#i GOTTA do an explanation for this part

[shepscapades]

YALLS TAGGSSSSSS IM GONNA BE FERALLLL

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[userm4x]

Physics for rookies! What is Adrien Newey cooking in there?

Here is the culmination of my research into the physics behind F1, my own knowledge from GCSE physics, and what I have gleaned from my very patient friend who took A-Level physics. This is about as in-depth as I can understand in hopefully simple and fun explanations. I've used the RB19 as my example model because I don't think I'll ever truly be over her.

The basics!

Because a lot of this primer uses language that you might not remember or sort of vaguely understand, here's some basic explanations of physics stuff that comes up:

Energy: this is defined as 'the ability to do work' - how much capacity you have to do something, such as move, or react! There are several different forms of energy: kinetic (movement), thermal, light, gravitational, electrical, sound, chemical and nuclear. Energy can be transferred between these different forms - for example, some of the light energy produced by light bulbs is transferred into heat, which is why they are hot to touch. It can also be transferred between different objects that are touching. This can cause other objects to move, such as water rippling, or other objects to begin to heat up, like a pan on a stove.

Particle: in science, this refers to an extremely small piece of stuff, most commonly a molecule or an atom. Although the air seems invisible to us, it is actually made up of various gases and other types of particles. We don't feel the pressure these particles exert on us because we produce enough energy to move through them without them bothering us, and we don't see them because they're so small and spread out!

Pressure: the physical force exerted on or against an object by something coming into contact with it. In this primer, this mostly refers to the pressure caused by the particles that make up gases, which collide with the things around them as they move around randomly. Pressure can be relative in the same volume - high pressure areas have more particles in the same volume than low pressure areas, which have less. Pressure can be changed by increasing the volume - more volume with the same amount of particles equals a lower pressure.

But wait ... physics matters in F1?

The physics behind F1 cars dictates how the team develops their cars! Understanding why the updates they add to the car work why they do helps them to develop further changes, or to make adjustments according to the race weekend. There are a few different forces teams need to think about during development and set-up:

Drag

Downforce

Ground effect

Some cars have high or low drag - what does that mean?

Simply: how much drag a car has directly translates to how easily the car moves through the air. The more drag the car has, the less energy goes into acceleration, as more energy goes into moving the particles in the air out of the way. Complicatedly:

The energy of an F1 car produces different types of energy, the most obvious ones being kinetic, thermal, and sound. Most of the kinetic energy the car produces goes into making it go fast, but since some of the particles that make up the air are touching the car, some of that kinetic energy has to go into pushing those particles out of the way so the car can move past them. This makes the car less efficient, as less of the energy produced is going toward its intended purpose: zooming! The horizontal force the car experiences caused by these air particles pushing on it as it moves them out of the way is called drag. There are a few different types of drag that an F1 car can experience:

Skin Friction Drag: what it sounds like! Some particles in the air have qualities that make them attracted to surfaces, such as the wings or chassis of an F1 car. These particles can stick to the car, and then become attracted to other particles that are free in the air. These attractions can build up layers of particles. The attraction between particles attached to the car, and particles in the air increases the amount of energy the car has to use to move them out of the way

Form Drag: this just refers to 'normal' drag - the force caused when an object pushes the particles in the air out of the way. The shape of an object can affect the amount of form drag it experiences. The smaller the area moving through the air, the less pressure it experiences, and therefore the less drag experienced

Induced Drag: this is a type of drag caused by a second force an F1 car experiences, downforce. Downforce creates an area of high pressure and an area of low pressure. The particles in the air try to even this out by moving from the area of high pressure to the area of low pressure. This happens most around the front and rear wings of an F1 car. However, it's unavoidable, because downforce is vital to the function of an F1 car!

If an F1 car is high drag, this basically means it is designed in a way that is not efficient for moving through the air, so it wastes loads of the energy produced by the engine. These cars often have huge speeds losses on straights when compared to low drag cars. Low drag cars are great at moving through the air! They have lots more energy left over to go into speed.

How do you make a car high or low drag?

F1 engineers use a few different techniques to reduce drag. Here are some of them:

Endplates: induced drag means that the air moving over the front wing and rear wing of F1 cars wants to go down underneath them, from the area of high pressure to the area of low pressure. Endplates stop them moving sideways over the plates, and instead keeps them moving in a straight line over the wings. On the front wing of the car, the endplates also reduce drag by directing air over the wheels of the car, and not into them!

Sidepods: remember how Mercedes refused to have sidepods, and then added them as an upgrade? Sidepods help to reduce form drag by directing the air flow in specific ways over the car. This also helps to increase downforce - they're kind of important!

Nose: F1 cars have super thin noses. This helps to reduce form drag - the smaller the area experiencing pressure as it moves through the air, the less energy is used!

DRS: the drag reduction system on an F1 car opens the rear wing during specified zones on each circuit. This removes the induced drag caused by the wing generating downforce, so the car gains around 10 extra km/h!

To see how these different components change how air is directed over the surface of the car, you can watch the tests teams often do early in free practice 1. During aerodynamic tests, they add neon paint to areas of the car and record how it spreads!

Most of these components are regulated by the FIA, but teams can design and adjust them within those regulations to get different effects to suit different circumstances. This can be why you see teams bringing different sidepods, or wings, to different tracks! Power circuits (e.g. Monza) refer to circuits where the speed of the car is most important to its performance. These circuits typically have a bunch of straights and slow speed corners, where downforce isn't useful, but reducing drag is!

What's downforce?

Simply: downforce is a term mainly specific to F1 that refers to the force that sucks the car down toward the floor when it moves. The more downforce a car has, the faster it can go! Complicatedly:

Downforce refers to the vertical force that a car experiences due to the particles in the air pushing downward on it. This happens when the car isn't moving, but also when it does! As the car moves and air flows over it, the particles in the air collide with the car and create pressure. Downforce is also sometimes called 'negative lift', as the opposite of lift occurs.

The amount of downforce an object experiences increases according to the square of its speed. This means that if you are travelling at 50 km/h, with 10N of downforce, and double your speed to 100 km/h, you increase the amount of downforce you experience to 40N (WARNING! MATHS: 50 x 2 = 100, 2² = 4, 10 x 4 = 40).

Teams want lots of downforce on their car for a few different reasons:

Downforce stabilises the rear of the car. This makes it easier for the driver to handle the car and predict what it will do

The more downforce you have, the higher the top speed of your car is

Teams want extra speed in medium and low speed corners. Because of the above principle, its actually easy to find extra downforce in fast corners! Medium and slow speed corners are the problems.

What's a ground effect? How does it work?

To generate more downforce, F1 engineers now consider the ground to be part of the system that produces different forces on an F1 car. This principle is called the ground-effect, and it can be used to produce ground-effect downforce. Ground-effect is also used to explain why planes float before they reach take-off speed!

In modern-day F1, most ways that are used to produce ground-effect are based off Bernoulli's principle. This principle refers to the effect that occurs when an object is lowered to the floor as air flows around it. As air moves between the object and the ground, it accelerates as the amount of space it has to move between them decreases. This causes pressure between the object and the ground to decrease, while pressure above the object stays the same - this creates an area of low pressure, and an area of high pressure. The object then experiences an overall downward force, which presses it toward the floor!

The area of low pressure underneath the car also works between the floor of the car and the track surface by trying to decrease the volume that the particles are contained in - it either tries to pull the track up towards the floor of the car, or pull the floor down toward the surface. This 'pulling' force acts as a vertical force, so it technically increases downforce!

How do you get extra downforce?

Anything that helps to either increase the pressure over the top of the car, or decreases the pressure underneath the car can help! The most common way engineers do this is by considering the entire car to be one big 'wing', but there are couple of methods:

The front wing: the front wing directs air close to the surface of the track up and over the body of the car, which increases the amount of air causing pressure over the top of it. This creates an area of low pressure under the front wing, and an area of high pressure above it

The skirt: the skirt around the floor of the car prevents air from entering underneath it from the sides. This stops the low pressure area underneath the car from being interrupted!

The flaps and fins: flaps and fins along the sides of the car force air into little spirals that create and trap a vacuum that 'seals' the edges of the car

The floor: the floor of an F1 car is covered in venturis - these are ducts that slowly expand toward their end. This both accelerates the particles in the air through the duct as they try to accommodate for the increase in space, but also decreases pressure under the car. The floor of the car is one of the biggest ways teams utilise ground-effect to increase downforce!

Ride height: adjusting the ride height of an F1 car refers to adjusting how low it sits to the ground. Decreasing the ride height increases downforce according to Bernoulli's principle. It is also one of the favoured ways to increase downforce, as it is one of the few that does so without massively increasing drag!

Sidepods: sidepods can be used to direct air flowing over the car toward the floor and into the venturis to increase downforce. Wide sidepods can also function in a similar way to the skirt of the car

Some of these components can be adjusted every race weekend to suit the conditions of the track. For example, the ride height can be adjusted, as can the angles of the front and rear wings. High downforce circuits (e.g. Monaco) are those where having a lot of downforce is advantageous. They are characterised by lots of corners, and very few, often short, straights. At these type of circuits, having low drag isn't super important - how attached to the floor you can get your car is!

Let's go porpoising! - Gunter Steiner

Porpoising refers to the rapid upward and downward movement of the body of the car as it bounces on its suspension. This is caused by the floor of the car being sucked too close to the floor, and the low pressure becoming problematic. It causes the air to stall underneath the car, which forces it to bounce up so the air underneath it can be released. This cycle continues over and over again, and you end up with porpoising!

The problem arose after the regulation changes for the 2022 season, when using the ground effect to generate downforce was allowed again! It dominated the way F1 cars were engineered throughout the 1970s and early 1980s, and then was disallowed after regulation changes. There were fears about cars losing the downforce generated from the ground affect, and then shooting off the track. The FIA reintroduced it in an attempt the reduce the effect of dirty air.

Porpoising became so wide-spread and severe among the teams that the FIA had to stage a technical intervention with a change to the regulations. The edges of an F1 car's floor have to be 15mm further away from the surface of the track than previously, which allows stalled air to be released and decreases the area of low pressure underneath the car. This appears to have fixed the problem! However, porpoising is still one of the more memorable parts of the 2022 season.

How does this help me understand what Adrien Newey is cooking in there?

I know that the title of the primer suggests that I do, in fact, know 'what Adrien Newey is cooking in there.' I regret to inform you that I don't. He's beyond all of us.

But, if you have any questions or want to chat more technical F1 stuff with me, my ask box is open and I'm happy to talk! Hope this helped :)

[fujii-draws]

drawing a comic in which Dusknoir is having the worst time of his fucking life

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[gemwolfz]

this would have been posted like half an hour later if i wasnt so suddenly compelled to draw the rest of the platoon as #girls so giroro could have friends to go to the mall with :), anyway the rest of todays frog doodles

[hiisheart]

( ok so i'm home today. but at what cost? )

[classyrbf]

pussy inspection with nanami can we have some degradation please and thank youuu 💞💞💞💞

PRINCESS PARTS! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...nanami always has to make sure that he always inspects his pretty princess

INFO...nanami x fem!reader, slight fingering, spanking, degradation, nanami being a tease, pussy inspection, nanami is kinda mean, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thank you so much for the request pookie I hope you enjoy it!

as soon as you stepped out of the car from running errands all day (the errands being shopping with your husbands credit card) you got a text a from him asking to come to his office. You weren’t sure what the occasion was, but when you finally made it into the house with the millions of bags, you gingerly made your way over to your husbands office.

For some reason you felt a bit nervous. Nanami always calls you if anything important, he rarely ever texts, but you never question him on anything. “Ken?” You softly call out, seeing his office door is cracked, slowly opening it to see him sitting in his chair, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “Hi.” You smile. “I just came back from the store! I got these pretty dresses I think—”

“Come here.” He sternly spoke, his glass clinking on the wooden table as he set it down. His gaze never left yours, like a predator trying to intimidate its prey. “Come here,” he repeated. The silence was deafening bedsides the wood creaking under your feet as you hesitantly stepped closer. And when you got close enough he pulled you over his lap in the blink of an eye, leaving you breathless. “What’s this?” He held up your panties in his hand. You stayed silent looking down in shame. You could feel his large hand rub over the fabric of your sundress, toying with the hem of it as he lifted it slowly. “Ah,” he let out a chuckle, one that had a hit of annoyance.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could muster. You knew we’re in the wrong. Before leaving to go shopping, you decided to wear any panties, but stupidly enough you left the evidence in the room for him to find. He fully lifted the fabric, exposing your ass to the cool air of his office.

“You left the house without any panties on? What were you planning to do, huh?” He swatted your ass, making you jump. “We’re you playing with my pussy on the way home? Playing with in the dressing room? Cause you’re that much of a desperate little slut.” He slapped your ass again, a small whimper falling from your lips.

“No, no! I swear I didn’t touch myself! I just…” You didn’t really have an explanation as to why you did it, only making it harder for him to believe your words.

“No? You sure? You know I have to check, right?” He squeezed the plump flesh of your ass, spread your cheeks slightly to get a good look at your cunt. He licked his limps, swiping his thumb over your slit. “Gotta make sure my pretty princess didn’t cum without me, yeah?” He spread your legs farther before taking his fingers and spreading your lips, watching the way your pink hole fluttered around nothing. He could see how wet you were getting, gathering some of your slick and rubbing your clit with it.

“Ken,” you whimpered, squirming in his lap. He ignored you, slapping your ass again as a warning to stop moving.

“I just have to make sure, baby. I know how much of a slut you like to be, showing off your pretty pussy. You’re just a dumb little thing who doesn’t know any better.” He slips his thumb into your pussy, moving it around and rubbing against your g-spot before slipping it out. “Why are you so wet?” He slaps your ass again.

“I’m sorry! It just…feels so good,” you explain, biting down on your bottom lip. You look back, staring up at him was such a desperate look, only to be met with his cold gaze.

“Use your words more. Tell me.” He gently caresses your face. “Is it this?” He slips his thumb back in, watching the way your jaw drops and brows furrow. You nod at his question. “Words.” He spanks your ass harder.

“Yes! It’s that! It’s everything! I like when you inspect my princess parts, and make sure I’m not misbehaving,” you confess. Kento hummed in response, slowly massaging your walls with his thumb.

“So you’ve been doing this on purpose? Leaving your panties around the house for me to find so you can get your pussy touched and looked at. What am I going to do with you?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue at you. He slips out his thumb, rubbing your neglected clit in slow, agonizing circles. “Get up.”

“Wha-why?” You asked, confused. “Ah!” He spanks you once more. You quickly scurry off of his lap, standing in front of him and pulling your dress down.

He hands you your panties from earlier. “Put them back on and sit in your mess. You think being bad gets you rewarded?” He scolds you, watching as you slip your panties over your legs, pulling them up. “And don’t you dare sneak off and try and make yourself cum like the desperate little whore you are.”

“But, please,” you mutter. “I’ve been waiting all day. I know—”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” He clenches his jaw. You shake your head. “Good. Now, go and grab the new clothes you bought and put on a show for me, yeah? I’ll be waiting.”

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

That’s Not What Friends Do (part 1)

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: smut, cheating

Request: Lando and the Reader have been best friends since they were babies. Lando has been in love with the Reader since he was a teenager, which is why he has never had a serious relationship. He has flings with girls, but nothing serious. On the other hand, the Reader has been in love with Lando for the past one to two years but thinks he doesn't like her that way, which is why she doesn't propose. Lando is very protective of the Reader, and the Reader is equally protective of Lando.... She knows he sleeps around and is protective of him in a way that she advises him to be smart about who he sleeps with and to stay out of the headlines for anything other than racing. The story starts after the Brazil race, where Lando had a tough time and went without sleep for 24-48 hours. When he returns from São Paulo, he finds the Reader already there, ready to comfort him after a bad race. - I changed it up a bit adding Charles into the story, but I hope you still like it!

"Oh, yes, yes, yes-ah.." The girl moans breathlessly into the pillow as Lando animalistically continues pounding her from behind.

"Just like that, Lando, give it to me" She continues talking even though Lando hates hearing it.

He hates the way his name sounds coming from her lips. He also hates that he's giving her what she wants. And most of all, he hates the fact that once again he's fucking someone else, imagining it washer.

Once he closes his eyes and thinks of your innocent face, it sends him over the edge, he twitches pulling out his cock and cumming inside the condom. "Fuck.." He moans throwing his head back as his thighs shake.

"You didn't have to pull out, you know? You have a condom on anyway" The girl smirks turning to look at him and trying to pull him down to her.

Lando doesn't say anything, he raises his eyebrow at her, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes at her stupid comment.

He's been with so many girls he can't even count them, but even when he's drunk out of his mind, protection is a must have. He's not fucking around when it comes to that, not when he doesn't even know half of those girls' names. Nor is he interested in their names. All he cares about is emptying himself, giving himself a short-term pleasure and maybe just maybe running into someone who is at least slightly similar to her.

"You're not gonna stay?" The girl asks when he gets up from the bed and starts pulling his pants up.

"No, sorry, I gotta go" With curt, almost no explanations, he always leaves minutes after he finishes. Not that he's proud of it, but to be honest, he doesn't care either.

On the other hand, y/n doesn't spend her free nights the way Lando does. She doesn't fuck around with guys to keep her mind off Lando because she knows that's impossible in a way.

Although she spends some of her evenings wishing she had never seen that article a year and a half ago. It was a perfectly normal Monday night, the day after the race, when after a long flight she finally lay down on her couch, snuggled under the blanket and started scrolling through her phone. At one point, her best friend Ruby sent her an article titled "Friends"? and a picture of y/n and Lando that y/n hasn't stopped thinking about ever since.

The picture captured the moment when, after the race, Lando had both arms tightly wrapped around y/n and was kissing her temple with his eyes closed.

At first it seemed like an ordinary picture, I mean it wasn't the first time they shared a close moment like that before. After all they're friends? Friends do that, right? But the longer y/n stared at it, the more it awakened something in her that hadn't been there before.

When she found herself thinking about Lando and herself at night to fall asleep, she realized she was in trouble because she knew she was in love with her best friend. But since she also knew that the night she was staring at their picture, he was fucking some girl because he himself had told her he was meeting her that night, y/n knew she had to suppress her feelings.

That's where y/n had a little help named Charles.

"Where were you?"

Y/n startles almost screaming when she walks into her apartment and turns on the light revealing Lando on her couch.

"Oh my God, Lando!!" She said, barely able to catch her breath as she held her hand over her heart thinking it would jump out at any second. "You scared the shit out of me! How did you get in here?"

"You gave me the key?"

"I did, but to use it in case of emergency only!"

"You not answering my calls is an emergency" He says and you roll your eyes at him as you take off your shoes. "So?"

"So?" You mimic him.

"Where were you?"

"I was" You sigh. "On a date."

"You were on a date?" He asked a little panicked, following you like a puppy into the kitchen where you had gone.

"Mhm" You mumble, avoiding his gaze. "Ready to conquer Brazil?" You ask trying to change the subject.

"Who were you on a date with?" He asks not dropping it.

"Can we please not talk about it?" You sigh. You really had no intention of telling him anytime soon that you were seeing Charles. You knew Lando was never much of a fan of Charles. Although the reason for that was never clear to you, Lando had actually seen the way Charles secretly looked at you on a couple of occasions, and he confirmed his suspicions when Carlos told him that Charles had said he wanted to get to know you better.

"Why not? Since when am I not allowed to know who you're seeing?"

"Oh please, as if you tell me about every girl you see"

"Well..that's n-not the same"

"Oh really? And by the way, the other day Instagram was full of you and some blonde at a club again. I could see how drunk you were through the picture, you know?" You've scolded him for the umpteenth time already. "You really should be more careful who you associate yourself with, it's getting out of hand"

Lando remained silent because he knew you were right and he hated that he knew you were always right.

"Lando, you know I'm only saying that because I don't want them to talk badly about you and play with your head..."

No one really knew Lando the way you did. After all, you've known each other since childhood, inseparable since you were little. Your relationship has always been one of a kind, both of you very protective of each other. For Lando, it was like he wasn't afraid to hurt anyone but you. You were something that cannot be touched.

"I know, but I don't want to talk about that either." He says. "Are you coming with me to Brazil?"

"No, I'm sorry, Lan. I have a project to finish. I have so much to do and so little time."

"So you have time to date but you don't have time to be there when I need you?"

"H-how can you even say that?" You were offended because that was far from the truth. If anyone was always there for Lando, it was you. You just didn't know he was saying this only out of jealousy and because he had a hard time accepting that you had someone in your life besides him.

"Let me guess, he'll be your moral support while you work on your project?"

Oh, if he only knew that the "moral support" he was talking about would be much closer to him than to you that weekend, he would surely lose his mind.

part 2

[nightingale-prompts]

Godling-DCxDP prompt

Many don't understand what it's like to gaze into the abyss. To truly know the haunting moment it gazes back. Even fewer can see still stand to throw themselves into that abyss.

Tim never understood why cultists worship monstrosities, being that promised the end of everything for nothing in return. He had seen the remnants of human sacrifices, rituals gone wrong, and man-made horrors beyond human comprehension. Part of him regretted agreeing to partner with Constantine to solve these cases. But another wanted to know more.

After searching through another half-destroyed tome he found something. A location to a summoning circle, an ancient one that these cultists were searching for. The one they needed to finally successfully summon their god.

But they got there too late. The cult had finished their ritual and the "god" they had summoned stood before them.

That god was...perfect. Disgustingly perfect, dreadfully beautiful, and horrifyingly enchanting. His mind etched every detail in his memory. It felt like his mind had conjured this person from his dreams, day and night. It was like looking at an illusion. But his eyes were a hellishly bright Lazarus green.

The cultist bowed to him and his smile, his perfect unnaturally white smile was full of soft warmth. Tim understood at that moment why they worshipped him. Their minds couldn't escape this web of divine energy. They were so enraptured by finally seeing prove of the divine.

"You all have done enough. Your souls will come with me. To the abyss." He said calmly as he waved his hand and each cultist dissappeared.

He sighed softly as he turned his gave to Tim and John.

"You offed 'em? I thought they were your followers." Constantine said gruffly.

"I have no followers. These souls have caused so much damage to this world. They can't be allowed to stay here."

"So you decided to rapture them?" Constantine raised an eyebrow.

"It's complicated. Yes, they did horrible things but if they hadn't discovered the tomes of the old king they wouldn't have ended up this way. Have pity on them. They are just mortals scared and confused searching for meaning. Like I was. I have sent them to the abyss. Their souls with dissipate into the void. There will be no pain. No eternal punishment. Just an end. They will be at peace, I promise. It is what they want." The god's voice echoed, his features rippled as he moved showing afterimages of alternate forms he used.

It was odd. Every fiber of Tim's being screamed for him to bow, to worship, and to give himself to this being. Yet, his feet remained stubbornly planted on the ancient dusty floor.

"Don't look directly at it," Constantine whispered hissed.

Right. You probably shouldn't stare at the otherworldy being that likely has mind warping abilities. Especially one that just said he erased his own followers from existence and saying it was a good thing.

"I'm really sorry. I should make it up to you. Clockwork will be pissed enough that I interfereed so I have to do something to at least make up for this mess."

"You can kick off by doing one and buggering off" Constantine said immediately.

"So cold. How about you? What do you want?"

"I think an explanation would help," Tim said only to get elbowed by Constantine.

"You ain't gotta know nothing, mate. The more we know, the dodgier it gets." Constantine said firmly. "Whatever you are, you need to bugger off. You’ll wreck the noggins of everyone around you."

"I don't mean to. I don't ask people to become obsessed with me or worship me. Mortals have such weak minds they cave at my presence. But I can't help it. I lost my human body recently and can't turn this off."

The being groaned but to human ears it was similar to a purr.

"Seriously, everything I do is filtered through some sensory thing that makes you little mortals think its the greatest thing ever no matter how simple. Touching you would probably melt your brain with how good it would feel. So the trench coat man is probably right."

"You said you lost your human body. How?" Tim asked still staring at the floor as he felt the godling came closer.

"A bad fight. My mortal form wasn't indestructible but saving my family made it more than worth it. But...I haven't seen them since. Im still getting used to this while thing. I just wanted to reach out and find some answers so i reached into this universe and well...you can probably tell what happened next. I just wanted to make it right and fix it. The other ancients said this was the best option and..."

Every moment he spoke the less godly he seemed.

Constantine still wasn't willing to help and had to drag Tim away. When Tim actually tried to look up the fodling was gone.

"Never do that again." The brit said sternly. "Now help me clean this mess up."

[rafeandonlyrafe]

borrowed clothes

words: 800

warnings: 18+ only, smut, female receiving oral, unprotected p in v sex, mentions of male masturbation, friends to lovers

“rafe, can i borrow your panthers jersey?” you ask, walking into his closet without even waiting for permission.

“you know, you always steal my clothes and never give me any of yours in return.” rafe points out, following you in to the walk in, seeing you already looking through his shirts, trying to find the nfl jersey.

“its sports night, rafe.” you roll your eyes. your favorite bar does themed nights that allow discounted drinks if you come in theme. “you have a million sports things to wear, and i have none.” you remind your best friend.

“all im saying is its unfair.” rafe smiles at you as you find the jersey you were thinking of, knowing his closet better than he does. it’s just a part of being friends for your entire life, best friends.

“okay, here.” you tug your black tshirt off, having planned to wear it underneath rafes jersey, but you can deal with just your bra. rafe looks away from your chest, despite having seen you in just your underwear or swimsuit a million times.

you toss the material at him before tugging the oversized jersey over your head, tucking the front into your tiny miniskirt. “how do i look?” you ask rafe, who is now holding your discarded tshirt in his hand.

rafe nods. “good.” its all he can force himself to say. better than sexy, hot, so good that he wants to bend you over right in the closet and shove that little skirt up and bury his cock in your-

“great!” you smile. “now we gotta find something sporty for you.” you hum, turning back to his closet.

--

“rafey?” you call, entering tanneyhill without knocking. you haven’t asked permission to enter since you were a child, with rafes house being your second home.

“he’s in the shower.” wheezie calls out from the living room.

“thanks wheez!” you ruffle her hair as you walk past, teasing her like she was your own little sister.

you head up to rafes room, flopping onto the bed as you pull your phone out, waiting for rafe to finish up in the shower, hoping he won’t take too long.

you scroll through tiktok, letting out a yawn with a big stretch, readjusting and sliding your hand under rafes pillow. you frown when realize your fingers graze over a weird material, feeling oddly stiff and not something that belongs on rafes bed.

you sit up, moving the pillow to reveal your black tshirt, now covered in white stains. you frown and move it closer to inspect the fabric, eyes widening when you realize what you are holding in your hands.

your mind moves at a thousand miles a minute, realizing that rafe has been jacking off into your shirt. the implications are clear, the one piece of clothing item that he has of yours, and he uses it to get himself off?

you toss the piece of fabric back down, slamming the pillow back on top of it right as rafe opens the bathroom door, towel wrapped around his waist.

“i-i can explain.”

--

“f-fuck!” you shout out, rafes head buried in your cunt, tongue lapping over your pussy, finally tasting you like he's long awaited to. “why did it take us so long to do this?”

rafe just smiles against your cunt, glad that he didn't need to give a real explanation as you hopped off the bed and kissed him, realizing that your feelings echoed his after seeing your tshirt, suddenly feeling just as pent up.

“should have just fucked me instead of cumming all over my shirt.” you whine as his tongue flicks over your clit.

“ill buy you a new one.” rafe sucks your clit into his mouth, determined to make you cum. you let out a cry, your high building.

a shiver spreads throughout your body as rafes mouth brings you to orgasm, a scream being forced out of your body, not caring that there are other people in the house that could hear.

“fuck, you taste so good baby.” rafe moans into your cunt, tongue swiping out again until you gently push his head away, not able to take anymore on your sensitive clit.

rafe rises up, draping himself over your body. he gives you a deep kiss, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“i can't believe you were jacking off into my shirt thinking of me.” you giggle. 

“oh god, you're never gonna let me forget that, are you?” rafe groans, moving lower to rub his cock between your folds, soaking it in your wetness.

you laugh before it's cut off by rafes lips.

“can i fuck you y/n?” rafe asks, lining himself up with your entrance.

“yeah.” you nod. “yeah, need you.”

“last chance to rethink this. because once i enter you, we can't just be friends anymore.”

“i know, i know.” you peck a kiss to rafes lips. “hurry up and fuck me already.”

rafe smiles down at you as he slowly presses forward, your walls giving way to his thick cock.

“i love you.” rafe admits with a gasp.

“i love you too.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

[bunnysbrainrot]

Discreet

Kinktober Prompt: Dirty Talk

Relationship: Dean Winhester x Reader

Content: Sexual content, implied sex, sexting, Dean has a breeding kink, mentions of cum/creampies, exhibitionism fantasies.

Summary: While trying to focus on research, Dean executes a plan to distract you, shamelessly in front of his brother. Can you hold it together, or will you crack under the pressure?

"Hold on, I think we're looking at the wrong Louisville," Sam speaks up. You whip your head to the brother before opening your laptop to inspect for yourself.

Dean arches an eyebrow, "Sam, there are a million Louisville's, you gotta narrow it down."

In his lap, Dean begins to type into his phone. You shift in your seat, staring at your open laptop, opened to a list of different states that are each home to a different Louisville. In your back pocket your phone vibrates against your chair. You glance at Dean before opening the new notification.

I'm bored.

You stifle a laugh but roll your eyes, replying to Dean.

Another vamp case isn't enough for you?

You see Dean smirk out of your periphery. Sam's brows furrow as he mutters to himself, scrolling through different sites and resources, occasionally asking for your and Dean's input.

"We've checked Kentucky and Georgia already - I think Ohio should be next on our list."

"Since when do Vampires attack cities just based on its name?"

Sam clears his throat. Your phone vibrates in your hand; you swiftly check the message, but instantly forget the start of Sam's explanation.

You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right now.

A rush of red floods your cheeks before you shove the phone back into your pocket. You snap back to attention for Sam, though your mind is traveling elsewhere.

"The way I see it, vampires can have a pretty twisted sense of humor. It's possible that vamps from all of these different states thought it would be funny to go after their own Louisvilles."

Despite Sam's talking, Dean's attention is set on you as you try to pay attention. He smiles when he watches you falter over Sam's words, and laughs when you have to ask Sam to repeat part of what he said. Of course Sam pays little mind at first and simply reiterates, but still shifts his attention to Dean. You take a break to reply to him.

right now??? Dean we're literally in the middle of our research.

A swift reply from a too-cool Dean: I know.

You put down your phone with a short exhale and school yourself back into a research mindset. A few minutes pass without a disturbance, save for the occasional comment or question from you or Sam, but there was radio silence from Dean. Until he prods further, at least.

"Hey, check the link I sent you," after you perk your head up, you realize that Dean's focus is on you once again.

"Could you send it to me, too, Dean?" Sam requests.

Dean quickly changes the subject, "It's not for the case, it was somethin' we were talking about earlier. But trust me, if I find anymore nerd content, I'll send it your way."

Sam gives his brother a glare before he tends back to his laptop. You comply with Dean and look at your phone, and it takes everything in your willpower to keep yourself collected.

I would fuck you on this table right now, if I could. You're lucky I don't want to scar Sam for life.

You accidentally chuckle, bringing Sam to attention again. You mutter an apology at his confused look and you both look back to your computers. Hiding your phone behind your laptop screen and out of view, you watch the flood of Dean's texts come in.

You would sound so much prettier if I could hear your screams echo off the walls.

Warmth floods between your thighs - you instinctively clench onto nothing but the thought of Dean buried in you, splayed wide on the mahogany table. Your mind rushes to the idea of Dean bending you over onto the wood, holding you firmly at the hips as he juts his hips from behind.

Everything alright, sweetheart?

His teasing leaves you scowling at your phone. Hopefully your expression could be assumed to be directed at your research, which hasn't made any progress, no thanks to Dean. You debate your reply before sending it.

What else would you do?

You see a smile stretch Dean's lips as he prepares his response. You tense as you await, but his text is drawn out, making you wait. Dean was delivering this flawlessly - just enough to watch you squirm and lose yourself to the thoughts.

I would start out slow. Ideally you'd just be in a t-shirt and panties, sitting right here in front of me on the table. I would lean you back, and slowly pull your panties to the side...

It was all he gave you, for the time being. You shift in your seat again, clicking your laptop a few times to build the illusion of intent research.

Your phone buzzes with a new message.

I would start with my fingers. I'd tug your panties to the side, and slip a finger in. You'd sound so much better when you'd try to keep quiet. I would make you come with one finger, then two, then three.

The reply to him is short, but it's all you can muster as you've fallen under his spell, Would we be alone?

Dean clears his throat before he rises from the table. He holds an arm in front of his crotch and quickly turns to leave for the kitchen.

"Want a beer?" he asks generally.

Fuck, you needed more than a beer. To deal with this, he should've offered a handle of vodka for you to drown out the untimely advances.

"Sure," echo you and Sam, smiling at each other that you spoke at the same time. After all these months with the brothers, you all had really begun to mimic behaviors. It was a beautiful sign of the time you've shared and the intricate work you all put into your relationships.

It's a nice way to clear your clouded head. That is, until you see a new reply from Dean. You make a particular effort to watch Sam out of the corner of your eye.

Doesn't matter. If someone was home, they'd have a hell of a show.

You quip, You're feeling pretty bold, huh?

He reminds you, Again, you're lucky I don't want to scar Sam for life.

Dean comes back into the room, meticulously holding three beers in one hand, while he texts with the other. You're intently eyeing your phone as you await his reply.

I'd add my tongue, too. I know exactly what pretty sounds you make when I've got my fingers in your pussy, and your clit in my mouth. You'd look so pretty trying to grip onto the table.

The scowl stitching your brows together softens as you feed into the flirtations. A fresh flow of heat melts between your legs, reminding you immediately of the power Dean could have over your body, even without using his hands.

You'd be shaking by the time I was done. You would be begging like you always do. Begging for my cock, begging me to fill up your needy pussy. Cause my hands just aren't enough to fuck you dumb, are they?

Breath hitches in your throat. Are you seriously about to full-on sext Dean right in front of his brother? Surely, Sam would have to notice at some point, though Dean shows no sign of him regarding it.

No, sir, you admit. You prop your phone back on your laptop and 'continue to research', pathetically at that.

Sweet girl is always needing my big cock to ruin her insides, isn't she?

The image of Dean's length intrudes your thoughts, throbbing and leaking with beads of precum. You can envision its warmth at your entrance, and the way Dean notches the thick head of him into your tight hole before he eases himself inside. Your fingers ache with the effort of not shoving them into your slicked panties to toy with yourself.

Dean's teasing doesn't ease in the slightest. If anything, it seems like he's trying to have you undone. Begging.

You'd ride me in the chair, first. I would have you fuck yourself onto my cock, but you wouldn't be able to come yet. Not until I can watch the way I stretch you open on the table.

Sam's muttering saves you from falling too deep into the rabbit hole Dean's excavated for you. You steady your breath, debating the risk of replying back to Dean. If he's finding amusement in doing this, you can't tell - his expression is cool and collected, to your frustration.

Do you know that your tummy bulges when I'm inside you? I'd make you watch. You'd see how my big cock shoves into that tight pussy, stretching her wide open for me.

You squirm helplessly in your seat, crossing your legs to stifle the dull throbbing radiating from your clit. With your thighs shifting together, you brace yourself to finally issue a reply.

You're mean

Dean audibly chuckles. Sam inspects him and scowls, "Dean, are you even doing your research? We really need to work on this - we're leaving tomorrow."

The eldest Winchester trains his expression back to utter seriousness, "Y'gonna wring my neck for taking a break?"

"This is important-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean dismisses, zoning back in on his own laptop and ignoring his glaring brother. You ease slightly now that the heat is pushed to Dean. But, the texts don't stop. Dean assumes a stronger façade, steeling his poker face.

You like it, though. I don't think you understand how wet you get when I'm a little mean. You love being my perfect slut. I wish you knew how tight you feel when I call you a whore.

The answer was evident in your sex. Your walls flutter around the emptiness in your neglected pussy, longing for a proper filling. Lust glazes your eyes as you glance up at Dean, finding him smirking knowingly at you. Fuck him. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Dean, I'm sending you some articles. These are from the Lousiville in Ohio - those deaths look pretty similar."

Sam's words fall on deaf ears. After a few moments, Dean finally opens the links his brother sent him, giving you a bit of a break from his relentless texts.

You direct your attention back to your laptop and ogle at the screen. The thoughts Dean planted in your mind run a rough course, battering you with each thrust and moan that could be happening if you and Dean were alone.

Assuming Dean's read the articles, you stare at his next text, heat rumbling in your gut.

Would you be a good cumslut? Would you take my cock like a needy little whore?

He needs an answer. Dean needs to know that his words are taking effect, and he wants to hear it from you - how eager you are.

You reply, I would. I'll be a good girl.

Because you know what I do with brats, right? Dean's reply shudders through your core.

This time, you don't reply. Ultimately, his question is rhetorical and answered immediately in your subconscious. Any sort of bratty behavior is quickly corrected by either Dean's punishment, or a complete denial of any stimulation until you were begging for Dean's forgiveness. You'd spent countless times on your knees, in front of Dean's cock, begging for him to absolve you, and fuck you senseless.

If you're good, I'll give you what you want. How does it feel when my cum is deep inside of you?

The drenched fabric of your panties rubs against your slick folds. You adjust your sitting position, sitting up to let yourself open onto the material of your underwear. Ever so slightly, you grind yourself in your seat, watching Sam intently out of the corner of your eye, hoping he won't notice the feeble attempt to get yourself off.

The reply is short, It feels good, sir.

Dean clears his throat, and pretends to open a web browser.

I know, sweetheart. Feels good to keep me in your sweet pussy, keeping all of my cum for yourself. It feels so good to breed your cunt.

A deeper strain aches at your arms, urging yourself to take your own break to relieve yourself in the bathroom. Dean can see you squirm in your chair, and intentionally avoid his stare.

He texts you again, trying to earn a visible response to his taunts.

After I'm done, I would hold your legs open and watch my cum leak out of you. One of these days, I want to see how many times I can do it in a day. You'd be messy all day long.

You envision it yourself - the foreign image of white, warm ropes of Dean's cum spilling out of your stretched cunt and onto the floor below, wasted. Tightness pulls your abdomen taught as you think about being bred for an entire day, all to Dean's satisfaction. Your pussy clamps down onto nothing, yet again, at the sheer thought of it.

"I'll send you the same articles I sent to Dean. Let me know what you think," Sam is honing in on you this time. You nod and keep an eye out for the incoming links, and click on them. Eyeing them intentionally, you try to shove aside the persistent fantasies from taking over your senses.

Another text pops up on your screen.

It would be a lazy day. In the morning I would fuck you slow, giving you your first load of the day. We'd make lunch. You'd still be sore, but not as sore as you'd be after we eat.

Your mind travels elsewhere. The computer screen fades out of your attention as your eyes glaze over again.

I would fuck you on the kitchen table. You'd pull your panties up right after I was done and sit in my cum for hours, waiting for more. I wouldn't let you take those panties off. You wouldn't waste anything I gave you.

He was exactly right. It didn't matter how many times Dean had spilled himself into you, you relished the feeling of his cum buried deep inside of your pussy, precisely where it should be.

You want to touch yourself, don't you, sweetheart?

Your fingers twitch at the screen, as if they want to follow Dean's question to provide him a swift answer.

I want you to fuck me.

Dean's smirk grows. Your breath grows strained as he replies.

Needy little slut.

It would've been your undoing if it weren't for Sam's company. You throw a pitiful look toward Dean, but it goes ignored.

You'd let me take you anywhere in this bunker, wouldn't you? I could fill you up in every room of this place.

You reeled over the number of room's in the bunker, listing them off until you lost count. The slick between your folds soaks your panties further as you writhe gently in your chair.

I know you will. You would love knowing that I've stuffed your cunt in every room. And no one else would know, but we would. It would give you plenty to think about.

The mere idea of it gave you more than enough to go off of. How Sam hasn't realized that something's amiss, you don't understand, but are silently thankful that he can't see your unraveling. Dean, however, cannot focus on anything else. The strain of his cock against his jeans is bordering on discomfort, but he intends to keep you under his spell.

He lowers a hand to his lap and slightly grazes the growing bulge. Dean seems to have teased himself just as much as he did you - all thoughts of research dissolved in the presence of his new fantasies.

I'll bet you $10 that Sam is gonna run an errand after this. We should see how well we can use the free time.

A new tension tightens in your tummy. There would be no telling how long Sam would be occupied for, but Dean didn't see any qualms.

Yes, but maybe not in the main hall, for everyone to see us?

Your compromise is accepted. Dean nods slightly across from you, still staring at his laptop screen, then glancing to his phone.

Prude.

Under the table, you kick Dean's shin. He yelps at the new pain in his leg, earning a confused look from his brother. Sam looks between the two of you quizzically.

"Do y'all need a room to yourselves, or something?"

Dean smiles at his brother, avoiding your new glare, "No, no, we're fine. Aren't we, baby?"

The glare doesn't let up, but you don't reveal the truth of your texts with Dean. You look to Sam and jab a thumb toward his brother.

"He's being a dick, can you punch him for me?"

Without question, Sam delivers a firm punch to Dean's arm. Dean's shocked frustration is met with a devilish smirk from you, satisfied that you're now blameless. A moment after the brotherly bickering, a new text lights up your phone.

You're mean

You giggle at the screen and send him a final reply, letting him sit with the thoughts he'd poured into both of your heads.

I know. But, you like it.

Hey everyone! If you enjoyed, please help support my writing by reblogging!

Apologies that this took so long. I appreciate all of your kind messages as I balance how busy life has been lately. Thank you for all of your love and support! Happy reading!

-Bunny

[milla-frenchy]

Close-up

8k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. ex lovers reunited, angst, mostly Joel pov, Joel can act cold out of defence mechanism, he has trouble accepting his own feelings, pining, slow burn, pet names (sweetheart, baby), semi public sex, just the tip, soft!joel, oral (f), piv, creampie. Pic for mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions. 

a/n:  this is written for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge (prompt here) thank you for this challenge Jo, and it was such a cool prompt 😍😍😍 Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for reading this one soooo many times 🥹😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

I sent you a script, tell me what you think tell me more just read it, trust me

The informal messages between Joel and his agent, Will, were usual. They had known each other for a long time, they were friends, and Will had always found him perfect roles. 

So as always, Joel trusted him- even though the first page of the script, delivered to him by a courier, was not completely filled, making him wonder why. 

In the evening he put his cup on the coffee table, and lay down on the sofa, a soft light lamp behind his head. With his back leaning against the cushions, shirt, jeans, bare feet. Always the same ritual, always the same setup, when he was about to read a new script.

He started reading it, taking a sip of coffee from time to time, until his heart leapt in his chest as he got to a particular scene. 

He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. 

It could only be you. 

That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

“Yeah,” he grumbled as he picked up, without even trying to hide his feelings, then he got up to pace the room.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Joel. But she’s a great writer and actress, you know it. We’ve been looking for a good drama movie for a long time. This one’s perfect.”

“It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

“Joel, listen to me and think about it. No one would know. And it can be therapeutic.”

“Thera… jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Joel sighed as he hung up and threw his phone on the couch. 

Why the fuck would Will do something so stupid and inconsiderate, giving him a script from you? 

At the beginning of his career, his agent sent him one project for a movie in which you were expected to play too. Joel confessed that you two had been together, and added “you don’t bring her up. Ever,” to end the conversation. So Will never did. 

Until today.

He sat back down on the sofa, resting his forehead on his fist, resisting the urge to throw the cup of coffee across the room. He was surprised by his own reaction, his nervousness. His anger. Barely able to control his emotions, he felt so weak, like his heart was about to tear in two again, swallowing him whole. He was affected, years later, as if it happened yesterday.

So, sure, a long time ago he asked Will not to talk about you anymore. But they might have been  friends, his agent might have known about you, but he didn’t know the details. Didn’t know how profoundly the break up had hurt Joel, how much you had gotten under his skin, back then.

And in Will's defense, it wasn't like you never saw each other again, at parties or ceremonies, under Will’s gaze who thought that it wasn't that bad, after all. It was years after your separation, now having the job that both of you dreamed about, talked about, sweaty young adults in a messy bed where he had just made you come.

Will wasn't aware that it was actually that bad. 

Because he didn’t know the way Joel looked at you, when you were together. He didn't know how sweet and caring Joel was with you. He didn’t know how much he loved wrapping his arms around you, and having you curl up against him. 

He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more.

He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again.

Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.”

The first time you saw each other again, was in a place full of actors, agents, writers and directors.

You couldn't believe he was here, a few steps away from you. Of course, you knew you'd cross paths one day, but suddenly he was closer to you than he had been in years and you felt your heart racing. He was even more handsome than he was back then, if it was even possible. You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. 

But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal. 

So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. 

It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up. 

If you had looked up right away, you would have seen guilt sweep through his eyes. But when you finally raised your head, seconds later, he was on the other side of the room. The only thing you could see was his back, which he undoubtedly presented to you deliberately, as if his glare hadn’t been enough to make a point.

All evening, you struggled to keep conversations going, to concentrate, to think of anything other than his dark stare, furrowed brows, and the way he shook his head at you without any hesitation. For years, you had been wondering what he had thought of you, after those years. You just got the most brutal answer to that question. 

The second time, a journalist had done some research and discovered that you attended the same university, graduated the same year. He took the opportunity to bring the subject as Joel was walking by. He probably hadn't seen you amongst all those people, because you were sure he would have gone the other way, otherwise. You didn’t have much choice than to kiss, feigning a friendly closeness that had never existed between you. You had been lovers, then strangers. No in-between. 

His scent, so familiar, invaded your nostrils. He always wore the same perfume, the one you had given him for a birthday. It surprised you but you didn't have much time to think about it, as he ended the hug quickly.

Joel's eyes were shifty when you looked at him, a fake smile plastered on his lips. Which could probably seem real for people who didn't know him, but not for you. Not even years later. You answered the journalist's questions as best as you could, until Joel leaned towards to give you a hug that was as neutral as his eyes on you, cutting off the questions. Then he walked away, leaving you facing the journalist who was delighted with the exclusive material and oblivious to the unspoken scene that had happened in front of him.

Joel thought back to those two evenings, after he’d hung up on Will and before he’d put the script away in a drawer. He needed to regain control of his emotions, and to do that he couldn't continue reading your words, at least for now.

He went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and despite him trying, his mind wandered to lazy mornings where he would get up to make two coffees and then come back to the bedroom. He’d put them on the nightstand, before cuddling up to your warm body under the sheets, hearing you moan gently. Sometimes you would fall asleep in one of his shirts, and he loved smelling his scent on you, as if you were marked by him, somehow. It always made him feral, possessive. He didn’t know he had that side in him, until you.

You'd always grab his hand to kiss the tip of his fingers, before sliding them along your folds, feeling his cock harden against your ass and your pussy starting to drool. He would make you come with his digits, his lips against your ear, caged in his arms, then he'd slide his cock between your thighs and your soaked folds, just in time for your last spasms to squeeze his tip. Sometimes he would keep fucking you like that, lying behind you, and sometimes he would roll you on your back, taking his place between your thighs. Until he’d come, grunting, growling, his hair disheveled, and you often fall back asleep, his cock softening inside you, the cups of coffee cold on the nightstand.

He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

The next morning he woke up groggy. He put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, poured himself a cup of coffee, and put aside his good resolutions. He didn’t need the script to think about you, anyway. Time never healed his wounds, he never forgot you or the pain he had felt when you’d left. His thoughts were always hurtful, possessive and raw.

Even years after the break up he couldn’t help but think about you when his wrist fucked his shaft. Even sometimes when he was in a relationship. He hated himself for that but couldn’t help it. He missed your cunt, your hands, everything. But he couldn’t accept the idea that he was simply missing you. 

He always thought that your bodies were made for each other, and you always breathed the same words. He knew you meant it, his cock buried in you, his eyes fixed on yours rolling to the back of your head and his ears filled with your moans, barely able to tell his name.  

Until it was over. 

He knew it could happen, you always told him that you'd have to leave for California one day in hope to live your dream, that you couldn’t do it in Texas. But he brushed it off, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to think about it. He hid it in a corner of his mind, until he had no other choice but to face reality. Until it hit him. That day, he realized that he wouldn’t get to wrap his arms around you for the rest of his life.

He lay down on the couch and started to read. And the more he read the script, the more he realized that you wrote only the moments that had really happened. 

The story, background, was slightly different, probably so that no one could ever make a connection to the two of you. But the moments were real, and it made him dizzy.

You wrote that dance in your small apartment, first for the both of you, that you rented after graduation. You worked as a waitress and Joel was a barista, and you two went to as many castings in Austin as you could, dreaming every day about being actors.

That night you put on some music and danced. He kissed your hand and looked at you. He felt warm. He loved you so much that his heart was aching. He made you spin and you laughed, and it was like a spring breeze in the apartment, filling his lungs with fresh air. When you stopped twirling you brushed his hair and then kissed him. 

The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

Over the next two days, he took the script out of the drawer regularly. Slowly touching the paper that already bore the marks of repeated handling, him  lying on his couch, taking his time before opening it. 

He read it all, and the sweetness, the sensitivity with which you described your moments moved him profoundly. The person he had loved, cherished, cradled in his arms, wrote that. 

All the intimacy, the love and care you both felt for each other were there. For several years he made everything to forget the good moments, to focus only on the ending to feed his bitterness, but the fact was that there had been so many beautiful moments. And he could read them, feel them again. Couldn’t deny them anymore.

Your words were so familiar, so true to your love story, that his anger slowly gave some place to something else: nostalgia. Finally allowing himself to miss you and what you two had. He was still wondering why you had written the script and sent it to him, but now he was ready to learn the answer. And he wanted to look you in the eye when he’d ask you this question. But he wasn't sure how he’d behave, when you met. Didn't know if bitterness or nostalgia would fill his heart.

So after two days of silence, Joel picked up his phone and sent Will a message.

Ok, set up a meeting

Because of your busy schedules you could meet only in two weeks. The delay was driving him crazy. 

He made a copy of the script, his copy, which he filled with annotations, dates. Underlining moments or words erased from his mind, out of grief, anger or self-protection.

He got hard several times, while reading some scenes. And sometimes anger would come back to creep into his thoughts, whispering to him that you never should have sent it to him, when your separation had been so painful for him. 

And Will was not the only one Joel said “you don’t…. ever.”

To you, it’d been “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.”

That morning, as he got used to doing several times a day, he grabbed his copy of the script. He had handled it so much that the sheets were already damaged, some pages peppered with annotations. 

As he was reading, he remembered how you had loved to run your fingers over his jeans when you were watching a movie on your little couch. Playing with him, your hand going higher and higher, just to hear his breathing slow down, just to hear him murmur a needy and low “sweetheart, what are you doing?”, making you smile widely. Knowing that he would manhandle you two seconds later to be under him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his thick length into you. He remembered the feeling of your breasts against his chest, how you whimpered in his neck while he was fucking you hard and deep. 

He was nervous the morning of the meeting. He took a shower, hoping to get rid of the fatigue and headache from the lack of sleep the night before. He put on a shirt and jeans and grabbed his car keys, put on some music when he started to drive, trying to change his mind, but it didn’t work, he was still anxious. He parked near the building. Once inside he found the meeting room and knocked on the door. He heard you say “come in” and took a deep breath before twisting the handle.

You were alone, sitting in a chair, and he quickly pushed aside the thought of how pretty you were. Joel immediately noticed your hands, pressed together nervously, before you stood up to greet him. He stopped when you walked towards him and your smile faded like that time.

“Wait,” he said, his hand raised in front of him, as he was trying to control his emotions. “I just… Why did you send it to me?” he added without any preamble, his tone harsher than he intended. 

“Oh… ok. Straight to the point, huh?” you said, sitting back down, and removing an imaginary crease on your sleeve, eyes lowered to the desk.

“I never…” you started to say, before stopping and taking a breath. “I think I needed to write our story down.” 

Joel’s sigh stopped you. You tried to keep a low and calm tone, not to show your anxiety. You knew that facing him wouldn't be easy. He had given you a glimpse of his coldness after the situation with that journalist.

“Joel, please, listen to me.” 

You looked at him, and yet you had no idea how his name, escaping your lips, tore his heart apart. He never thought he’d hear it again, and the familiar intonation made him shiver.

“I honestly think it would make a great movie,” you said. “And you must think so too, since you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. Except that I want to know why.”

“Would you have preferred to discover it once the movie was out, your role played by someone else?”

His gaze on you, dark and possessive, made you freeze.

“No, I really wouldn’t have appreciated our story, my life, played by someone else, Jesus,” he growled.

He put his hands on his hips, a stance you’d seen him do dozens of times before, searching for words, and then he sat in a chair, pinching the place just above his nose with two fingers. Trying to stop the headache that was threatening to come again. It had started off badly, and he knew it was his fault. He was too stubborn, too cold.

“Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally.

“Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

“You?” 

A part of him, that he thought was gone the day you had left, woke up with a groan. He couldn't imagine the movie being made, you playing... well, you, and him being played by another man. It was unthinkable and made his jealousy and possessiveness stir painfully in his chest.

Unlike you, he hadn't watched your movies. He tried though, when he saw your face on a movie poster for the first time. He went to the cinema, but he walked out of the theater the moment that actor leaned toward you to kiss you. He couldn't stand to see someone kiss you, when he couldn't do it anymore.

“I’m the best person to play this character, aren’t I?” you said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Just like you’re the best one to play the male lead. Look, I know you’ve been rumored for a role like this for years. I know you’re not opposed to it. So why not?”

“Because it’s not about playing a role here,” he sighed. “It’s playing in front of a camera, things we said, did, years ago. Intimate things that belong to us.”

“I changed some things, no one has to know it’s autobiographical,” you started to say, before he quickly cut you off. 

“I know it is. And so do you.” He walked over to the window to stare at the buildings in front of him. “When you leave someone, you don’t do that. It’s unhealthy,” he said, almost softly. Resigned. He turned to you before adding, “Why stir up something that died years ago?”

He didn't expect to face the sadness that clouded your face, and once again guilt seized him. You were sad, upset, and despite the bitterness he’d been feeling for years, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore,” you answered, standing up and walking towards him. You stopped a few steps away to respect his boundaries, before you'd see his body stiff. “I left because I had to follow my dream, and it wasn’t working in Texas. And you wanted to stay in Austin, to take care of Tommy. We ended it because a long-distance relationship would have been too painful, because I didn’t want us to be unhappy, barely seeing each other, not being able to feel each other often enough. So I left. And I told you all that. You knew it, you knew why.”

You took a breath, after formulating what was oppressing your heart, waiting for him to answer.

“Playing with feelings is dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“This isn’t a game, Joel. I'm not playing. I’m sure it would make a great movie. And maybe we need to express all that, even years later.”

“Do you remember what I told you that day? The last day?”

“Of course, I do. You told me not to call you. You told me that if we had to meet again… then it would happen. Well, it's happening, Joel.”

He looked at you, confused, and headed towards the door, brushing past you lightly as he passed. 

Just before leaving, without looking at you, he said in a low voice, “my agent will give you my answer in a few days.” 

Once the door closed behind Joel, you remembered the day you left. 

In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

At that moment you were wondering if you had made a mistake. You kept wondering for years. To be honest, you still weren’t sure you made the right choice that day. You followed your dream and succeeded, but it cost you the love of your life.

You didn't know what to think about the meeting. It could have been worse, he could have left after two minutes of being there, you knew it. You could have said more, too, but you didn't want Joel to withdraw more into himself. And for sure, you couldn't have told him that you always thought of him when you were in someone’s else’s arms. That you tried not to let jealousy invade you when you thought of his personal life, knowing that you had no right to be. You gave up on that when you had left.

You knew what he thought, how he reacted. Now he needed time to process everything, and you just had to wait for his agent to contact you. You couldn't do more.

Joel got to his car in a blur. He realized where he was only sitting behind the wheel, too many emotions swirling in his head. Years without seeing you and it had gone by at the speed of light. He blamed himself for being cold, blamed himself for not being cold enough, and he was even more lost than before he saw you. He started to drive, the feeling of having mishandled things weighing more and more on his shoulders.

He took another shower when he got home, as if it could wash off his remorse and regrets, the words exchanged playing over and over in his mind.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“I had to follow my dream. You wanted to stay in Austin. To take care of Tommy.”

“You knew it, you knew why.”

Did he really start to believe that the events had happened differently, after you left? Had he really done it, to the point of omitting certain things, because he needed someone to blame, to keep moving forward? 

Had he really been that guy? Blaming you when there was no one to blame, just life and the choices that go with it, that we all have to do?

Had he really denied for years that you had left with a broken heart, too? That he had told you to never call him, after those wonderful years together? He felt like he was waking up with a monstrous hangover, and guilt gripped him. Truth is he let you down, and reality was hitting him hard.

Because you were right, you didn’t leave just like that. He didn’t want to acknowledge it for years, kept sweeping it under the rug, but deep down he didn’t forget it. 

And you were right, he hadn’t been able to prioritize your relationship. Couldn’t prioritize himself either. He had always been protective of his brother, but it reached another level when he came back to Texas after being dismissed. Tommy wasn't the same, and Joel knew that he would have constantly wondered if his brother was okay if he had left for California with you. Worried that he could be in jail after a fight, with no one to bail him out. Or that he could be drunk in an alley, alone, spending the night there. Or worse.

“I can’t leave Tommy here alone, with all his drinking and partying,” he told you, expression determined.

“But you need to think about your future, our future too, Joel,” you replied desperately.

Joel had probably hoped that you wouldn’t have left, that you’d have chosen him, until the end. And you probably hoped the same thing, too. 

Right person, wrong time. Fucking sad, but so banal.

So to forget that he was as responsible for the breakup as much as you were, he let his pain turn into anger, and he never let nostalgia set in, or his feelings show up. 

And everything blew up when you sent him that script and he started reading it. It was impossible to continue to deny the obvious, to keep thinking that his feelings were stronger than yours and that’s why you had left. It was impossible to forget that he had told you, “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.” That he was the one who had cut everything off, once and for all. To protect himself, of course. But still.

So once you were gone, he did what he had to do, he took care of Tommy. Except that he started going to bars with him, at night. Drinking less than him, but still way too much. He took sleeping pills when he was obsessed with your absence, tired of squeezing your pillow way too tight in his fist, his jaw clenched with anger. He moved to a new neighborhood because he couldn't stand living in that apartment anymore where everything reminded him of you. 

When they were children and then teenagers, Joel and Tommy’s father taught them to work with their hands, and it helped them to find jobs on construction sites. And that he finally pulled himself together and helped Tommy the way he had to. It took him months, but he did it, and his parents would be proud of him, of them, if they saw their sons.

He worked hard, kept doing castings when his work allowed it, and eventually it paid off, even if it took time.

He thought about it all, and realized he needed to see you again before deciding on the movie. Needed to behave normally, to let go of his mask. So he asked his agent your number, then texted you:

it’s Joel. Are you still in LA?  I have some questions about the script can we meet again?  I am. When do you wanna meet? tomorrow night, my place? I’ll cook Sure!

He took a deep breath as he sent you his address. He let his emotions take over on purpose, to dispel the bitter taste in his mouth since you saw each other. Now he had to trust them.

The next day he started to cook during the afternoon, the dish that he hoped was still one of your favorite. He knowingly chose to invite you over to his place, to keep his mind occupied at least while he was busy in the kitchen. 

Once the dish was in the oven, he did a running session on his treadmill and showered. 

Anything to keep his mind busy.

You arrived right on time, a bottle of wine in hand.

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

As you approached the kitchen it smelled so good that you stopped there.

“Still one of your favorite meals?” he asked.

It was. 

You tried not to show that you were moved. Acts of service had always been his way of showing that he cared, and you weren’t expecting that when you showed up.

You sat down on a high stool in the kitchen and he opened the bottle of wine. You had a few sips, silently. Neither of you really knew what to say, at first. Then everything set into place, naturally, instinctively. A little shyly at first, bringing up things from your respective pasts, or present. You asked him how Tommy was doing, and he told you he was fine, that he was engaged to a woman named Maria and that they were going to be parents soon. You were happy for Tommy, sincerely. You had always liked him.

Joel was trying to act normally, to not pay too much attention to the ease with which you were chatting. How easily he opened up to you, telling you about his years in Austin, then his first ones in LA. His first roles, his doubts.

He was glancing at your hands when you weren’t looking at him. At your hair. 

He loved to see your eyes shine when you were talking about something that was important to you.

But above all, he loved to see them sparkle the first time he made you smile, that evening. It hit him, how much he missed it. Making you smile. 

His emotions were so familiar that his heart was beating a little too fast, like a horse freed from its reins.

And suddenly he wondered how he had been able to spend so many years without you by his side, when you had always been his sunshine, liberating his grumpy, reserved nature. 

A part of his brain told him that he was smiling a little too much, but he felt more alive during those moments with you than he hadn’t been in so long. 

Whether in a relationship or not.

And then he felt the atmosphere change, felt that you got nervous, an impression confirmed when you began to scratch your thumb. A habit that dated back years ago, and he'd always take you in his arms, kiss your thumb and tell you that he was there and that everything would be okay. Today, for the first time he couldn’t do all that.

“Are you ok?” he nevertheless allowed himself to ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… listen, I know you wanted to ask me about the script, but ehm... there’s something you need to know.” You took a deep breath before adding “there won’t be any movie if you don’t want to do it. If you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not saying this to put pressure on you, it's just… I just want you to know that your choice is completely free. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, for whatever bad reason.”

“I appreciate that you’re telling me this, thank you,” he said, in a tone you couldn’t quite define, half defeated, half tender. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

“Yesterday. I didn’t really know how to handle all of it. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a lot of emotions since I read the script. Including anger.” He didn't expect to tell you that, but the need was too much to bear. He needed to make things right.

“I know. I expected it to be complicated, after our two previous meetings,” you said, without animosity or bitterness. Just being factual.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to apologize, before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for that too. My attitude.”

“That’s your way of handling things, it always has been, I should have known. But I appreciate it too, thanks Joel.”

He nodded, then added “do you think we’ll be able to do it?”

“To do what?”

“Work together. To be coworkers on a movie?”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you took the time to think before answering.

“Well… the evening’s going pretty well, right? You haven't shook your head at me yet, to show me the door.”

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

“Too soon?” you asked, lips curled into a smile.

“A little,” he laughed.

He enjoyed it, that little moment. You’d had so many of them before. 

“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” he wanted to ask. 

“Aren’t you afraid of reliving things, that I’ll fall madly in love with you again and that the scenes we’ll shoot, my acting, will just express the reality of my feelings?” 

But he couldn’t ask you that.

He wanted to ask you if you had sent him the script because you still had feelings for him, but he couldn’t say that either.

“It’ll be a low budget movie. I mean, if we do it,” you said. There’ll be some outdoor scenes but not that many. Not many other actors either. It won’t be a long shoot.”

He nodded and said, “can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “Thanks for the meal, it was delicious,” you said as you stood up. “You can text me if you have any questions.”

He thanked you and you complimented him on his house as you put your coat back on. His taste hadn’t changed. The rooms were simply decorated. As you walked toward the front door you glanced inside one of the rooms, and saw a table with a wooden sculpture on it.

“Oh my god, Joel? You still do the carving?”

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

“Sure,” he opened the door and you slipped through the gap, brushing past him lightly as you passed and you had goosebumps at the familiar scent. Still the perfume you had gifted him once. Reassuring. After all these years, instantly, it was there. Enveloping you. 

You approached the table and leaned over a piece he was working on, admiring the figurine that was being carved. A rodeo cowboy on a bucking horse.

“Wow, Joel… you were already very good at this back then, but now it’s incredible. The level of detail is mind-blowing.”

You looked at the shelves, covered with other sculptures. You approached them: bears, deer, wolves, rabbits.

“This is really amazing, you’re so talented. And… Do you still play guitar?”

“Sure,” he answered, nodding at a guitar case. “I usually play in the dining room. My guitars are over there. This one needed a little TLC. I just got it back. It’s… well it’s the one you gave me.”

You looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“You kept it?” you asked, trying to hold back your emotions.

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you said. “Tell me about the movie, ok?” You looked at him hesitantly, but when he leaned towards you and wrapped his arms around your torso, your eyes closed at the feeling, so familiar, before you pulled away, told him good night and left.

Driving your car, you replayed the images of the evening in your mind. Of course, you had felt his gaze on you several times during the evening. And sometimes you could see Joel again. Your Joel.

Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Did he suspect that you had sent him this script in the hope of getting back in touch with him? Did he know how much you missed him, all those years?

You had wondered so many times if he had been thinking about you. You thought about the hug, as comforting as before. You missed him so much.

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

He kept looking at his phone after sending the message. The read indicator appeared quickly, then the writing bubble.

“Great, I'm so glad! I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing!!”

He hoped it would be. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake. 

He had to leave LA for several weeks for a shooting, and the organization of the film was put in place.

You sent each other a few messages in the next few days. Then the messages became more and more regular, while remaining purely friendly.

Several months later, the day before the shooting started, he knocked on your trailer to say hello.

You had rehearsed some scenes with the crew, and everything was ready.

The less emotional scenes were shot in the first few days. He didn’t ask for it, but he was glad. Every night he came back to his trailer, played the guitar, and thought about you. 

Seeing you every day was a very strange thing that he had trouble to define. He was happy to see you every day, to see the person you had become. And sad that you were no longer his. Filming these moments with you was like constantly reopening a wound that had never really healed.

That night, he took out the script, and reread the scene planned the next day.

EXT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He parks downstairs at their apartment, it’s dark. He knows she’s back from a week at her parents’. He’s eager to get home and see her again, he’s missed her. He quickly climbs the outside stairs and unlocks the door. INT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He puts his keys on the hall cabinet, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. We follow him as he walks in the apartment, until he sees her in the doorway of the dining room. He smiles, we see love in their eyes as look at other. HER Hey baby He goes to her, they kiss, he takes her in his arms. She closes her eyes. HIM I missed you, baby. He brushes her cheek with his thumb. HER I missed you too. She takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He stopped reading there, before the next scene, that was the most intimate, the one that made him anxious just to think about.

“I missed you, baby,” he said the line. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, like he had done so many times before. His eyes were fixed in yours. He wondered if he was imagining what he was reading in them.

“I missed you too.”

You took his hand and you headed out of the frame.

“Cut, it was perfect, guys! Go get ready for the next scene.”

He picked up his water bottle and took a sip. He felt dizzy.

You were both wearing underwear and bathrobes. Waiting to shoot the scene.

“Ok guys, you’re ready? Great, let’s go.”

The scene was a close-up of both of your faces during a sex scene, at night. You lay down on the bed first, after taking off your robe. He took off his too and lay down between your thighs.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

You started to kiss, tongues quickly brushing against each other. His hands cupped your cheeks as he rolled his hips towards you slowly, careful that your crotches wouldn’t touch. 

It was overwhelming to feel you against him, your breasts against his chest, with only your bra between the two of you. It was a whirling moment, to kiss you in such an intimate scene, playing something that you had lived for real before. He groaned and slid his hand to the back of your neck to hold you as close as possible against him.

He felt you shift slightly, turning your hips to face his. He wanted to ask you what you were doing but he couldn’t. He was half hard from the moment he laid against you but now his cock was hard as steel. You pushed your pelvis forward and the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, pointing against his boxers.

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you recited your line, and he growled.

He couldn’t believe you would act like that while shooting a scene, couldn't believe you were using him.

He pulled away to look at you and you murmured an unscripted “please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he nodded slightly. His fat head found its way, and his tip pushed your panties in.

It was hot, filthy, forbidden. So unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized your moans, and the small team around you probably thought it was perfectly faked, when it was music in his ears. The music he thought he would never hear again. 

Your hands tightened on his biceps as you came. So quickly. He felt your walls squeezing his tip and he almost forgot to move, forgot the script, forgot you were shooting a scene. He pulled out, afraid he would come too, and faked his orgasm, neck tense and veins bulging, your hands caressing his hair at the back of his neck.

You said the next line “I love you, baby. I missed you so much.”

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

There was a pounding on your trailer door as you got out of the shower. You quickly threw on a bathrobe and went to open it.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled.

“Keep your voice low Joel, damn… Come in.”

You closed the door behind him, searching for the right words, pressing your hands together. 

“I, huh…” you stammered.

“No! No, talk to me. Tell me. You can’t… you can’t do that and stay silent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

“Having you so close to me, against me… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming.”

“Everyone could have seen, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, that’s the point, Joel! And they didn’t see, anyway.”

“Jesus christ you can't do that. You can’t just use me like that.”

“I know, Joel. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“What?”

You sighed, and that time he didn't try to rush you. You felt him soften, giving you time to find your words.

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't…  Please, don’t say that.”

“I missed you the second I left and it never stopped.”

Hearing the tone of your voice and reading your eyes, this time he had no doubt that you really meant it. And he felt all the tensions in his body relax, as if he were freed from everything that had been oppressing him for years. You approached him slowly, eyes raised to his, and you slid your hand into his, and his large palm gently closed over it. You caressed his cheek with the other, and for a moment he shut his eyes, pressing his face against your hand.

“I miss you,” you said again and he rested his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, before kissing your lips softly. He heard your breathing hitch for a moment, then you moaned slightly as you pulled away, just to look at him, Joel, not the actor, for the first time in years. He pulled you closer to him and brushed his tongue over your lips, as if asking for permission to push inside. Greedily, you slid yours to his, licking his tongue and lips, until he crashed his mouth against yours. His hands rested on your waist while yours moved up his back, pressing your bodies together. You whined when you felt his hard cock pressed to you.

You pulled away from him again, just to look at his face, and he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure you were not some dream that would leave him disillusioned and alone when he woke up.

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

He pulled on the knot of your bathrobe slowly, making the two sides of the garment part, revealing the curve of your breasts that he caressed with his fingertips.

Your chest rose quickly as your eyes were plunged into each other, until he lowered them to your pussy. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he was afraid it would explode.

He raised his gaze to yours, silently asking if you were okay.

“Yes,” you said. As if you knew he would want to hear it, that a nod wouldn't be enough.

He slipped his hands under the fabric of the robe and slid it down your shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving you naked. So vulnerable, and yet you were the strongest woman he ever knew, following your dream by leaving for a city where you didn't know anyone. And made your dream come true.

But now you were here, in front of him. So pretty, so sure of yourself, of your desires.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled you back, guiding you with his hands on your hips as he kissed you, until the back of your knees touched the bed.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname was so familiar in his mouth, so normal. You did as he asked, moving back until your head rested on the pillow as he watched you, still standing at the end of the bed. Then he took off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and got rid of them and his boxers.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Haven't felt better in a long time, actually.”

“Me too,” he added, laying on the bed, his hand caressing your inner thighs that he kissed, then he spread them with his hands.

He ran his thumb over your folds, covering it in your wetness until he reached your clit and gently rolled it under his finger. You moaned, spreading your thighs wider. 

He leaned down, his shoulders taking possession of the space between your thighs, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. He licked a long stripe from your drooling hole to your clit, then placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pressing your knees against the sheets, and you willingly let him do it, your hands sliding into his hair. He pushed his tongue into your cunt, growling against your folds. He never thought he would taste you again and an overwhelming feeling was running through his whole body. You were leaking into his mouth, down his throat and he pressed you against him, greedy for what you were giving him as your hips rolled towards him. His nose brushed perfectly against your clit, like it always did before. You clung to his hair as your moans were getting louder and louder.

"I'm so close, Joel," you murmured, hands lost in his curls. "Please, baby, please." 

“Take what you need, use me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m coming, fuck!”

He didn't let go of you, leaving his tongue buried in your pussy and his nose against your clit, gripping  your waist with his hands, as if they were in their natural place, your flesh welcoming them.

“Joel…” you whimpered.

“Another one, please, baby. Let me give you another one, ok?”

“I’m not sure if I can… I don’t know if I can,” you panted.

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

His tongue left your pussy, licking your puffy folds before teasing your swollen clit. His middle finger slid along your folds before he pushed it in you gently, immediately adding a second digit. His fingers pumped into you, making your wetness flow down to the sheets. He kept you pressed against the mattress, as he had done so many times, drunk on your taste and smell. His cock ached but he resisted the urge to grind himself against the bed, afraid of not being able to hold back and come on them.

“I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,” he added, still pumping your drooling cunt with his thick fingers, then licking and sucking your clit.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whined, just before you came on his diggits, clit pulsing against his tongue.

He crawled over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smashed his lips against yours, your wimpers now disappearing between them.

“I wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you breathed against his lips, but he shook his head. 

“Sweetheart… I'd love it too but I’m gonna come the second you’ll take me in your mouth,” he said. “And I really need to feel you around my cock. All the way this time, not just the tip. You’re ok with that, baby?”

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

“Damn you’re so pretty,” he said, and kissed you.

He grabbed his cock in his hand, the tip leaking, swollen and red, and nestled it at your entrance, pausing there for a moment before thrusting in. 

“Oh fuck…” you whined, making him stop.

“No, no no, don’t stop, I’m ok. Need all of you, please,” you whimpered.

Like years ago, he would give you everything you needed from him. So he didn't stop until he bottomed out. 

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling his balls tightening, ready to explode. He was struggling so hard not to come, but his breath was hitching with every thrust since he felt your pussy around him. 

You kissed, hips rolling towards each other softly and slowly. He loved to feel you around him again, and again he thought that your bodies were made for each other. He was sure of it more than ever. He slid his arms under your shoulders and you licked his neck, right at his pulsating point, then kissed the thin and delicate skin crossed by its veins.

“I won’t last, baby, I’m sorry…” he panted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking him deeper.

“It doesn’t matter, fill me, Joel, please, just like before,” you begged, making him grawl, and he placed his thumb against your clit. It was enough to give you soon another climax and you pulsed around his shaft, digging your fingers into his skin as you came once again. He thrusted in a few times before burying himself, balls deep in your cunt, and shot his cum into your core, filling it to the last drop, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

“I know,” you breathed. “Just like before.” 

For a few minutes both of you were panting loudly, waiting to catch your breath.

Then you caressed his cheek and he kissed you until he pulled away and lay down facing you.

“Come here, baby,” he said, welcoming you against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, the way he always liked it so much. You stayed like that for a few minutes without talking. He just wanted to feel you against him, to hear you breathe slowly, to feel your skin against his. 

“I should have left with you,” he said suddenly.

You straightened up to look at him then said softly, “hey, no, don’t… Don’t hurt yourself by thinking that. You did what you had to do, and so did I. And we met again, like you said back then,” you added, and kissed him, then curled up in his arms again.

“We did,” he agreed, brushing your hair delicately. “So, that script?” he asked. “Was it to… like… get me back?”

“Of course it was,” you smiled against his torso, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m happy you sent it to me, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday post, love you ❤️

@thundermartini @mermaidgirl30 @magpiepills @iknowisoundcrazy @itwasntimethatdidit40

@joelmillerisapunk @604to647 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @sawymredfox

@grav3yardbb92 @schnarfer @iamasaddie @noisynightmarepoetry @arcanefox207

@yxtkiwiyxt @sunshineispunk @tuquoquebrute

[msfantasy-anime]

My Little Brothers Wife

Monkey D. Luffy x Wife!Reader x Platonic!Sabo

Summary: a requested short story on Koala delivering the news of Y/n’s bounty to Sabo.

Part IV

Koala’s head leans back, letting the cool breeze blow out the strands of hair from her face. A moment of peace shattered when a rolled up news paper drops from a sky delivery, right into Koala’s lap, spraying the pages everywhere.

“Freakin birds I swear-“ Koala’s quite cursing halts seeing a wanted poster Monkey. Y/n, 100,000,000 berries, your full photo on display for all its glory. “WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!” She screams to her self, haphazardly strewing the news articles until she locates the bounty explanation.

Monkey. Y/n, wanted dead or alive for a 100,000,000 berries after brutally assaulting a Marine Officer for implying husband, Monkey D. Luffy, of negative behaviour. Y/n’s unprovoked attack and straw hat pirate association has earned her a large bounty for a new comer. It is yet to be confirmed if Y/n is part of the straw hat crew or acts independently.

Koala bolted throughout the hideout with the wanted poster in hand to the only man with an explanation. “SABO!” Koala yells, shoving the wanted poster so close to Sabo’s face, all he could manage to see was a big ‘W’. “Look at this! Can you believe this? I thought we were friends and she didn’t even bother inviting me to the wedding! Did you know she got married?! Why wouldn’t she tell me?!” Koala pouted.

“Calm down a second would’ya. I can’t even see what you’re talking about.” Pulling the poster from Koala’s hand, she retreats with her arms crossed over her chest, a grumpy expression holding stead.

Monkey. Y/n.

A small smirk breaks across his lips. It’s good to see your still alive and well, and wrecking havoc like you swear you wouldn’t when you last met.

Figures.

“Well Koala, what do you want me to say? I even officiated their marriage.” He says with a taunting smile, making Koala gasp in betrayal. “Relax, those two have been married for 12 years now.”

“12 years?! But they’re only-wait… 12 minus… hey, that doesn’t make any sense! You’re saying they got ‘married’ when they were only kids? So it’s not real.”

“No. It’s real.” Sabo says smiling softly once again as he looks at the wanted bounty. “That’s my little brothers wife.”

“So, you’ve got a bounty now.” Sabo says into the transponder snail.

“I got a what?!” You yell back into the snail, the volume of your exclamation causes the sound waves to crackle.

“It reads Monkey. Y/n wanted dead or alive for 100 million berries.” Sabo says which only makes you scoff.

“I didn’t even do anything! How did I get that large of a bounty?!”

“It says you assaulted a marine officer.”

“……he had it coming! No one talks trash about Luffy. Man, this is so embarrassing, now the world thinks I’m married to that loveable doofus.”

“At least you finally have a family name right?“ The transponder line turns silent. Sabo knows you well enough that your smiling. But what he wasn’t expecting to hear what you admitted next.

“Yeah … it is actually. Monkey is a cool last name…and now it’s mine.”

“Seems like Luffy finally worn you down huh? So, will you join his crew?”

“I decided that-“ a loud explosion sounds off in the background. “THE SHIP IS UNDER ATTACK! Ugh! I gotta go Sabo, I’ll talk to you later.”

[nocreativityfornames]

Mammon: Wait, wait, wait. So you're tellin' me that if Lucifer had been nicer, you would've never tried goin' up in the attic a second time?

MC: Yeah.

Levi: Wait, what? How…?

MC: Alright, look. There were two reasons why I wanted to go into the attic. One: I was hearing Belphie's voice from there asking for help, and two: Lou was acting suspicious as fuck about it with the whole threatening me and shit.

Lucifer: I-

MC: Shh, let me explain!

Lucifer: …

Belphie: Pff…

Satan: So what, you're saying that if Lucifer hadn't acted the way he did, you would've just given up? No trying to go into the attic, no suspicion, you would've just ignored Belphie's voice and went on with your day?

MC: Absolutely. I mean, think about it: I had just gotten here, and someone not wanting a stranger to go into certain parts of their house is kinda reasonable. Like I said, it wasn't the "not letting me go there" thing that made me want to go there, it was the suspicious behavior!

Because again, you threatened me and just started being an overall dick after you caught me trying to go upstairs.

Lucifer: MC--

MC: But I understand your reasons, you were worried, wanted to protect your family, and bla-bla-bla. Don't worry, it's fine. We've come a long way, I love you, you love me, and there's that. But going back to the topic…

Asmo: 🤭

Lucifer: 👿

Asmo: 😦🤐

MC: So the point is, you catch me going to the attic, and you threaten to kill me if I try doing it again. You don't try to explain, don't try to convince me I shouldn't go there, you just go: "I have this tea that will put you to endless sleep, muahahahaha."

The other brothers: *trying not to laugh*

MC: And in my head, I go: "Bet. Imma see what the fuck's up there, and you old man, you ain't stopping me."

Asmo, Beel & Mammon: 😨😦😳

Belphie & Satan: *wheezing in silence*

Lucifer: *glares at them*

MC: But that could've been prevented! Like, if you hadn't threatened me, and tried to explain why I shouldn't go there in the first place--

Lucifer: I couldn't tell you the truth.

MC: Well, you could've come up with anything! Because remember, I had just dropped here, in literal fucking hell. So you could've told me literally ANYTHING and I would've believed you. Like, you could've just said the room was cursed by an evil spirit or something, because I'd hear that and go: "Alright, have a nice day. I'm never stepping foot on these stairs again!"

Beel: Pff...

MC: But nooo, Mr. Pride had to go: "I won't give you ANY explanation, and I will KILL you if you try going there again." And that combined with the strange voice asking for help? It did not give you a great look, I gotta say...

The other brothers: *already laughing their ass off at this point*

Lucifer: …

Belphie: Wow...

[autistichalsin]

Okay I know I've made like three posts about this one specific thing but I gotta say, anyone who calls Halsin a typical boring Druid either doesn't understand Halsin or doesn't understand Druids, because Halsin is very much an atypical Druid.

Just a few ways Halsin is different than other Druids:

He can't control his wildshape. He transforms involuntarily when under stress, which is not a thing other Druids experience, and he can't control himself fully in wildshape either. He retains traits, such as an enhanced sense of smell, out of his wildshape form, and has the ability to remain as a bear borderline indefinitely, instead of Druids usually only being able to maintain the same form for a couple hours at most.

He doesn't hate undead; he views them the same as living creatures, worthy of life. He cares for Astarion deeply, and is furious if the player allows the 7,000 spawn to die. (He's a little nicer if they do it for a mercy kill instead of the ritual, but is clearly only happy when they are released into the Underdark, the exact thing a Druid is supposed to want to avoid.)

He dislikes the city because it displaces nature, yes, but he VERY rarely says that. Instead, almost every time he laments the conditions of Baldur's Gate, what distresses him is how capitalistic systems harm sentient beings- especially children. He is more upset at the human(oid) suffering he encounters in the city than he is at how it displaces nature.

Halsin is on an obviously morally good alignment. While Druids are no longer required to be neutral, most still are anyway, especially those from the Emerald Enclave, which the Emerald Grove is part of.

Emerald Enclave Druids are encouraged to sabotage society; they breed aggressive animals and place them near settlements to deter development, secretly sponsor brigands to attack new settlements, and simultaneously interact with local populations by providing sweet drinks and teas to boost their public image, so that new developments are curtailed while nearby people think the Druids are kind and harmless. Halsin very notably never even thinks about doing such things, even though it would be trivial for him to do so.

While Halsin's explanation for wanting to stop the Absolute is initially far more in line with Druidic thinking (they're unnatural, obviously), he later grows to want it finished because he wants you, the player, and your friends to be safe.

Halsin has zero desire to ladder-climb in the ranks of the Druids, nor to grow more powerful; he was perfectly happy as he was before the Shadow Curse, and is quite upset he had to waste 100 years of his life "dealing with others' problems and personalities." BUT the fact that he was happy to just that as alderman of his commune suggests the problem was with being forced into the position and being relied on as the sole authority, instead of one trusted elder of many.

Halsin wants children desperately, but was kept from having them by his leadership role. This is yet another example of how, despite his deeply held beliefs, being a Druid ultimately made him less happy.

Halsin isn't very good at leading the Druids, to the point that many of his Druids resent him, many are swayed to a cult the instant he leaves, and he himself decides the best thing he could possibly do for the Grove is leave it and have a better leader come in and take over.

Nearly every struggle Halsin has in the game arises from a conflict with his Druidic beliefs- whether it's his need to cleanse the Shadow Curse causing him to be an ineffective leader of the Grove, his desire for a family being held back by his leadership role, or his love of humanity battling against his hatred for cities as unnatural blots on nature.

Basically, nearly every character beat Halsin has comes from him not being a typical Druid at all, and in some cases, from him being rather bad at being the things Druids are supposed to be.