, then he locks you in place as his thrusts grow increasingly deeper and more relentless.

Each movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

A moan escapes your lips, louder than you intended, the raw sound filling the room, and his hand cups gently over your mouth, muffling the noise as he continues thrusting.

His eyes meet yours, dark and filled with lust, as if the sound only spurs him on, his movements becoming even more intense.

His hand moves from your mouth, and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter. His grip tightens on your thigh as he thrusts into you with a force that presses your body flush against the wall.

His cock hits the perfect place deep inside over and over again, until you feel yourself tightening around his cock, your moans turning into soft cries against his ear.

His hand trails down, slipping between your bodies as his fingers find your clit. He circles it with perfect precision, teasing and applying just enough pressure to make your body arch into him. The sensation builds, your hips leaning into him as every stroke and thrust pushes you closer to the edge.

“Austin,” you whisper, your voice breaking as pleasure coils tightly within you. His lips press to your neck, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you steady as he keeps thrusting, his fingers never relenting. The combination is too much, and with one hard thrust he presses his thumb against your clit as your orgasm crashes over you immediately.

The sound is stolen from your throat as your body presses against him, tightening every muscle as waves of pleasure ripple through you, leaving you shakily breathing in his arms.

Seeing you fall apart Austin groans deeply, his control slipping. “I’m gonna come,” he rasps, his hips slamming into yours as his rhythm falters.

A deep groan escapes him as he buries himself fully inside you, his cock twitching as he empties himself completely. The warmth of his release fills you, and for a moment, the world goes quiet, the only sounds your heavy breaths and the movie on screen.

Austin stays still, his arms wrapped around you as his lips press soft, lingering kisses across your neck. “What do we do now?” he whispers, his voice hushed, as he holds you closely.

You tilt your head toward him, your voice steady but soft. “We have to go back,” you say, nodding toward the monitor where the movie still plays.

He straightens up his chest still heaving as his eyes lock onto yours for a fleeting moment, filled with something raw and unspoken. Slowly, he pulls out, the sensation leaving you breathless, the emptiness almost unbearable after the intensity of being so full of him.

His hands linger on your hips as though he can’t let go just yet, and before the moment can slip away, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss savoring every last trace of your closeness together.

As you both move to fix yourselves he helps you pull your panties back into place as you pull down your dress. The urgency of the moment returns as your eyes flick to the monitor, and you both realize the movie is entering its final act.

Austin adjusts himself quickly, and together, you make your way out of the projection room. The cool air of the stairwell greets you as you tread quietly back down the narrow steps. At the landing, Austin slightly pushes the door open to ensure no one is nearby.

“I’ll head to the ladies room, you head back into the theater,” you tell him, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions still lingering. He grins softly, and leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips, then he heads one way, and you the other.

The entire theater is locked down for the premiere, the halls empty save for the occasional usher or security guard stationed at the front.

You make your way to the ladies room, pausing when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror.

Your cheeks are flushed, your hair slightly disheveled, and your lips swollen. You look like someone who’s just had the wildest, most unforgettable sex of their life and you smile.

Quickly, you fix your hair, and pat your face, trying to regain some composure before heading back to the theater.

The usher’s flashlight guides your path as you return to your seat. The room is dark, the audience engrossed in the movie. As you pass Austin, his hand grazes your hip, subtle but deliberate, and you bite back a smile, sliding into your chair beside him.

As the movie plays, you steal knowing glances at each other in a quiet, an intimate reminder of your stolen moment together.

As you watch the ending of the film, he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come with me after this,” he whispers, his voice low and full of meaning as he plants a soft kiss just below your ear.

The theater lights raise as the credits roll, and the room erupts with applause.

All eyes turn toward you and Austin, the stars of the night, and you quickly slip apart, trying to maintain composure. You stand as the cast rises to their feet, and the cheers grow louder as you all take in the standing ovation.

Austin glances at you, his smirk unmistakable as he takes your hand, his grip firm yet playful. He leads you out of the theater, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As you walk together, people congratulate you both, praising the brilliant performance and the film’s success. “Incredible work, you two,” one of the crew members says. “The film is a masterpiece.”says another.

As the praises come flooding in, Austin only smiles, his attention only on you, as if nothing else matters in the moment.

You step into the flow of the crowd in the lobby, surrounded by the excited energy of the cast and audience alike all swept up in the afterglow of the film’s success.

At the front of the theater, the scene is chaotic. The red carpet glimmers under the bright, unrelenting lights, the velvet ropes barely containing the swarm of photographers and reporters, as cameras erupt into flashes.

Austin looks to you, his eyes filled with mischief. “You think the headlines tomorrow will be about our incredible movie?” he asks leaning in closer, his tone filled with that familiar charm. “Or about us?”

END 🎥

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List @purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika@feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier@magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @thejeywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1@ @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader/3 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesticsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog

[theliteraryarchitect]

Hi, this is a really specific situation, but I'm at a loss. I had an accident that left me with lasting brain issues, and my writing has taken a hit. I went from being able to churn out a 3k word chapter in a day to needing an hour to write 50 words. I have so many ideas but can't express them, and I hate writing as a result. I know practice and just pushing through are going to be the main pieces of advice, but do you have any other suggestions or resources for someone who is having to re-learn how to be a writer?

Hey there! First off, I’m so sorry this response took me so long. Your Ask really stuck with me, and I wanted to give it the thought and care it deserves.

I can’t imagine how frustrating and heartbreaking it must be to go through such a big shift in your writing process. Losing that ease and flow—especially when you have so many ideas—is a huge adjustment. It’s a testament to your creativity and drive that you’re still thinking about how to keep writing despite the challenges.

You’re absolutely right that practice and pushing through are often the go-to advice, but I think it’s equally important to give yourself permission to grieve what’s changed. Writing can feel like such a core part of who we are, and when it’s harder than it used to be, it’s natural to feel a sense of loss.

Here are a few suggestions that might help as you navigate this:

1. Try Different Mediums: If typing feels like slogging through mud, maybe experiment with dictation software or voice-to-text tools. Speaking your ideas aloud could help you capture more words without the same strain.

2. Focus on Smaller Goals: Instead of trying to write full chapters, set tiny, manageable goals—like jotting down a single image or one sentence that excites you. Those little wins can add up and feel more achievable.

3. Explore New Ways of Outlining: If you’re struggling to get the words out, focus on the ideas instead. Create bullet points, mind maps, or even doodles to capture the essence of your story without the pressure of fully fleshed-out prose.

4. Be Kind to Yourself: This is the hardest one, but it’s so important. Writing isn’t just about the final product; it’s about the joy of creating. Even if the words come slower, every step you take is progress.

And don't forget to give yourself a ton of credit! Re-learning how to write in a way that works for you now is an incredible act of resilience. You’re still a writer, and your stories are still worth telling, even if the path looks different.

Hope this helps!

Bucket

/ / / / / / / / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[wosos-stuff]

The journal of secrets

Chapter 3: A Public Appearance Together

The sun hung low in the sky as Y/N walked through the entrance of the event, her heart beating a little faster than usual. It was a casual meet-and-greet with fans, something the Arsenal team did a few times a year to stay connected with the community. Normally, Y/N enjoyed these events—they were light, fun, and gave her a chance to talk to the people who supported them every matchday.

But today felt different. Today, she wasn’t just Y/N, another player on the team. Today, she was *Alessia Russo’s girlfriend*.

Her eyes darted to the side, where Alessia walked beside her, casually adjusting her jacket as if this was just another day. Her calm demeanor made Y/N feel even more out of place, her nerves heightened by the knowledge that they were about to spend the evening acting like a couple in front of everyone.

“Relax,” Alessia said, her voice low and soothing. She must have noticed Y/N’s nervous energy because she gave her a small nudge with her elbow. “It’s just like we practiced.”

Y/N forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. Her heart raced with every step they took closer to the crowd of people waiting for them, phones out, eager to snap pictures and ask questions. This was part of the deal. They had to make it look real, and that meant staying close, holding hands, and—most importantly—acting like they were more than just teammates.

As they reached the first group of fans, Alessia slid her hand into Y/N’s, the gesture so smooth and natural that it made Y/N’s breath catch in her throat. She hoped the flutter in her chest didn’t show on her face. They exchanged smiles with the fans, signing jerseys and posing for photos, all while Alessia kept her hand firmly in Y/N’s.

Every now and then, Y/N would glance at Alessia out of the corner of her eye, trying to read her expression. Alessia was all smiles and charm, laughing easily with the fans, her presence warm and inviting. She was so good at this—so good at making it look effortless. But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too real, that the way Alessia held her hand wasn’t just part of an act.

It didn’t help that every time someone mentioned their “relationship,” Y/N’s heart did a little flip. The fans loved it—they cooed over how “cute” they were together, some even asking how long they’d been dating. Alessia would always answer with a playful smile, keeping it vague but believable.

“We’ve been keeping it low-key for a while,” Alessia said with a wink when one fan asked about how they got together. Y/N tried not to blush, forcing herself to smile along with the charade.

As the evening went on, the event started to wind down, but Y/N’s nerves never quite settled. She kept waiting for Alessia to let go of her hand, to step back, to put some distance between them. But she didn’t. Not once. And every time Y/N felt the warmth of Alessia’s fingers wrapped around hers, it was harder to remind herself that this was all just pretend.

---

After the meet-and-greet, the team gathered in the back of the venue, relaxing and catching up before heading home for the night. The mood was light—everyone laughing, joking, and teasing each other about the evening. Y/N stood off to the side, watching as Alessia chatted with a few of the girls, including Katie McCabe and Beth Mead.

She was still riding the wave of nerves from earlier, her mind replaying every touch, every glance, every smile Alessia had given her in front of the fans. It had all felt so real, and yet it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. But the more time she spent around Alessia, the harder it was to keep her emotions in check.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Katie’s voice, loud and teasing, as usual.

“So, Alessia,” Katie said with a playful grin, “now that you’re all ‘boo’d up,’ does this mean you’re off the market for good? I mean, I could always use a gorgeous date for a night out.”

The comment was harmless, just Katie being Katie, but Y/N felt a strange twist in her stomach. It wasn’t like Katie was serious, but something about the way she said it—the way Alessia laughed in response—made Y/N’s chest tighten.

Alessia waved her off, still grinning. “Sorry, McCabe. I’m a one-woman show now. You’ll have to find someone else.”

Katie laughed, pretending to look disappointed. “Ah, well. Guess my chances are shot, huh?”

Y/N should have laughed along with the rest of them, should have shrugged it off like she always did. But instead, she found herself glancing at the floor, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling curling in her chest. It wasn’t real. Alessia wasn’t hers. But for some reason, hearing Katie joke about it like that made Y/N’s heart sink.

Before she could dwell on it for too long, Alessia appeared at her side, her usual playful smile in place. “Hey, you ready to head out?”

Y/N blinked, nodding quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As they walked out together, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if Alessia had noticed the flicker of jealousy that had passed through her. She hoped not. This was already complicated enough.

---

By the time they made it back to Alessia’s flat, Y/N’s nerves had settled slightly, though the nagging feeling from earlier still lingered in the back of her mind. Alessia was all casual ease, tossing her jacket onto the couch and grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge.

“You want one?” Alessia asked, holding up a bottle.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

She took the beer and sat down on the couch, feeling a little out of place. This was the first time she had been to Alessia’s place since they started this whole fake relationship thing. It felt weird, sitting here like this—so normal, yet so loaded with unspoken emotions.

Alessia plopped down beside her, kicking her feet up on the coffee table as she took a sip from her bottle. “So,” she said, glancing over at Y/N, “I’d say we did pretty well today.”

Y/N smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I think we sold it.”

“Definitely,” Alessia agreed, her eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. “People were eating it up.”

Y/N laughed softly, taking a sip of her beer. “Yeah… they were.”

But as the conversation lulled, a comfortable silence settled between them, and Y/N found herself glancing around Alessia’s flat, taking in the small details. There were framed photos on the wall—pictures of Alessia with her family, her friends, and even a few of

 her younger self in football kits from her early days in the sport. It was a glimpse into Alessia’s life, a side of her that Y/N hadn’t really seen before.

After a few minutes, Alessia sighed, leaning back against the couch. “You know, it’s weird.”

Y/N looked over at her, curious. “What is?”

“This whole thing,” Alessia said, waving her hand around vaguely. “The fame, the attention, the pressure. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe, you know? Like… everyone expects me to be this perfect version of myself all the time.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in Alessia’s voice. It was rare for her to hear Alessia talk like this—open, raw, and honest. Usually, Alessia was all confidence and charm, always putting on a brave face. But here, in the quiet of her flat, she seemed… different. More real.

“I get that,” Y/N said softly, turning to face her. “It’s a lot to carry.”

Alessia nodded, staring down at the beer bottle in her hands. “Yeah, and sometimes… sometimes I just wish I could turn it all off, you know? Just be Alessia. Not ‘Alessia Russo, the footballer,’ or ‘Alessia Russo, the media darling.’ Just… me.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She had always seen Alessia as this untouchable figure, someone who had it all together. But now, hearing her talk like this, Y/N realized that Alessia had her own struggles, her own fears. It made her feel even closer to her—made her want to be there for her, to be the person Alessia could rely on.

But that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t real.

“You can be that person,” Y/N said quietly. “With me. You don’t have to pretend.”

Alessia looked at her, surprised, but there was something warm in her eyes. Something that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” Alessia said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I appreciate that.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the silence between them filled with unspoken words. And in that moment, Y/N forgot about everything—forgot that this was all supposed to be pretend, forgot that Alessia wasn’t really hers. All she knew was that right now, sitting here with Alessia, everything felt real.

---

Later that night, as Y/N lay in her own bed, staring up at the ceiling, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The more time she spent with Alessia, the harder it was to keep her feelings in check. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t let this fake relationship get to her—that she wouldn’t fall for Alessia. But it was too late for that.

She was already falling. Hard.

The problem was, she didn’t know if Alessia felt the same. She couldn’t tell if the moments they shared were real, or if they were just part of the act. Alessia was so good at pretending—so good at making it look real. But was it real? Or was Y/N just fooling herself?

She needed to talk to someone. Someone who wasn’t Alessia.

The next day, Y/N found herself sitting with Leah Williamson after training, her heart heavy with the weight of her unspoken emotions. Leah had always been a good friend, someone Y/N could trust. But even so, she wasn’t sure how much she could say without revealing too much.

“You seem a bit off,” Leah said, glancing over at her with concern. “Everything okay?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, just… dealing with some stuff.”

Leah raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “What kind of stuff?”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s… complicated.”

Leah didn’t press her for more, but she gave her a knowing look. “Listen, if you need to talk, I’m here. Just… be honest with yourself, okay? Don’t get stuck in something that’s going to mess you up.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating the advice, even if she couldn’t explain the whole situation. She had to be honest with herself—but that was the hardest part. How could she be honest when she didn’t even know what was real anymore?

---

The tension between Y/N and Alessia grew in the days that followed. It wasn’t obvious—nothing anyone else would notice—but Y/N could feel it. She was pulling back, trying to protect herself from the growing feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. And Alessia… Alessia seemed to notice.

One evening, after a particularly quiet training session, Alessia caught up with Y/N as they walked off the pitch.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “You’ve been kind of distant lately. Everything okay?”

Y/N’s heart raced at the question. She hadn’t expected Alessia to bring it up, and now that she had, Y/N didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N replied, her voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.

Alessia frowned, clearly not buying it. “You sure? You don’t seem like yourself.”

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t tell Alessia the truth—not when she didn’t even know what the truth was.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, avoiding Alessia’s gaze. “Really.”

Alessia stared at her for a long moment, as if she wanted to say something more, but in the end, she just nodded. “Okay. But if something’s going on… you can talk to me, you know?”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight with unspoken words. She wanted to talk to Alessia, wanted to tell her everything—how confused she was, how scared she was of falling for her. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

“Thanks,” Y/N said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

And with that, they parted ways, the tension between them still unresolved.

[pistol-grippump]

You can only hold grudges for so long I think. Something I've come to learn from my time on this planet is that only true people can commit truly heinous acts. I know I said this before but that is where my ideation for Eric and Dylan comes in here. Nobody knows themselves, I don't think they do at least.

Everyone can be anyone and that is the honestly scary part. Nothing is holding you to have solid beliefs or act one way for your whole life; it's insanely and utterly baffling to think some people don't understand this. I think genuine personality disorders are way more common than we think, which leads me to believe it isn't so much a disorder as it is just human nature.

Examples of this can be mood swings I guess. I aspire to have enough comfortability with myself to be able to be the apparently rude and genuine selves Eric and Dylan were. They were true to themselves and I think that is what especially counts with their case, if you care about that, at least. At least they were consistent.

I understand that was also a different generation of people. It's a lot more common nowadays for people to be conscious of their little actions or mannerisms - I wish people weren't so hyper aware. I wish I didn't care as much as I do because I just know if I could live up to how I feel and be the person I am inside my head, Id be happier. My consequences would suck but they wouldn't be life-changing. They wouldn't be too extreme that it would ruin my life. I think it would benefit me to voice my thoughts, or do the things I think about doing, which are violent and are disgusting and taboo, but people can only care for so long. I want to be another among the rest like Dylan and Eric were before making themselves truly known. Maybe I sound dramatic or excessive but it's something I think about a lot.

All these people had guts to act on their urges, which isn't always great, of course, but they were true to themselves. And in the end, I think that's what really matters. I think you should fulfill your life in the way you want to - whether it's being the average person, or letting yourself be troubled and do troubling things.

Of Course it's awful what some people want to do, what I want to do, but it can only bother you so long. Nobody lives forever, nobody should dwell on things that are over and done with.

If life means so much to you, you'll get over it. You'll learn to live your life to your fullest and you will accept that nobody has it easy, that doesn't make you special.

[sdmnpact]

˗ˏˋJealousyˎˊ˗

Wroetoshaw x Reader smut

**18+ MDNI**

~~~

You were laying on the couch at your boyfriend's flat watching videos on your laptop. He was in the kitchen making dinner for you two. A usual routine you guys follow, one cooks the other cleans afterwards. You two have built a cozy little life for yourselves. You find joy just being in each other's company, even if it means staying home most nights just cuddling on the couch. Sometimes you wish for a change of scenery and Harry makes sure to fill that desire by taking you to do fun activities in the city. You aren't usually an active person but sometimes you can't help but get a little jealous when Harry is out hiking, playing golf, or filming in some random country. He doesn't really take you out on those types of activities but you don't complain.

"Whatcha watching baby?" He asked as he came over and sat down, moving the pillow you were resting on so he can act as your headrest. You quickly get comfortable on his thigh as you readjusted yourself. You were just binging Joe Weller content, from his own videos to his features on the sidemen channel. You were quite enamored with him lately because of how much time he was spending with the boys. Something about his love for nature and his wild stories made you feel some type of way, creating a want, to learn more about him. You couldn't help but feel slightly attracted to him since he is so fit and adventurous.

**You're POV**

"Just some youtube videos..." I trailed off. Clicking on a different video. "Was that Joe Weller?" He asked partially joking partially serious. "Oh yeah." I awkwardly laughed. "Why are you acting weird?" He said tensing up. "I'm not, I'm fine."

"Seriously y/n! What is it!?"

"Okay, fine, I was watching him because he's interesting and does a ton of cool stuff! Is that wrong?" I said getting a bit defensive. "Well of course not unless you fancy him...." There was a long pause as silence filled the room. "Oh my God, you do fancy him!" He said getting up, leaving my head to plop on to the couch. "I mean, don't you fancy girls online!?"

To be fair, I've seen his Instagram feed and there are a couple onlyfans models he follows. I don't get upset about it because I know he loves me so I don't know why he's getting upset over this. "Well yeah, they're hot but I'm not subscribing to them and watching all their videos!" He semi shouted. There was a different look in his eye. A look of intense jealousy. "Listen Harry, it's just a couple of videos. It's not like I'm touching myself to them!" That line drove him over the edge. I could see the anger form in his eyes, like someone lit a fire.

"I'm sorry, what!?" He said getting a bit louder. " You want him to fuck you? Is that it!?" He said standing over me. "No, I want you to do it!" I said. Harry never and I mean NEVER gets angry like this. It was kind of hot. He was a bit taken back by my words but then I noticed another look in his eyes. Pure lust.

He grabbed my waist fiercely bringing me closer to him. I felt his hot breath on my face as he leaned down to my ear and with a deep musky voice said, "what'd you say?" It was over for me. I could just melt right now.

"I want you to fuck me." I said blatantly, running my fingers down his back putting my arms around his waist bringing it closer to mine. I felt him grow in his pants and I chuckled to myself. He wants it so bad. He pressed his lips against mine and I quickly melted into the kiss. He kissed me so sloppily and so rough like he was starving for more. I reach for his hair and ran my fingers though his blonde locks tugging at them slightly making him moan. I know pulling on his hair makes him go crazy. His hand explored my body feeling all my delicate areas making me shiver at his touch. He reached for my pants, unbuttoning them with one hand while the other hand held my waist. He unzipped them then threw me onto the couch with slight force but also in a way that still felt gentle.

He pulled off my pants and my underwear making sure to run his fingers slowly down my thighs and legs. I felt myself pulsating as he slowly caressed my inner thigh making me go wild. I looked down at him between my legs. His bright blue eyes and messy hair making him look so attractive. He brought his face closer to my throbbing heat holding onto my legs. He slowly kissed my inner thigh getting closer and closer to my heat with each kiss making my legs quiver. I gasped as I felt his wet tongue swirl on my lips. He looked up at me and I felt a smirk on his lips as he slipped his tongue inside. I gasped as I felt him enter. "Damn, you're soaking already?" he chuckled, the vibrations of his voice running through me like a jackhammer. He swirled his tongue inside my vulva knowing which spots make me feel good. My legs shaking as he kept exploring my walls.

I felt myself about to release when he stopped. "Wait darling-" He said quickly dropping his pants and boxers revealing his fully erect member. I smiled at the sight of him as he slowly slipped himself inside me making eye contact. He rocked his hips back and forth increasing his speed each time. He quickly grabbed my waist and spun us around so that he's sitting on the couch and I'm on his lap straddling him. His grip on my waist getting tighter and he bounced me up and down continuing to increase his speed making me feel electric. I grabbed onto his hair pulling harder than last time causing him to release a moan. Between my own soft moans I muttered, "I love your moans." only adding fuel to his desire to make me reach climax, increasing his pace even more.

With one hand, he cupped my face and kissed me roughly as I finally reached climax. I let out a loud moan as I released all over him, feeling him release into me seconds later. Nothing but our heavy breathing filling the room. We sat like that for a couple of seconds, catching our breaths. We looked at each other and smiled as I got off of him about to stand before he pulled me back on his lap. I rested my back on his chest, making our sticky, sweaty skin mold us together. He wrapped his arounds around my waist, kissing the back of my head, breathing heavy on my neck. "I love you, princess."

---

A/N

woo, steamy stuff... sorry about the pov change, this was suppose to be fluff but it turned into smut somehow, causing me to accidently changed the pov. I hope you enjoyed it!

[im-not-a-sheep]

i decided to rewatch the hazbin pilot and compare it to ep1 of hazbin and idk if im just nostalgic for smth that i used to enjoy much more but god i feel like its noticeable which one is objectivley better

[juaneloriginal]

silly thingy

@blackkatdraws's sillies

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[tombware]

seeing like a mini debate about ast*rion vs daer*n ar*ndae in regards of quality and i might be specifically seeing only one sides opinion because. i do not think Mr. D is more compelling. ultimately i think theyre quite different as well so idfk

[maskedbyghost]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

--------------------------------------------

hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[littlelamy]

clingy with rafe

rafe would never call himself clingy. clingy was for guys who didn’t have their shit together or needed constant reassurance. but with you, it wasn’t insecurity—it was something else entirely.

he wasn’t sure when it started, but the second you walked into a room, it was like his body moved on its own. at toppers’ parties, his hand found yours before you even said hi to anyone. you were his grounding force in the chaos, and he wasn’t about to let you slip away.

“stick with me,” he muttered, fingers laced tightly with yours. his voice was low, the kind of tone that was more of a command than a suggestion. you weren’t complaining—his hand was warm and steady, making you feel more at ease in the wild, drunken crowd.

“i thought this was supposed to be a chill thing,” you teased, trying to match his long strides as he led you through the sea of bodies. your tone was light, but you couldn’t help smirking at the way he scanned the room like a hawk. he always had that protective edge, though he’d never admit it outright.

“yeah, well, topper’s definition of ‘chill’ is breaking every piece of furniture in the house,” rafe said, rolling his eyes. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand like it was second nature. “where the fuck is topp, anyway?”

you shrugged, barely holding back a laugh as you glanced around the room. “you’re asking me? i thought you were keeping track of him.” his jaw ticked slightly, but his focus never wavered from you for long.

when someone brushed past you a little too closely, rafe’s grip on your hand tightened. his shoulders tensed, and he pulled you into his side without missing a beat. “you good, princess?” he asked, his voice dropping in that way that made your stomach flutter.

“i’m fine, rafe,” you said, rolling your eyes but feeling secretly pleased at how much he cared. it wasn’t like the guy bumped into you on purpose, but rafe wasn’t about to let it slide. “you’ve asked me that, like, five times tonight.”

“yeah, well, just making sure,” he shot back, his lips twitching into a grin that didn’t quite mask his protective streak. he glanced down at you, eyes scanning your face as if checking for any hint of discomfort. “can’t have anyone messing with my girl, right?”

later, when the two of you found an empty spot on the couch, rafe was already pulling you down next to him. “sit,” he ordered, his voice taking on that familiar commanding edge.

you raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest, sinking into his lap with a sigh. before you could even get comfortable, his hands were sliding over your legs, his fingers brushing gently over your skin.

“rafe,” you said, leaning back against him as his hands roamed, moving up to your thighs and rubbing slow circles over the soft fabric of your dress.

“relax, princess,” he murmured in your ear, his voice low and almost playful as he traced his fingertips along your legs. “you’re too tense.”

you shot him a look, feeling the heat of his hands on your skin, but despite your attempt to act nonchalant, you couldn’t stop the warmth flooding your chest. “you’re impossible,” you muttered, but didn’t move away.

“nah,” he whispered with a smirk, fingers continuing their teasing path along your legs. “i just know how to get you to relax.”

later, when you nudged him and told him you needed to use the bathroom, his reaction was immediate. “cool, i’ll come with you,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. you stopped mid-step, looking at him like he’d grown another head.

“rafe, i’m not gonna get lost. it’s the bathroom,” you said, already exasperated. his expression didn’t budge, that familiar mix of confidence and stubbornness plastered across his face. “you don’t need to come with me.”

“it’s not about you getting lost, princess,” he said, smirking in a way that made your pulse quicken. the nickname rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like he’d been calling you that forever. “just making sure no one tries anything while you’re gone.”

“so, what? you’re gonna stand outside the door like a security guard?” you asked, crossing your arms in challenge. his grin widened, the mischievous glint in his eyes telling you he had other plans. “you’re unbelievable, rafe.”

“not standing outside, babe,” he said with a wink, already following you toward the tiny bathroom. you gaped at him, half-annoyed and half-amused, as he casually shut the door behind you. “i’m coming in with you.”

“rafe!” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper as you gestured around the cramped space. his nonchalant demeanor made it even more infuriating, like this was the most logical thing he could’ve done. “you can’t just—this is weird!”

“what’s weird about it?” he asked, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. his gaze was steady, like he genuinely couldn’t understand your objection. “not like i haven’t seen you before, princess.”

your cheeks flushed at his comment, and you smacked his arm lightly in protest. “rafe cameron, you’re impossible,” you muttered, turning toward the toilet with a defeated sigh. “at least turn around or something.”

“fine, fine,” he said, laughing as he spun to face the door, his shoulders shaking slightly. his smugness was practically radiating off him, and you knew he was enjoying every second of this. “just say the word if you need me, babe.”

when you were done and washing your hands, he turned back around without missing a beat. his eyes softened as they landed on you, his usual teasing replaced with something gentler. “you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“i’m fine, rafe,” you said, shaking your head with a small smile. his concern, as ridiculous as it was sometimes, always managed to make your heart ache in the best way. “but you’re never living this down.”

“don’t care,” he said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. his lips brushed against your temple, his hold on you firm and steady. “you’re stuck with me, princess.”

and honestly? you didn’t mind one bit.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[hxltic]

Bakugou, whose stamina is unbeatable. Who has just finished fucking you in any place necessary of the bedroom—the bed, the mini-couch, the floor—and still can’t keep his hands off you.

After laying on the bed for rejuvenating moments (at least for him), his large hand slides up your shoulder with a few coaxing kisses.

“Shower,” is all he says, his gruff voice strained and warm breath perceptible against your neck. You just nod weakly and attempt to ignore the mess between your legs.

In fact, he has to carry you to the bathroom. When you’re both in the shower, he still acts as support: your back is to his chest so he bears most of your weight, and his fingers span your lower stomach while you attempt to wash yourself.

You can barely keep your eyes open, so relaxed by the water, but he can see all of you just by where his chin rests on your shoulder. The water and soap sliding past the peaks of your breasts, the souvenirs that you not-so-sternly asked him not to leave on your skin.

Where you rest in front of him, he can’t help but feel aroused all over again, especially rubbing his hands over your supple skin that he couldn’t appreciate the first few rounds, clouded by the roughness you love.

Unable to just watch, he gently spins you around. Your eyes are half-closed, so you pay it no mind. You just continue your slow, leisure washing, completely unaware of the fact that he’s completely hard again, even if you wouldn’t be surprised.

Your eyes open back to reality when he gently takes the loofah from you and hangs it up on the little hook. His muscles casually ripple when he does literally anything, and if you weren’t so attracted to it, you’d be jealous.

“C’mere,” he orders, his voice in that soft tone reserved for you. His hands follow, crossing at your lower back and pulling you toward him even more. The atmosphere is hot and slow with the exhaustion settled into both of you.

You do something of a hum in question, but don’t resist when he leans down and slowly captures your lips in his. Your longing for each other is evident simply in the sigh that follows when you connect.

There’s water dripping everywhere, mostly on you, but the kiss is everything Bakugou usually isn’t: patient, slow, and needy. Actually, no. He was always pretty needy.

“Kat,” you whisper, and he groans in response, stretching his hands up your wet skin until he crosses your ribs, his thumbs move past the side of your breasts, and your arms are naturally guided to his neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were asking, to be honest, but you didn’t care. Not when you could feel the length of him pressed against your stomach.

Bakugou moves a few strands of drenched hair back behind your ear, and then strokes the rest at your nape to keep your head up to him. It was admirable, really, how he could be literally twitching in arousal, and still move like it doesn’t bother him at all.

Although, he is getting closer at hinting to it, because somewhere in the heat, your right leg is being lifted to his hip. When you find an escape from his kiss (he doesn’t allow you many), you glance down to what he’s doing.

He interprets your brows slightly furrowing and the low, tired droop of your eyes, already knowing what you’re going to say.

Voice still soft and practically gone even in distress, you begin, “I can’t go another round. There’s no way I’ll—”

“Shh,” he places a kiss on your forehead, then another at your temple. His head dips to lick and kiss in the crook of your neck, and your fingers either run through his wet, blonde hair or span the muscles of his back. He’s completely gone.

The left hand that upholds your leg starts to massage your thigh and inch up to your ass. “I talk to this pretty pussy almost every night, and you don’t think I know what you can handle?”

A whimper leaves your mouth and your hold tightens around him. Despite your lower body being completely stretched and at ease, he can still feel the tension elsewhere.

He continues, his voice dripping with reassurance, “Slide it in yourself. Then you tell me how it feels.”

And after a few moments and a sigh, you carefully reach down and wrap your fingers around him the best you can. You can feel him react to the movement alone, and with a prayer, you guide his head right to your entrance so you can sink when you’re ready.

When you descend, an immediate whine feels the air. He still fit perfectly from earlier and the sensitivity had tripled.

“Fuck,” you curse, wrapping yourself around him again. He holds you close.

“Feel good?”

You nod, and he throbs inside at the same time. He kisses you again, making sure to uphold you through your fatigue. Helping those in need was his job after all.

His right hand that covers your lower back loosens so that your weight inches backwards, then it pulls you right back in until you’re pressed against each other.

He groans with pleasure. The vibrations move to your lips that kiss him like he’s the last man on Earth.

And then he does it again, and again, until your head is simply resting on your own shoulder with your arms encircling his neck, water rushing down your hair and back. Your eyes are completely closed as he cradles you, erotic whines, whimpers, and moans falling from your lips into his ear.

Your slick walls drag up and down his skin. He moves so easily in and out that he can feel the outline of where his head usually reaches—the little space left. He was nowhere near as deep right now, but he is sure with the slight bend of his knees, he could have you screaming how you were for the hours before this.

And funnily enough, he doesn’t want you screaming at the moment. It’s something previous Bakugou would never say; not rock hard and needing to be balls deep in you quick Bakugou, at least.

You were worn out and tired, your body unable to take his usual pace. He’s almost 90% sure if he lifted you off the ground, you’d comply and hold on tighter, but he’s not going to push you that far. Not when he’s content like this, caressing your beautiful, dripping figure as you cry his name.

“Mmghn, that feels s-so good.” You speak, just above a whisper. And somehow, he can still hear you over the water and small splash of you both meeting in the middle. It’s like his brain is wired. No matter what, he’ll always be able to hear you.

He nods and kisses the side of your head again, keeping stable and consistently moving with minimal effort. The underside of your right knee is now resting in his elbow, so his hand can hold your waist and pull most of your weight that way instead of trying to push your whole body with just your thigh. At some point, you began helping him out.

“Keep moving your hips just like that, I got you.”

You groan at the instruction, and he chuckles heartily. Love poured from him and into you, making you feel more safe and secure than ever.

It didn’t take long until warmth gathered in your core with your clit dragging back and forth along his cock. He occasionally grunts and has to fix position to keep himself from spilling inside, not before you do first.

He can’t explain the relief he has when you insist that you’re gonna come soon in the form of a warning. It builds with each “thrust” and being so close to him as he carries you to climax.

“I’mna come,” you say again, more rushed this time, but muffled by his shoulder.

“I can feel it.” He responds, keeping pace. “Do you know what it feels like having you pulsing around me? Knowing you’re going straight into your sleep after?”

You shake your head.

“Hell, baby. Hell.”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way: the only option you have on sleepless nights being him. When you tap his shoulder or rub yourself against him, knowing he’ll never say no. Hope could he? He takes great pride in being your melatonin.

And, without fail, you fall into a perfect deep sleep, his cum still dripping into or out of you. It’s never there in the morning, and he loves that the only way it will happen is if he wears you out.

“Kattt…” You toss your head back, a low rumble in your throat that you only make when you’re on the verge of completely losing it. He attacks your neck again, letting your body naturally bounce off him and come back.

“Let yourself feel it. Let me take you there,” he encourages gruffly, nipping at your ear.

“Agh, fuck,” you nearly sob, digging yourself further into him somehow.

His eyes shut, a wave of clarity rushing over him. It’s you, his woman, his everything, needing him. He thought he knew what he wanted early in life. He knew he wanted to be desired by others in multiple ways, the best at everything. God, how wrong he was.

Now he wants to be the best at everything for you. Because you deserve nothing less. He doesn’t want to be desired by anyone else but you, because you carry all the validation he could possibly gain dopamine from. Nothing compares to you being completely and utterly dependent on him, clinging to him for dear life.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he spouts, not bothering to stop or care about being sappy. He loves to hear you whine in response, only to finally come up with a few words. Clearly you got the cheesy feeling too.

“L-Love you, Kats.”

He bushels the hair at the bottom of your head with a grunt, tilting your nose up to him. He lets his lips kiss you passionately first, then he pulls away, but obviously not too far since you’re still nose to nose. Your eyebrows are upturned in that sensual expression he loves.

His deep, crimson eyes flicker to your puffy lips, a sign of the night, and land on your pretty damp eyelashes. He was breathless and stern.

“Don’t look away. Keep your eyes on me, or I’ll stop.”

You blink, registering his words with the shake of your head. “Don’t stop,” you plead.

He calls your name, and it’s enough to know he’s being dead serious. Both his grips tighten, mainly the one in your hair, and you don’t know if it’s water dripping down your cheeks or a tear or two.

You can feel your bottom leg beginning to shake, and the heat get to your head.

You shut your eyes instinctively, “K—”

“I’ve got you, don’t even think about it. Look at me.”

Your eyes shoot open in remembrance of his words as he leaves and reenters you again with increased speed, the sound when you slap together even louder. He holds your head in place. “I love you more, baby. More than you can ever dream.”

You watch his eyes and they say everything you can’t, everything he can’t, and that alone is enough to send you over the edge.

Your jaw drops and you literally begin shaking, not caring that all the strength you had left went into your orgasm. Your head pounds with the stream of the shower and fatigue, and your hands begin to slip at his neck, but you don’t even care. You know he’s got you. He said it himself.

“Shit,” he hisses, your orgasm expected, but the power of it not. He almost missed the fact that you were gushing around him by mistaking it as the water, the countless times you’d done this before catching up to you. He keeps thrusting his hips forward and whispering you praises. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

You are sobbing now, real tears as he stills and twitches inside. He holds the promise he made to you since you did the same. He keeps his eyes focused on you, even as white spurts paint your insides, and puts his swollen lips on yours. Through your gasps, you couldn’t kiss him back, so he bites your bottom one instead.

It isn’t until you lose your footing and go limp against him that he bends to pick you up and lower your leg gently. You’re still jerking slightly, your muscles overworked, and the last of his release lands somewhere on your thighs as your back is arched away from him.

Before you can say anything or even think about it, he holds you upright and bends down to kiss you with all he has left, now that you’re somewhat here. When it’s over, you fall against him completely.

The rest is a blur, and the next time you know what’s happening, you’re tangled together in the unused guest bedroom.

©️ hxltic

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[chuluoyi]

the secret wife

- nanami kento x reader

follow the first years’ misadventures as they find out that apparently, the infamous 7:3 sorcerer is also a dutiful and loving husband in private!

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, the first years are simply chaotic, an attempt at humor, gojo cameo (he’s so insufferable), mentions of pregnancy, nanami being the best husband there is

note: based on an anon's suggestion, this is a spin-off to love entries' wife (so gojo is married to love entries reader naturally!) this is full chaos and crack omg so sorry and isn't proofread bc i’m kinda tired so pls forgive any mistakes and my dry humor :')

general masterlist

On one fine, sunny day, which was supposed to be a calm and relaxing afternoon...

“Hello? Yuji—”

Megumi could've sworn, they weren't usually this nosy.

“Gojo-sensei! It's urgent!”

Call it indulgence, because Nobara's curiosity just got the better of her.

“Oh? What's—”

“Does Nanamin have a wife!?”

And Yuji... well, he just needed answers, because the three of them were now in the ‘Mom and Baby’ section of department store, having just witnessed a monumental sight of their esteemed mentor, Nanami Kento—

—with a remarkably stunning woman hanging onto his arm.

“Huh?” Gojo's confusion was evident from the other line. Oh, yeah. Yuji had decided to cut to the chase and call him too, hoping for a swift clarification.

Okay, so why were the trio—plus Gojo on the speakerphone—hiding behind a pillar just to spy on Nanami and his very possible wife? Let us rewind 30 minutes before...

Yuji considers himself to have an exceptional eye and taste for women.

And 30 minutes ago, when he fell on his butt on the rough, hard asphalt in the jammed Shibuya crossing after accidentally getting shoved by the crowd, and encountered a kind, vivacious older woman—you, who extended a hand to help him up, he was even more convinced of that.

“Are you alright, Itadori-kun?” your soft voice entered his ears, catching him off-guard, and Yuji was certain of two things then.

One, that you were just like a literal angel descended from skies above, all dolled up and pretty with your flowy sundress.

“Ah, uh—” he stammered, eyes darting everywhere and anywhere at once as his palm started sweating after clasping your hand. “I-I am…”

And two, for the life of him, he had no idea who you were.

But it registered late in his mind to ask as he was busy controlling his ragged breathing and instant crush, and before Yuji knew it, you graced him with another kind smile and went on your way.

And did he feel so miserable afterwards.

. . .

“She’s sooo hella pretty, Fushiguro! And she knows me! Me!”

Megumi sighed, eyeing his friend in disgust. Truthfully, all he wanted was to return to the dorms and collapse onto his bed, and not listen to his friend’s incoherent ramblings.

"You sure you weren't imagining things?" Nobara questioned with slight irritation. "After you embarrassed us in front of Gojo-sensei's wife a while back, please think more before you act."

"I'm not, I swear! She said my name!"

"Itadori, can you please just not?" Megumi grumbled, having enough of this ruckus. "I want to walk back in peace."

And so tucking away his pout, Yuji walked in silence just as his best friend asked, and he was really going to leave it at that when suddenly he caught the sight of a familiar pristine coat and the sundress from earlier. “Oh?”

"Isn't that Nanami-san?" Nobara also spotted him, her eyes widening when she saw you, who was happily beaming as well as Nanami's light chuckle. "And wait, who is—?"

"That's her!" Yuji burst out, pointing decisively in your direction. "That's who I was talking about!"

Oh, no. Megumi dreaded it already. He could already see the utter catastrophe—

"I'm going after them!"

"Wait, Itadori! Me too!"

Too late. Before he could stop them, Nobara and Yuji had followed the pair. Reluctantly, Megumi trailed behind them too, albeit wearing a vexed scowl. Yet despite his misgivings, he couldn't deny that the things he saw over the next 30 minutes were genuinely unexpected.

Nanami consistently led you to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd, his hand holding yours firmly. He would occasionally throw you a smile, or when you didn’t hold hands, then he’d wrap an arm around your waist. And to the trio's bewilderment, they also saw him tenderly brushing his lips against your head while on the escalator.

Soft and gentle. It was a side of Nanami Kento they had never witnessed—either with anyone else or even himself.

The two of you ventured through home appliances, visited food stalls, and eventually... the ‘Mom and Baby’ section.

"Do you want to rest for a bit?" Nanami's voice held a touch of concern as his hand settled on the small of your back, and seeing that, Nobara positively swooned.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," you responded with a reassuring smile. "Let's head over there. I'd like to see that next!"

Watching you and Nanami meticulously going through strollers and cribs like a pair of would-be parents was apparently too mind-blowing for Yuji and Nobara, leading to the decision to call Gojo right then and there. And, as they say, the rest was history.

"Last I heard, Nanami wasn't married," Gojo answered resolutely. "If he is, then it's the ultimate betrayal because he never told me!"

"But we see him with a woman! At mother and baby care section!"

Gojo hummed in thoughtful manner. "Okay, students. Now I'm tasking you to see this to the very end! Keep me on the line!"

With that, Operation: Uncover Nanami's Wife was officially underway, and frankly, the way the three of them were clumsily tailing the 7:3 sorcerer made Megumi want to facepalm. How was it that Nanami hadn't noticed their rather conspicuous attempts at all?

Now you were fawning over baby clothes, cutely trying not to squeal as you picked a little blue and yellow overalls. "Kento! Kento! Look, how cute!"

And all of them were floored once again when the expression on his face softened, as a warm smile adorned his lips. "Yeah, they are."

"Is she pregnant? She doesn't look it..." Nobara remarked, squinting and frowning, still watching the two of you like a hawk.

"Or maybe they're shopping for someone else?" Megumi suggested, earning teasing grins from Yuji and Nobara, to which he quickly rolled his eyes, as they chorused, "Looks like you're curious too!"

After a while, you moved from the clothes to sections stocked with mother's necessities. Yuji leaned against one of the racks, pressing his ear against it, with Nobara and Megumi crowding behind him, attempting to catch a snippet of your conversation with Nanami.

"I think we should get some heat packs and these pillows—"

"Oh, Kento! You're such a worrywart, I still won't need them for a few more months—"

"Wait, what?" Yuji whipped his head around in surprise, causing Nobara, who was leaning on him, to stumble and inadvertently collide with the racks.

"Eh? Huh!?"

Unfortunately, the racks weren't sturdy enough, and the force caused them to sway dangerously. Nobara, sensing her imminent fall, instinctively grabbed Yuji's arm to steady herself. However, he got tugged instead and their combined weight exacerbated the situation, leading to the racks quickly toppling over and a deafening commotion ensued—

Crash!

"Careful!" Nanami immediately pulled you behind him, a protective arm around your shoulder, sensing your shock from the sudden crash. He was on high alert, expecting some sort of attack of cursed spirits, but instead, he was met with the most astounding sight of the bickering culprits amidst the fallen racks.

"Kugisaki! What are you doing!"

"You dumbass! Why didn't you stop me from falling?!"

"Itadori-kun...?" Nanami called out in utter disbelief, his mind couldn't fathom as to why the first years were here. However, his attention quickly shifted to Megumi, who was seething and sending his friends a glare so hard it could drill a hole into them.

Then, the boy swiftly fixed himself into a low bow in front of him, ashamed, disregarding Yuji and Nobara's groans altogether. "Nanami-san, I'm very, very sorry on their behalf."

"What are the three of you doing here?" he inquired, and poor Megumi seemed at a loss, huffing as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of where to even start.

Meanwhile you were full of worry for the fallen kids. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

For the second time today, you tried to help Yuji to stand on his feet, and this time, he really had a good look over you.

It wasn't exactly noticeable due to how loose your dress was, but now he could see that under it, your belly was slightly rounded—an unmistakable baby bump.

Amidst his shock and pain, Yuji couldn't bring himself to take your hand as he inadvertently let this slip, "N-Nanamin! You knocked her up!"

Nanami blinked. You gaped. Megumi and Nobara went pale in sheer horror, ready to murder their friend on the spot for his extreme height of rudeness.

“Itadori-kun,” Nanami cleared his throat then, and if he was offended, then he chose not to show it. “First of all, I’m sorry for not introducing you sooner. This is Y/N, my wife, and yes,” his tone hardened slightly, “She’s carrying our first child.”

“S-so you are married!”

“Yes, that was what I—”

“What the hell?! NANAMIIII!”

Oh, the freaking phone. After his fall, Yuji’s phone ended up on the floor, and of course, Gojo did hear all of the entire madness, evident from how his voice blared from the phone.

Nanami frowned, unwittingly reaching out towards the phone. “Who—?”

“NA-NA-MI!" Gojo screeched in righteous exasperation, and the former immediately pulled away from the phone with a cringe. “How could you?! I invited you to my wedding! Are you a hermit or something—how could not tell anyone!? Didn’t you say I can officiate—”

“I said no such thing. Please refrain from saying outrageous things, it’s both annoying and misleading,” Nanami stressed, growing more irritated by the mere sound of Gojo's whining voice and feeling his patience waning rapidly.

"Aren't we friends?! How—!"

"Should I find you instigate one more of this... shenanigans with the kids, I won't hesitate to report you to Yaga and your wife," he interjected then with clear irritation, and right that second, Gojo shut himself up.

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi couldn't help drawing that one conclusion in wonder: So, that's what Gojo-sensei is afraid of.

Nanami swiftly ended the call with a flick of his finger, returning the phone to the still mystified Yuji. Turning back to the trio, Nanami's irritation simmered as he glanced at the mess of broken goods on the floor, as well as noticing the approaching clerks.

"You three..." Nanami started, his voice rising slightly, unfaltering even as the three of them flinched. "Do you realize what you've done? Are you so idle that you can ditch your assignments?"

"Kento, don't be too harsh," you rebuked, placing a hand on his arm with a frown on your face. Nanami sighed, looking over the situation once again. It was a whole rack of baby necessities destroyed; plates, glasses, and whatnot scattered across the floor.

Nobara bit her lip in anxiety. “Oh my god, who's going to pay for all this damage?” She could already imagine the staggering amount this mess would cost. This is worth millions, anyone can go bankrupt.

There was only one person who can and will. Immediately, both Nanami and Megumi turned to her with a shared resolve.

"Gojo," Megumi blurted.

"He will be charged for everything," Nanami added with spite.

Epilogue

"You just love those kids, don't you, Kento?"

That night, when both of you were ready for sleep, Nanami had one hand caressing your still growing belly, and you teased him with a chuckle.

"Huh?" your husband looked at you in mild confusion as he stopped stroking you. "What do you mean?"

You giggled again. "You said to put it on Gojo's name, but in the end, you were the one who covered the damages first."

Nanami huffed lightly. "That's because I can't get the kids in trouble. But mark my words, I'll make sure Gojo pays up later, by force if I need to." He made a face when he remembered just what a massive bill it was. "That's too much money to be spent carelessly. We have our child and our future to consider."

"You're always like that," you sighed fondly, taking his hand and placing it back to the swell of your belly. "Always on the first line of defense for the students." Your smile widened. "It makes me think... just how lucky our kid will be with you as their father."

"On the contrary, I'm counting my blessings that they'll have someone as soft as you for their mother," your husband retorted with a smile, kissing your temple. And your heart melted into a puddle by his affectionate gesture.

"That's too sweet... ah, yeah," suddenly, you were reminded of a critical thing. “Kento, have you ever considered telling everyone else that we're married? At least to people at school?”

Nanami always wanted privacy for safety reasons most of the time, and you understood that, but seeing that Gojo and the first years knew already, you thought it might be the best time to let everyone know.

"I honestly don’t see the need to, why?"

"People like Gojo are confused—"

Your husband rolled his eyes then. "Don’t worry, dear. People like Gojo exist to spread the word so we don't have to."

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

more 18+ LOGAN HOWLETT thoughts bc clearly im a big fat fucking liar

fem!reader, 583 words

Early morning sex is one of Logan’s favourites. There’s no rush, no haste – nothing. The rest of the world quiet, as if it's only the two of you up. 

He’d often be cuddling into you from behind, arm like a dead, sleeping weight around your middle. His hand in a protective hold under one of your tits, keeping you there with your back to his burly chest. It’s rather comfortable.

And as his eyes begin to open, adjusting to the dawn sky through the gap of the curtain, he notices something between his legs causing him anguish. Thick, naked cock rock hard against the cheek of your ass, the little sleeping, unknowing motions of you only furthering that agony.

He nuzzles his face into you from behind, chin hooking on the nape of your neck as he presses soft, light kisses into your cheek – trying to ease you awake. And when you inhale, the sound prolonged and sleepy, he only tempts you further: running the scruff of his beard over your bare shoulder, lips pressing faintly into the side of your throat.

“Got something I want you to take care of, sugar,” he whispers, voice low and gruff beside your ear. His hand on your tit beginning it’s gentle kneading, again, like he was trying to coax you. Pushing it even further by saying your name in that deep, manly way he often does.

You nestle your head back into him, humming in a way as if to show your intrigue. Your half-asleep self silently asking him to elaborate. And when he takes the hint, his grasp around your breast loosens, instead moving down to your stomach – large fingers brushing over your warm, bare skin. 

The trail continues, his touch moving down to between your thighs, the thickness of his wrist acting like a wedge betwixt your legs. His middle finger instinctively extends downwards, the tip of it running between the lips of your pussy, the action like a gentle, momentary warm up.

And so, he leaves that spot just below your clit, reaching his hand behind you —to the front of him— and to his cock. Fingers wrapping around his base, fist faintly pumping over his dick as if to ready himself – simultaneously guiding his head towards you from behind.

He teases you briefly with the tip as he lines up, swirling and circling himself around your entrance before sinking into you. The remnants of last night’s dirty affairs acting like a natural lubricant.

He stills, using his cock like a plug as if to allow you a moment to adjust – accommodate him once again. But it was like muscle memory, the walls of your pussy stretching and wrapping around him, drawing more of him in. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound cutting his curse short. He wraps his arm back around your middle, hand finding itself tucked under your tit –like his prior sleeping position– using your body for stability as he begins to slowly rock into you. 

Your eyes close as you melt into him, posture softening against his chest, grip loosening around his thick wrist. He inadvertently mirrors you, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating as he rests his head back on the pillow – relaxing into you the way you do him. 

Like it all required no effort. The unrushed, irregular wind of his hips into you from behind letting you both feel just enough, each of you still far too sleepy for it to be anything more than this.

I rewatched DOFP for him last night. massive mistake. cried myself to sleep