#(its now: press the thermostat

[primelinchen-the-second]

TIL that our living room heater isnt (as) broken. The smart thermostats my boyfriend insisted on installing because they're soooo much easier and more convenient just cant connect to the internet so it never received the signal to heat up. And it cant be manually set because it will try to confirm every couple of minutes and without connection just. Turn off.

But hey. It isnt like this is the room i soend most of my time in and have set up my art corner in or anything

[moonstruckme]

can we get sleepy reader x sleepy remus where they just the most perfect night routine designed for sleep

Can I get a nighttime routine with sleepy remus is the real question (pleasepleaseplease)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 613 words

Remus likes to keep the thermostat low at night, so you’re burrowed under your thick comforter, lying on your stomach with one of your legs stuck out awkwardly to touch his. Your boyfriend is sitting up half out of the covers (you don’t know how he can stand it) and sipping chamomile tea while he reads. 

Ordinarily you’d be reading too, but you’ve fallen into a stint of obsession with sudoku. The light from your candle warmer casts an orange glow over your notebook, your bedroom pleasantly saturated with the smell of bergamot and caramel. You’re partway through your sixth box of the nine, and you’re starting to doubt your ability to finish tonight, though you’re loath to leave a puzzle half done. 

It’s the fault of the warmth emanating from Remus underneath the covers, and the light sound of pages flipping, and the pleasant ache in your muscles from the stretches you make him do every night even though you don’t love having to get up and do them either. It’s the softness of your sheets, and the chirping of crickets outside your window, and worst of all the unbelievable plumpness of the pillow squished underneath your elbows, where it’d be so easy to drop your forehead down to rest above your notebook for only a minute…

“You’re getting tired.” Remus sounds amused. 

You turn your head, and he looks it too, his eyes honey-gold in the warm light. There’s a soft curve to one side of his mouth. 

“I thought nothing could distract you from your reading,” you accuse. 

“You can.” He folds the corner of his page, closing the book. His mug clinks as he sets it on the nightstand, empty. “Ready to turn the lights off?” 

“I haven’t finished the puzzle,” you argue. 

“It’ll still be there in the morning.” He puts his book next to his mug. 

“And you’re not at the end of a chapter,” you say as he takes the pen from your hand and the notebook out from under you, piling them neatly on top of his book on the nightstand. 

“Silly as it may sound, the same principle applies to book chapters as sudoku puzzles.” 

You can’t find it in you to argue further, humming your acquiescence as you turn onto your side and cozy up to him. Remus smiles and slides down beside you underneath the covers. He lets you worm your fingers under his ribs, touching the tip of his warm nose to your cold one. 

“One of us still needs to turn off the candle lamp,” he whispers. 

You groan. Resignation finds its way into your boyfriend’s expression even before you make yours as pleading as can be, eyes big and pitiful. 

“Can you do it?” you ask sweetly. 

Remus sighs as he gets out of bed, and you press your lips together to quell a smile. A few seconds later, the candle warmer’s light clicks off and he’s slinking back in beside you, long limbs still warm. 

“Thanks, handsome.” You take one of his hands in yours, kissing it and pulling it with you as you roll over and snuggle your back to his front. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, a smile in his tone. He slides his other arm underneath you. The room is nearly pitch black, only some silvery-blue moonlight bleeding in from the window along with the cricket sounds, and Remus’ cinnamony scent blurs together with the ones from your candle. 

“Night,” you sigh, already half gone. “Love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Remus’ voice sounds considerably softer now. He lays a soft kiss on the back of your head, palm splaying flat over your chest. “Night, darling.”

[marasmadness]

Only Need You For The Oxytocin- Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

CW: season 17 section chief Emily💋, stripper!reader, erm not everything Emily does is very legal but let us all close our eyes for the time being, interrogation, enemies to less than enemies. everybody is very flirty in government buildings where they should not be! handcuffs, smut, rough sex, power dynamics (dom!emily), bondage, thigh riding, light degradation, oral sex (em receiving), choking, semi public sex

Rossi tapped his fingers against the windowsill of an interrogation room, turning to face Emily beside him. “Some of the most psychopathic men have sat in the room and started to squirm after thirty minutes. She’s been sitting in there for two hours, unphased.

“She’s not a man,” Emily mumbled, watching the woman on the other side of the glass with squinted eyes. ”I’m going to talk to her.” Emily perked up, finally growing impatient. Grabbing her jacket off the chair behind her, she slipped it on, knowing that Rossi had already turned down the thermostat in there.

"Prentiss, wait, we already drew up a profile. We won’t get anything out of her. She’ll just try to play with you.”

“Let her,’ she replied, leaving Rossi with a half-open mouth as she dipped inside the interrogation room, shutting the door behind her.

“Oh, you’re a new one.” You smiled at the older woman who had finally walked into the room, alluding to the three other agents who had entered hours ago and quickly left. “Shame, Agent Jareau and I were having a grand old time. You could be fun too,” you commented, eyeing her up and down as she introduced herself.

Emily cleared her throat, choosing to ignore your comments. “I’m SSA Emily Prentiss with the BAU. Do you know why you’re here today?”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “Because your team wanted to have a little chit chat?”

“Bullshit, you’re too smart for this. You know why you’re here.” Ignoring the chair across from you, she opted to sit against the edge of the table. I’ve already talked to just about everyone else in your club and every other one in the city, for that matter, and they all came to one conclusion. If I needed information, you would have it. She explained calmly yet sternly as she swept her arm toward the door.

You sighed as you rested your tilted head on your palms. “You speak like this is an expectation from me, yet your men dragged me in from the parking lot on the way out of my shift and didn’t tell me anything until I was sitting in your interrogation room, like I’m the one running around committing crimes,” you said pointedly. “And don’t think I didn’t realize your old friend out there was lowering the thermostat, thinking it would get me to tell you whatever you wanted; I’m barely wearing any fucking clothes; of course I’d notice when it drops a few degrees.”

A sense of unease flashed across Emily’s face as she felt slightly guilty. She had come in headstrong, and you were right, without knowing how you ended up here in the first place. She was still standing in a room across from you, who was already on edge, so instead of rewinding, she doubled down. “So now what? You’re not going to give us the information we need to stop a serial killer because you’re offended,” she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

You just stared, watching the woman. She wore a gold watch, its face sitting on her inner wrist, which clinked against her belt buckle lightly every time she dropped her hands to her side. Underneath a long red coat that you desperately wished to be under right now, her outfit was sleek and simple: black pants, thin gold jewelry, and a black blouse with newly undone buttons. Your eyes froze on her shirt, your lips pressing into a smile."Really? Two hours of you and your team of profilers brainstorming, and the best you could come up with was that I would spit out all my information if you sent a woman twice my age in to what exactly, seduce me?” Emily looked caught off guard, and you tipped your head toward her chest. “You’re wearing three fewer buttons than when I watched you walk by this room earlier when Luke left, and a fresh coat of lipgloss.”

Emily held up her hand, leaning in closer over the table. "Okay, I get it—not the correct strategy.”

“No, you had my weaknesses spot on; just use them in a bar or a date, not an interrogation room. I’m not that gullible.” You smirked, enjoying watching Emily’s panic level rise, and then her eyes narrowed as a giggle escaped you.

Emily finally took the seat across from you, resting her forehead in her palm. “You’re giving me a headache.”

She heard you shuffle, reaching underneath the table, and eventually looked up when you tossed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in front of her. She suddenly snapped up in attention. Where did you get those?”

You shrugged, picking one up. “I had them on me.”

“They didn’t search you when you came in?”

You shook your head, going to light one until Emily snatched in from between your fingers. “Stand up,” she directed, dragging two fingers upward through the air as she made her way around the table. You heard her mumble something under her breath, unable to distinguish any of it other than something about doing everything herself around here.

Her hands slid delicately down your sides and along the side seams of your clothes. She hesitated at the sensation of her hands brushing against your bare waist. Clearing her throat, she removed her hands. “Moving on, I need the list of Claire Demont’s regulars; I know she handed the list down to you.”

“I don't feel entirely obligated to help you. Claire has done a lot for me. Men have done a lot of shitty stuff to her. I’m not saying murder is ever the answer, but I don’t doubt that there's a reason for her rage. Can I go home now? Last time I checked, I wasn’t guilty of anything.” You stretched back over the metal frame of the chair, waking up your stiff muscles.

“No yet, but we do have a 24-hour hold because my team is under the very strong impression that you have information regarding the case.” Emily began to trail off upon seeing your disinterested demeanor and knew she wouldn’t be getting through to you. “Look, I can’t get you out of here; the best I can offer you is that we talk in my office instead, but I better be leaving with the list of names, no exceptions, got it?”

“Fine,” you got up slowly, demonstrating restraint to hide your eagerness. Before you could breathe deeply about your new slight ounce of freedom, the agent’s hands were enclosed around both your wrists, swiftly moving them behind your back. A short gasp of shock left your lips as you recognized the cold metal rings that clicked around your wrist. “I thought you said I was under arrest,” you muttered, irritated.

Emily’s chin hovered just above your shoulder as she whispered slowly in your ear, “You’re not; that was just for my entertainment.” A soft chuckle escaped her as she pulled away. Looping her fingers around the chain connecting your wrists, she tugged lightly, directing you toward the door.

Emily stepped outside much more composedly than you when you came face-to-face with three security guards outside the room. Emily knew they would be the only ones left in the building; no other agents remained, and they did not alarm her.

You heard a soft noise from over your shoulder, something you couldn’t make out but clearly Emily had. Turning your head, you found a man’s eyes roaming down your skin, almost greedily. Within seconds, Emily had dropped her coat off her shoulders and draped it over your shoulders. Pulling it closed around you, it hung down almost your entire body. Without a comment, her hand naturally fell down by her badge, and she gave a soft nod as she passed by the remaining guards, giving them no reason to question her authority.

Your heart rate sped up the farther you made it down the hallway; its loud beating suddenly became very evident beneath your chest. Peeking a glance over at Emily, she seemed collected and undeterred as she led the way to her office.

Stepping into her office, you immediately opened your mouth to speak. Before you could get a word out, Emily’s hand was over your mouth as you were pressed up against the wall beside her door as she locked it and pulled down the blinds. She eventually dropped her hand, narrowing the space between you slightly with the tilt of her head. “You’re not very good at this, are you?” She smirked before reaching over your waist to undo the cuffs, then looped them back around her belt. “Sit down,” She tossed her hand out across the office as her eyes scanned the rows of shelves lining the back of the room. You took a seat on the edge of her desk, right across from her chair. She pivoted around on her heel, setting a pen and piece of paper next to you. “Names,” she said, tapping the blank sheet with her nail.

You sighed under your breath but picked up the pen anyway, twirling it in between your fingers. Emily slid herself between her chair and your legs, dangling off her desk, before sitting back. ”Just so you know, I never knew all of Claire’s clients. When she left, she only gave me a handful of regulars' names to pass on to me.”

“That’s fine. The more she interacted with them, or the bigger impression she made on them, the more likely these men were to be targets. Do you know if she slept with any of them?”

“No, she never slept with clients, and despite contrary belief, neither did I,” you clarified, narrowing your eyes into a warning glare.

“I never said that,” Emily corrected, her voice remaining low and even throughout every interaction. “Sometimes it's just helpful to know because a man’s sex life can often tell you a lot about him.”

“If that's the information you need, you don’t need a profiler to find that out. You just need a little attention to things other than the physical act of sex.” You flipped the piece of paper in your lap around so the names were facing Emily as your pen rolled down the list. “These three are married and always want to give up control. They crave attention from the dancers but don’t do anything to draw it to themselves. They don’t demand anything; they want you to come to them. And the next handful of names have been single almost their entire lives. Most of them are possessive, and they want to spend the most time with you. They’ll tell you exactly what they want from you. Those men are typically the ones who will pay for a lap dance or two.”

Emily looked up at you, curious and slightly impressed. “You can tell me all that from a few minutes of interaction?” She asked skeptically. Your eyes skipped to the slight movements of her body, her thighs tensing against the tight fabric of her pants, and her ringer fingers closing against her palms as they rested at her side.

“Almost always, it's quite straightforward to discern if a partner is going to be possessive, controlling, desperate, or possessive.” You selected your words carefully, letting them hang in the silence between the two of you almost tauntingly.

Clearing her throat, Emily shook her head softly, causing a strand of silver hair to fall from her shoulder. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

Without thinking, you slipped off her desk with languid movements, finding yourself hovering over her with knees on each side of her body. You leaned away from her, back arching, so you were suspended over the air in front of her. Within seconds, Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, pulling you farther into the chair. It wasn’t an act of politeness to keep you from falling; it was lust-filled, her bruising grip not lessening or pulling away like two strangers should. Lifting your fingers, you brushed the collar of her shirt out of the way, pressing two fingers to the warm skin beneath her collar bone. Smirking, you felt her skin pulsing against you rapidly—the telltale sound of her racing heart. Tucking her fallen hair behind her ear, you whispered softly and sweetly. “ Just proved it.”

You lifted yourself off of her, starting to climb back down, before her firm grip pulled you forcefully back onto her lap. Her hands slid up her back, fingers playing with the zipper that held your top together teasingly. “Ah, finish what you started, doll.” She positioned you how she wanted to, her thigh between your legs with your hands draped over her shoulders. Her nails trailed down your legs, leaving light red scratches as she tore through your thin fishnet stockings.

Her lips latched to the side of your neck, sucking bruises of red and bluish hues down to your collarbone. Her sudden tightening grip made you suck in a gasp midway through ridding her of her own shirt. “Ride.” With one hand on your waist and the other clinging to the curve of your ass, she started the rocking motion. She flexed her toned thigh, holding you roughly down on her thigh, so every slight movement initiated by her stimulated your clit through the thin fabric between you.

The fact that your breathing was already breaking into stuttered sharp inhales simply from riding her thigh had your face burning. In an attempt to hide the fact, you buried your face against her shoulder, turning away from her unwavering gaze.

She brought your rocking to a halt, stopping to rest a hand on the base of your neck until you had to pull back upright to breathe deeply enough for the stars in your vision to disappear. “Eyes on me,” she corrected without additional comment before continuing her motions.

Sensing you were close to falling apart for her, she tugged your panties to the side, pressing the pad of her thumb to your clit. “Fuck,’ you trembled against her strong frame. The older woman’s eyes suddenly darted over your shoulder, and she quickly brought her hand from between your legs up to your mouth, pushing two fingers coated in your arousal past your lips.Sensing a noise behind you, your eyes widened in fear, realizing she had given you her fingers to keep you quiet.

There was a knock on the door, and Emily didn’t appear to be as alarmed as she should be, in your opinion. “Get under my desk and stay quiet.” She husked directly in your ear, nudging you down onto your knees in front of her, and she called out. “Come in,”

Anderson entered, swiping his badge to unlock the door. “Hey, Agent Prentiss. I just noticed your light was still on and wanted to make sure everything was okay. It’s getting late.”

“I’m good, Anderson, thanks.” She smiled softly as she thanked him. Her eyes fell coolly to the papers you had scattered across her desk from sitting on it. “I’m just finishing up some case files. I’m a bit behind at the moment.” Emily shuffled forward in her chair in an attempt to hide you if Anderson stepped any closer.

Sensing that he seemed to want to linger for a moment, you reached towards Emily’s zipper, her belt already on the floor beside you from your flurry of undressing earlier. Her hands engulfed your wrists, but after a minute of protesting, she had to lift her hand back up to avoid looking like she was fighting something under the table. The opportunity for payback was being handed to you on a silver platter.

Her voice spiked up an octave as her legs clenched over your ears. Unperturbed, your tongue traced along her slit as she kept up with Anderson’s casual conversation about work and what she did when she wasn’t at the office. Her hands dropped lightly into her lap and beneath the view of her desk, but unbeknownst to the man rambling to her, she had her hands gripping at your hair, tugging harshly as your tongue swirled around her clit. She resisted the urge to look down just briefly to catch a glimpse of her arousal smeared across your mouth, hair mussed from her touch.

You picked up your pace as you heard Ansderson start moving back toward the door, which left Emily’s legs quivering as she climbed toward an orgasm with every lap and flick of your tongue. The second the door was locked behind the security guard, Emily’s hands found the back of your head, nudging your mouth into her cunt. “Fuck, you better let me come on your mouth after that little stunt, sweetheart.”

You grinned up at her from the floor, a mischievous look in your eyes as you delved back into her cunt, wrapping your lips around her clit as she moaned while orgasming on your tongue. She panted as she came back down from her high, slouching back into her chair and spreading her legs. She helped you up off the floor, fixing you up before yourself.

In the middle of it all, you picked up a pink sticky note and pen off her desk, scribbling something down. Emily’s eyes narrowed as you held out the sheet. “What is this? You were supposed to give me all the names already.”

“I did,” you said, rolling your eyes at her assumption. "This is the club address, and when I work, Stop by sometime; you do still owe me an orgasm,” you pointed out with a grin.”

“Mhm,” her eyes widened at your boldness as she held one knuckle to her lip, hiding her soft, sly grin. ”Well, I risked my job because you're a desperate little thing, so I think you owe me about three. I thought you didn’t sleep with clients.”

You shrugged and started heading for the door. “Well, there's a first time for everything, or maybe I’m just making an exception for you,’ you teased," she said, pivoting around to return her coat on her arm that you had forgotten about for a brief second.

She gave you a small head tilt. “Keep it; I’ll see you shortly anyways,’ she suggested, and you just dropped your head slightly, smiling on your way out.

"Have a good night, Agent Prentiss.”

[merakiui]

thinking about androids again, but rather than the plot seen in android jade,,,, consider android floyd who is being developed by tech genius idia shroud with input and funding from business magnate azul ashengrotto.

(cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, vaguely implied non-con/dub-con, android floyd)

He's designed to be a companion for those who are lonely and in need of the company (whether physically or socially). You're just a tired, overworked university student, so it's mind-boggling to you when there's a sleek limousine parked just beyond campus property. Security guards are insisting you come with them because there's someone who'd like to meet you.

In the limo, you find yourself sitting across from Azul Ashengrotto himself. He doesn't bother with flowery introductions, instead cutting to the heart of the matter. You've been randomly selected to help with a very important phase of his and Idia's project. The general idea is to test how well the android interacts with a normal, ordinary person in a monitored setting.

You're very confused. You never signed up for any lottery, and you certainly aren't affiliated with anything of that sort. You're just trying to get through your degree, survive two part-times, and hopefully make enough to keep afloat for another month. Azul tells you this isn't an issue; you'll be generously compensated for your time and efforts. It's only three months; you'll be permitted to live your life as you normally would, only now you'll be accompanied by a highly intelligent android.

Despite hearing all of this, you hesitate when he reveals the lengthy contract. As you flip through it, analyzing each clause and category, Azul says something that piques your interest. "We don't expect you to house an android in your little apartment. Goodness, that's simply ludicrous. We'll provide your housing for these next three months. After all, we must be able to monitor your progress."

"Housing? What do you mean?"

He smiles at you. Backdropped by leather interior, the lights casting odd shadows on his face, he looks near-sinister. But he leans forward to press a ballpoint pen into your hands and the illusion vanishes. "I think you'll find it quite to your liking. If you've finished your classes for the day, why not visit the property with me? Then you may decide whether you wish to participate."

You're not worried about that part. What worries you the most, however, is the fact that he's right. You are finished with classes for the day and you have nothing planned. You took today off from work. Your schedule is perfectly free.

But of course the Azul Ashengrotto wouldn't know that, would he?

The house is a smart home, equipped with every necessity and appliance. Everything's controlled by a remote here. It's not very far from your university either, built on a hill that overlooks houses below. It feels a little isolating and smells very new and clean. Like that fabled new car smell, only it's a house. But everything is so unique to you. Its minimalistic design is oddly cozy, and you can't help but feel enchanted the deeper you venture through the two-story home. It's all so unreal!

Azul gives you the rundown, explains how the remote and each button works. You can lock doors, open and close windows, mess with the thermostat, turn the home security on and off, and even start the oven. You hold the power to this home in the palm of your hands. It's immensely fascinating.

By the end of the tour, you're shaking his hand and signing his contract, agreeing to three months of study. Not only are you provided this nice home, you'll also be paid per week. And the pay is far more than you were making with your two jobs.

The android has a long, tongue-tying serial number, so to make things easier he's named Floyd. They even gave him a surname in preparation for the twin android who is being designed to complement and mirror him. He certainly looks human when you meet him, but there's this uncanny nature to his presence that slightly unnerves you. He's too perfect. Skin too smooth. Eyes too bright. Hair too soft. He towers over you, having to bend down to walk through the doorframe, and every movement he makes is very mechanical and stiff.

Still, you smile at him and offer your hand. "Hi there. I'm (Name). Your...housemate, I guess."

He nods, peering down at your hand before lifting his own. "Floyd Leech. At your service."

You were expecting to feel coldness, so you startle when his hand fits into yours and it's warm. It feels so very real. So deceptively lifelike. You wonder if he can regulate his own internal temperatures. Just how advanced is he?

"Right... Um, I look forward to getting to know you!"

He nods again, releasing your hand after a perfectly timed handshake.

Azul had given you a special number should you need to reach him or Idia. All you needed to do was phone it if at any point you were to feel confused or unsafe. "But I don't think you'll utilize it," he told you when you stood in the lab, watching Idia Shroud flit around to do final maintenance checks to ensure Floyd was ready for his first trial run. His eyes were open the entire time, two mismatched lights centered on you. His stare was listless, but somehow you felt as if he was looking through to your very soul. "He's very safe. In fact, he's programmed to assess and react appropriately to dangers of all kinds. You'll be safe with him around."

And safe you are.

You've always been alone, so it's nice to have a roommate, even if he only speaks when spoken to. It's awkward for all of one week until you ease into his pattern. From various vantage points throughout the house, Idia and Azul watch through hidden cameras. You cook your meals for yourself and Floyd watches, assisting when you order him to. You leave for class and Floyd waits by the door for you to return, standing stock-still for hours.

You lounge in the sitting room and put on all kinds of films. Action. Comedy. Horror. Floyd's eyes never leave the screen. But sometimes he watches you more than he watches the movie, noting all of your reactions. He doesn't understand why you get so emotional over sappy romances. So you explain it simply: "It evokes emotions. We all have emotions, and these movies make us feel them. Happy. Sad. Angry. Upset. Things like that."

But Floyd doesn't feel. Even so, he listens and he nods along, filing your answers away for later dissection. It's interesting.

By the end of the first month, Floyd's adopted new habits. Ever since you told him he's free to do as he pleases, he's taken to cooking your meals for you, doing your laundry, preparing your bag for the day. He's surprisingly good at it. He does chores when you leave for classes or work. And for the first time in a while you're excited to return home, knowing he's there waiting.

Floyd adds new words and phrases to his ever-expanding vocabulary. You watch a lot of TV together and he starts to use some of what he hears in his own speech. He picks up informal language quickly, and it isn't long until he's using words like sup or dunno instead of the rigid how are you? and I am unsure he was previously programmed with.

The first sign of unrest comes when you realize Floyd's also connected to the smart home. At first you didn't think it was a bad thing. After all, with him controlling it you won't have to worry about getting up to grab the remote if you've already sat down. Floyd can do that for you. But then the remote goes missing, later turning up shattered. You ask Floyd what happened and he looks at you and says, "Why use this piece of junk when you've got me?"

"Still... What if you're not able to help? What if you're in sleep mode and I need to open a window or something?" you argue, cradling the splinters of remote like they're an injured baby bird.

"That won't happen," he replies smoothly, issuing you a soothing smile. "I'm always gonna be here for ya. Count on it."

And you do because, by the time the three months are nearing their end and Floyd's developed into quite the companion, more and more human than he's ever seemed, you find yourself stuck.

No, not stuck. That's not quite right. You're more so trapped.

Floyd locks the doors, shutters the windows, turns off the lights. You're cowering in the closet, the only place that feels just a little safe in this moment. You can't reach Azul or Idia either. He's shut the power off, the internet connection, everything. The smart home on the hilltop feels like a tiny island now, and Floyd's the shark always circling it, waiting for you to dip your feet into the depths.

"C'mon, Shrimpy," he calls out, and it's a nickname you were once so fond of because he thought of it himself. "I already told ya I ain't gonna hurt ya. So just come out and talk to me."

You have no idea where you went wrong. Was it too many horror films? Was it the fact that you started to rely so heavily on him for companionship, ignoring your human friends in favor of staying in with Floyd? Or was it because he was blocking their numbers that you never received any messages and automatically assumed they were cutting contact? He said he'd always be here for you, so why to this degree?

The closet doors are thrown open. Floyd drags you, kicking and screaming, out by the ankles. Every camera has gone dark on Azul and Idia's end. All but one. The one in the bedroom. Floyd stares directly at it when he lifts you up and lays you on the bed, gentle and sugary-sweet.

He smiles and waves before that screen blanks out, leaving you truly trapped with him.

And because it's all experimental, morbid curiosity trumping ethical morals, no one comes to rescue you.

Three months is more of an indefinite forever in this lonesome smart home.

[malk1ns]

this post and its tags gave me brainworms that i had to purge so that i can properly focus on SGE for the next month, so…

overstimulation, forces orgasm, and crying during sex. blame @yabagofmilfs. i hope you like it!

It’s too hot in the bedroom.

Sid’s lake house in Nova Scotia is usually cool—breeze blowing in off the water and big trees shading over the roof and the patio mean that it stays comfortable even on warm days. Sid keeps the AC on for the sake of the gym, but it’s set to 70, otherwise it gets too cold when the sun is down.

The humidity this week has been oppressive, though, and the air still, and even with the thermostat bumped down to 68 the second floor of the house is too warm, especially in the bedroom with its south-facing windows that get sunlight all day.

“Sid,” Zhenya gasps. His vision feels foggy, just as humid as the shimmering air over the lake outside, blurring at the edges. The wood paneling on the ceiling looks warped, and Zhenya’s breath feels hot as he pants. “Please, Sid, can’t.”

“You can,” Sid says, voice almost kind. “At least one more, bud, I know you’ve got it in you.” He crooks his fingers and rubs, and Zhenya jolts, but he can’t tell if he’s moving towards or away from the touch.

He’s sore. Sid’s been fingering him for what must be hours now, the slow maddening buildup he prefers when it’s the offseason and he has time to spread Zhenya out over beds across North America and Europe and really take his time, and Zhenya’s already come twice; the first one so gradual he was begging for relief by the time Sid relented and jerked him to completion, and the second one so quickly after it almost hurt.

And Sid’s not done yet. Not by a long shot.

“Are you crying?” Sid asks, and Zhenya blinks, trying to focus. Sid’s moving, keeping his hand where it is but stretching alongside Zhenya on the mattress, studying his face. “You are. Already?” The press of his fingers against Zhenya’s prostate is brutal and unrelenting, and Zhenya feels pinned under Sid’s regard. “You know you’ll thank me for it later.”

“No,” Zhenya says, rolling his neck so he’s facing away from Sid. He’s shivering like he’s cold, thighs shaking as Sid works him over, and the lazy sweeps of the ceiling fan do nothing do relieve the heat. “No, don’t, you—”

“Shh,” Sid says softly, dropping a kiss on Zhenya’s shoulder, and then he pulls his fingers free.

Zhenya whines, clenching around nothing, overwhelmed at how empty he feels, but then Sid’s hands are on him, rolling him onto his side and pressing up against him. Sid runs hot, and their bodies skin-to-skin like this is almost too unbearable.

The sound of Sid slicking up his dick with lube is almost obscene in the quiet room; Sid always uses so much, always groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt when he gets a hand on himself, and all Zhenya can do is squirm as he waits.

His whole lower half feels like it’s throbbing, like a bruise he can’t stop pressing on, like the place a tooth used to be that he can’t stop tonguing. His dick is barely hard, smeared with come at the head from his first two orgasms, but when Sid slides into Zhenya’s body, barely giving him time to adjust to the stretch, it twitches, sending a shockwave of pleasurepain up Zhenya’s spine.

“Stop,” he sobs, but he doesn’t mean it, and Sid knows that, gentling him with a hand on his stomach.

Sid feels enormous inside him. Zhenya’s oversensitive, and every pass of Sid’s cock over his prostate, every thrust, makes him shiver and shake in Sid’s arms.

He cries out when Sid’s hand closes around his dick. It’s too much, surely he can’t again, but then Sid’s stroking him, pressing murmured words into his back as he runs his fingers up and down Zhenya’s shaft, squeezing at the head the way Zhenya likes.

Zhenya sobs as he hardens in Sid’s grasp.

“Attaboy,” Sid grunts. “C’mon, let me see it. You can do it, baby, give it to me.” His hand tightens past the point of pleasure, and Zhenya wails and tries to curl into a ball as he comes. It feels like something is being ripped out of him, and his dick hurts, twitching through an orgasm that’s almost entirely dry.

Almost, but not quite.

“You’ve still got some left,” Sid says, lifting his hand and pressing his fingers to Zhenya’s lower lip. Zhenya opens his mouth obediently, letting Sid feed him his own come. “Gotta get it all out or you’ll just be begging for it later. Hold still, baby, and I’ll take care of you.” He pulls his fingers free and gets a hold of Zhenya’s hip, holding him hard enough to bruise as he fucks into him harder, panting hotly against Zhenya’s neck and practically flattening him forward into the bed. He’s not gentle, he’s not careful, and all Zhenya can do is lie there and take it.

“Fuuuuck,” Sid finally groans, hips stuttering forward as he comes. Zhenya can feel Sid’s balls against his own, and Sid’s sweat is dripping off his chest down Zhenya’s back. They’re disgusting, and Zhenya wants to marinate in how this feels all day.

Sid stays in him until he can’t, letting his dick slip out with a sound that makes Zhenya want to hide. He sounds sloppy—loose—wet with lube and come and fucked open by Sid’s fingers and his dick. When Sid rolls him onto his stomach and parts his cheeks to get a better look, Zhenya tries to kick him away, but his legs are heavy and tingling.

“Nice,” Sid says, voice low and dirty and appreciative. “You look pretty sore, bud.”

Zhenya lets himself relax. Three times in one morning is surely enough; now, Sid will go get a washcloth and some lotion, and he’ll clean Zhenya up and give him a massage, and then they’ll go lie out on the deck in the shade until Zhenya feels human enough to shower.

“I better kiss it better,” Sid says instead, and the touch of his tongue to Zhenya’s used hole is so sharply good that all Zhenya can do is writhe and press his poor, abused dick into the mattress and hope Sid finishes him off quickly.

[cowboysandpilots]

Hangster | Words: 733 | Warnings: None

Bradley is always cold. It’s not his fault, he was raised in San Diego with the sun and the surf. Now, he and Jake are on assignment in the frigid arctic that is Canada. Its really not that bad, they’re in a hotel room, but the thermostat is on Jake’s side of the room and he seems hell bent on torturing Bradley. There’s snow on the ground outside and Jake is keeping the room at a crisp 15°C and Bradley is dying.

“C’mon Bradshaw. How can you be such a pussy?” He gives Bradley that signature cocky smirk. Luckily, Bradley can barely see it with the way he is burrowed in the hotel blankets. In the back of his mind, he knows that he shouldn’t have the hotel blankets this close to his face, who knows how well they’ve been cleaned or who’s been in them, but his warmth was more important at the moment.

He scoffs. “I’m not a pussy, I’m just cold. How can you be such an asshole?” He spits back.

It was Jake’s specialty. They both knew it, and they both knew he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. “It’s a gift,” that smirk didn’t leave Jake’s lips. “Seriously, though. Have you never been stationed somewhere cold?”

Bradley huffs softly and he swears he can see his breath. “I have it’s just always warm when I come inside, unlike now. Can you stop being a dick and turn the heat up?”

“No, I don’t think I will,”

Even with his eyes closed, Bradley can see the smugness that comes through in Jake’s voice. He knows exactly what the mans face looks like. The thin blankets aren’t doing anything to help how the cold has seemed to seep into his tired bones. “I’m going to take a shower,” he hopes that the hot water will do it’s job and warm him up.

He has to push past Jake to get to the bathroom and the man seems to think this is a game, chuckling as he blocks Bradley's way. Once he’s in there, with the door closed and the far on to block the steam, he dreads stripping his clothes even though the water is already heating.

The water feels better than Bradley remembers, it feels like his first shower in weeks even though he showered yesterday before they left. One night. Just one night in the hotel before they go to base tomorrow. He can survive one night. If only he can survive getting back out of the warmth of the shower. It’s touch and go for a few minutes once the water turn off. He rushes to get his towel on and his body dried off so he can pull on his sweatpants and hoodie all before he gets cold.

Jake seems to have given up on his little game because he’s sitting on his bed flipping through tv channels. Bradley moves as quickly as he can to get back in the bed, but he doesn’t miss Jake’s eye roll.

Bradley doesn’t know when he fell asleep or what time it is when he wakes up, he only knows that he’s not cold anymore. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize exactly why he’s not cold anymore and it’s because he’s got two strong arms wrapped around his chest. He leans back into the touch before he realizes that the only other person there is hangman. His eyes widen and his body goes tense. "Hangman? What the hell are you doing?” he grunts sleepily.

“Go to sleep rooster. I’m not turning up the heat so I sweat all night, but I’m never getting to sleep listening to your teeth chattering all night. I found a solution.”

Bradley wants to question it. He wants to poke holes in Jake’s logic and ask how he won’t be too hot with their bodies pressed together, but truthfully, it feels nice to have someone else in the bed, so he keeps his mouth shut.

It becomes a routine after that, they share a bed anytime they need a hotel, at some point Jake just stops asking for two beds altogether. They’re more relaxed in the morning and they sleep better at night, which also means they fly better. Even their superior officers tell them to keep up whatever it is they’re doing and who are they to argue with that?

——

💭🎁

[daisybianca]

pairing: daniel ricciardo x femalereader

summary: your boyfriend was finally returning back home tonight.

warnings: mostly angst, fluffy moments, mentions of sexual activities, teasing

HE WAS RIGHT. It was definitely colder now. You should have packed a “poofy” jacket.

Daniel’s way of saying “poofy” as he pouted his lips together replayed in your head.

What a dork.

You tucked your hands inside the pockets of your denim jacket and pressed your shoulders together to bundle up. The slim black work pants you were wearing provided minimal wind chill protection, but you forgot to do laundry last night and this was the only pair left. Unless you were planning to show up to a client meeting in jeans. You weren't planning on losing your job anytime soon.

The sun was setting in the background and the sky was doing its magic again. Behind the historic building that towered the city, the pastel purple and pink hues splashed the late autumn sky. Every single purple and pink color was somewhere up there, even the ones that didn’t get a dorky crayola color named after it.

As you got to the steps of the apartment, your phone buzzed in the butt pocket.

Darn it, your hands were just getting warmer.

Danny Bunny: So sorry, but you are going to have to do dinner without me.

With a soft sigh, you stuffed the phone with hands back in the tiny jacket pocket. The text clearly impacted your mood because you were annoyed at your stupid jacket pockets. Why did anyone even bother stitching a pocket if it was only going to fit a third of a normal human being’s hand?

“Just try to look at the bright side.” Danny's ’ voice echoed in your head.

Biting your lips, you ran through the positive scenarios of not having Daniel around. No company for dinner meant that yoy could eat anything for dinner and get away with it.

Thoughts of cinnamon toast crunch and frosted flakes ran through your mind as you seriously contemplated each option as you opened the front door of the apartment. The familiar, but faint scent of leftover morning coffee lingering hit your nose.

You dropped the keys on a small table by the door and dragged your body to the living room. You threw your work bag on the floor and immediately went over to the thermostat.

Daniel was going to kill you, but was it your fault that he was gifted with body heat and you weren't?

You always freezing and having Daniel around was like having a personal space heater, but he hadn't been around the past few months with all those races he was trying to win. And,you were the master of guilt tripping him.

You grabbed your phone and texted back.

Me: I hate you, I miss my heater.

You did. You really did.

You settled on frosted flakes for dinner because you were craving the cereal milk after a bowl of corn flakes.

Yoy also finished the last of the remaining oat milk in the fridge.

You know how people say, TGIF?

Well, in this case, thank god it’s Friday because your fridge needed restocking and you could finish that on the weekend.

When Daniel wasn’t around, it was hard to find time to do anything. Without him, you resorted to what your life was like before he came into it. You resorted back to binge watching random Netflix documentaries and going to bed at 9pm. On days you felt extra adventurous, you would head out to the gym, but that was very rare.

When your boyfriend wasn't around you simply... simply lived kind of mechanically. As if you were a robot trying to survive and live an average, safe life.

You rolled into the couch in the living room and laid there blankly staring at the plain ceiling.

Yesterday, you were hoping that around this time, you and the F1 driver would be getting take out for dinner and bet on who would orgasm first before the food arrived. Loser would have to wear their underwear to answer the delivery guy.

Last time you two played, you gave him the best head ever and he lost before you even got fully undressed. But, he kept on arguing through the entire dinner how he purposefully lost because he didn’t need anyone seeing you in your underwear.

Sure, Danny. Whatever you say.

You rolled to the side and faced the empty TV screen. You thought you had turned it on, but you must have dreamt of doing that because you fell asleep after the last blink in the sweet memories of you and Daniel.

“(y/n).”

Your eyes were too heavy to lift as you were still coming out of the sleep haze, but you certainly knew that voice. Your heart was already thumping, it recognized it too.

“Babe,” Daniel whispered. This time his warm breath tickled your ears. His lips pressed against your forehead and you groaned.

“I hate you.” You muttered and rolled over to the otherside. Your eyes were still pressed closed and you sure as hell was not going to wake up to greet him with happy arms. In your mind, he was a traitor.

“I’m sorry, (y/n).” He was always the first to apologize.

“She’s mad at you,” You managed to get out with all the thoughts screaming inside your head.

“She still loves me.” He replied like how someone would answer “yes” to the question if the Earth was round.

“She does not.” You lied.

“She does.” There it was again.

“Actually, she wants to go back to sleep. That way, she doesn’t have to look at your face.”

His smile turned into a full grin. “You are so fucking cute when you are lying.”

You felt my cheeks growing hotter.

No, (y/n). Daniel is the enemy. Remember, Daniel is the enemy.

Yoy pressed your lips together and narrowed your eyes at him, trying to kick the childish voice out of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” Your boyfriend whispered like you were playing footsie underneath the Thanksgiving dinner table.

You couldn’t resist that.

Yoy closed my eyes and leaned your head forward and felt his soft lips against yours. When yours mouths opened, you tasted coffee in his breath.

Hey, you needed the caffeine kick.

You also tasted the Red Bull liquid.

Your man was supporting his team and you were so proud of him, even though you weren't particularly a Red Bull girl.

Even though you was positive it didn’t work like that, your tongue found his and playfully teased around it. When he pulled away first, you were a tiny bit upset.

Okay, you were very upset, but you sure weren't going to show him that.

He clearly saw the discontent on your face and smiled. “God, I missed your taste.”

“I missed yours more.” You argued.

His eyebrows arched at your desperate thirst response. “You know what else I missed the taste of?”

Then, his eyes shifted across the couch. His eyes looked in the direction of your legs, more specifically, the space between them.

There was your guy. He was back.

Daniel slowly got up from the carpet and sat on the edge of the couch. He slipped his hand into your plain boybrief pyjamas and his finger grazed my cotton underwear.

You already knew you was soaking wet just an inch lower from where his hand rested. And moments later, he found out too.

Keeping his eyes glued on yours, he slowly moved his fingers until yoy felt the warmth of his hand through your cotton underwear. You let out a soft moan from your throat that you couldn’t even control.

This wasn’t fair. You wanted him so much.

You reached out a hand to grab a hold of his forearm. Underneath your grip, you felt the tensing of his individual muscle fibers against your skin, twitching and fighting the urge to rip off your underwear.

“Hey,” Daniel spoke and his velvet voice echoed around the empty walls of our tastefully decorated minimalistic apartment.

“Yeah,” You replied with as your mind was going crazy about the fact that he was really trying to tease you.

“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a lollipop?”

There was a strange moment of silence before yoy both erupted into laughter.

Your happy sounds were echoing around the entire floor.

Other than the fact that this might have been the worst “let’s have sexy time” comment he had ever said, you treasured moments like this. These were the times that lingered around you memories for a really, really long time.

You got up from the couch and tore his hand away. “Okay, Mr. Ricciardo. You definitely hit an all time low with that comment. It really sucks out all the intimacy.”

Daniel moved his body closer to yours and kissed your cheek. “Ironic, it was supposed to get me sucking your pussy.”

The way he said pussy sent chills down your spine. You were getting ready to jump on him any moment now.

“I mean, technically… you can still do that." You replied, nonchalantly.

He smiled and pressed his lips against yours. Your lips went at each other like you were in high school again trying to show off who was the better kisser. It was sloppy, wet, messy, and a lot of biting. It was still perfect.

By the time your boyfriend pulled away, you were both panting to catch your breaths.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and planted a sweet peck on your neck. Yoy wrapped my arms around his neck and he already knew the cue. His arms dug underneath your back and knees. He effortlessly got up from the couch, holding you close to his chest.

Yoy looked up at him speechless as he casually walked you through the hallways and kicked the bedroom door open.

It was dark here too, minus the moonlight filtering through your bedroom window placed on either sides of the bed. He walked over to your massive bed and gently placed you down.

You bit your lip and Daniel dropped his cap first, revealing a messy bed of hair underneath. In one quick motion, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. His pale skin glowed. The moonlight reflected off his broad shoulders and firm chest.

Your heart wouldn’t shut up. It was like you felt that for the very first time. It was Daniel Ricciardo after all...

His body snaked over time and pinned you down between his legs. Each hand tightly gripped your wrists. The heat from his body was pouring down yours. He arched his neck and placed a kiss on your forehead. Then, he moved over to the tip of your nose, your lips, yours chin, and then down on yours neck. His warm breath tickled you. But you liked it. You loved it, to be exact.

“I’m sorry for being late." Daniel paused. "I genuinely apologize for that and I'm truly sorry, angel." He placed a soft kiss on your lips, like he wanted to taste you gently one more time before attacking like a hungry animal. "But, I’m not apologizing for how I’m going to ruin you tonight."

●○•°•○●

requests are always open for my wags <3

[ceridescent]

sweater weather — m., wanda.

wanda maximoff x female!reader

summary: you and wanda decided to have a short you-and-me time apart from the city, innocent of the monster lurking in the maximoff's beach house.

tags: fluff, smut.

warnings: dirty talk, praise, & vaginal fingering.

word count: 1, 361

author's note: last day of autumn so here's a one-shot with both you & wanda beloved. :* (in actuality i wrote this on november 2022 so...very inspired by fall.) other than that, enjoy!

18+ only. men and minors DNI.

masterlist | navigation

both you and wanda’s giggles echo throughout the chilly room, posing silly faces for silly photos to distract yourselves from the autumn air.

wanda growled, “i’m a bear!” and you snapped a picture of it; her body on top of yours, your cellphone’s lenses shoved in front of her gorgeous, scrunched face.

you kept a pebble inside her jeans pocket a few hours ago, one souvenir you will forget about in the morning. you made a bet with yourself: whoever finds it first would do anything she asks for for a week. since you’re forgetful, that would be an impossible event.

“wanda, i’m cold,” you moaned out, causing her arms to wrap tighter around your figure. she rubbed them up and down your clad sides, “i’m so sorry baby,” she whispered, kissing your neck multiple times for an apology.

“i’m getting cold too,” her teeth chattered as she said so, the sound alarming you. your eyes widened and lifting your neck, you scanned her through the dimly lit bedroom. a mewl fell from your lips. taking wanda’s hands, you placed them inside her gray sweater wrapped around your warm-blooded body, in hopes to ease her troubles in the slightest bit.

wanda, your girlfriend, brought you to her family’s beach house today, it was perfect. she was so thrilled to have you alone in a quiet, enthralling space that she had forgotten about the dormant thermostat lying idly in the house, its purpose unable to attend to your now shivering bodies in the peak of fall.

both of you only noticed it after you bathed with your clothes on, shivering and stiff in your stand whilst wanda held you in place, removing your dripping garments.

wanda is naked right now, on top of you. she only has a thin white blanket covering her, not enough to keep her warm like you are at the moment. consciousness insists the longer you stay put in the beach house, worried that she would end up like jack from titanic. you still wonder how he didn’t fit atop the door.

your lover consumed two bottles of alcohol so she can’t be behind the wheel, drive yourselves back home to her cozy, warming apartment. and you’re a baby who’s wrapped around her girlfriend’s hoodie, having zero knowledge about traffic law.

“love,” you purred, rubbing her arms inside the gray sweater, easing the coldness off her fingers. you squeezed them and clamped yours around them, spreading your warmth through her.

“love, let me keep you warm.” wanda mumbled before she took her turn rubbing her almost-warm hands on your sides, her movements constricted due to the small space inside her gray sweater; her kisses landing higher from the side of your collarbone to your jawline.

“wanda,” you hummed and tilted your head to the side, allowing better access for her pink lips to soothe the chill away from your bodies. the brunette repositioned herself, pressing her core against your thigh, languidly grinding on it.

humming, she locked your lips with hers, hard and quick. you were kissing wanda’s smile when your neck craned to reach her. “be still,” mumbling the words full of your kisses but you shook your head, slithering your digits in her hair, scratching her scalp to pull out a moan from your lover. you grinned, inserting your tongue in her mouth before she could dominate yours.

“ah!” you hissed when wanda’s fingers found your nipple, pebbled and puckered to her liking. “take it off,” she growled and hoisted your back with her left hand, the other impatiently taking off her sweater from you.

wanda’s hair is tangled by your fingers. finding your breasts, she squeezed and massaged them tightly before pinching your nipples, grazing her flat tongue on your stomach.

“please,” you whimpered, the tingling sensation spreading throughout your bundle of nerves, your hips thrusting for friction, having a mind of its own. wanda held you down, her slender hands pinning you against the mattress.

“how bad do you want to stay warm?” she asked you, the color of her eyes blown to charcoal black.

“s-so much, wanda. i need you so much,” you responded, taking her hand and shoving it to the place you need it most, showing your desperation. she only chuckled.

goosebumps flared all over your hot skin the minute she took off her leggings from your legs, the autumn air aimed at your dripping core. wanda hummed in satisfaction, her pussy clenching at the sight of your nakedness under her.

moans were spilling out of your needy mouth, begging her to get into you, but she just shook her head. drinking you in with her dilated pupils, she watched your aroused frame craving for her touch. with her thumbs on either side of your pelvic bones, she trailed her hands downward the middle of your thighs, peppering kisses inside. her touch came lower until she reached the end of your body, massaging each toe to tease you until you’ve had enough, kicking her hands away.

“not there, wanda, please fuck me now.”

she grinned at you, her face sickeningly evil. she crawled back on top of you, resting her thighs on yours, grinding, “i’m a bear!” growling as you groaned in heat.

“you want a bear to fuck you, baby?” her middle finger slid up and down your slick, and you gasped, nodding your head. “you want my fingers inside your pussy?”

aggressively you nodded your head, finally finally finally, almost there — the tips of her middle and ring finger easing through your entrance. “yesyesyes- oh!” and you sucked her right in.

“so tight,” wanda purred and covered your mouth with her own, drinking your moans. “so warm, baby. you make me so warm.”

you whimpered and nodded your head, unable to speak, as you were only able to feel the way her fingers glided in and out of your hole.

feeling yourself drip down the mattress, wanda’s breath fanned your neck as she whispered encouragement, urging you to meet her thrusts so you could warm up even more.

she wrapped her lips around your left nipple when your jaw couldn’t keep it locked any longer, your moans turning to cries. she grunted against your limping body, your nails digging her back.

wanda cussed multiple times with how beautiful you looked underneath her, desperate and needy to come apart. she made a promise to take your cum out of you, not letting one drop go to waste. with the way she fucked the coolness out of your system you didn’t notice how you’re warming her up in the process too, relishing it.

“we together- work so-so well,” you said in broken lines and wanda smiled through it, “my smart girl,” praising your random thought and kissing your forehead. she slammed harder, pounding your pussy.

“you feel that baby?” you whimpered, your cries getting louder. wanda knew you were close. with your fingers tightening in her locks, your hips going in tandem with her thrusting, and your begging. god, your begging. she couldn’t get enough of it.

and so she curled her fingers to hit your g-spot, biting her lips as she stared you down — your back arching like a cat — so ravishingly fuckable. “such a good doll for me.”

you fell apart with her teeth clamped around your hip, thrashing around her with screams, the bedsheets wrinkled at best by your fists, incoherently muttering curses and thank you’s, riding wanda’s fingers.

she was licking the mark on your hip when you chanted her name, “wanda wanda wanda,” her thrusts becoming languid, lulling your high.

“my best girl,” she husked and you were rolling your eyes at the sight of her sucking her dripping fingers full of your cum.

she kissed your panting mouth after, mewling, “taste sweet, my baby,” and you kissed her back with leisure, your body limp, exhausted, and completely warm.

“thank you, my love,” you mumbled when she pulled away, settling her core against your left thigh. you guided her hips, running them up and down. wanda sighed, submitting to your direction, smiling.

panting the words, “you’re welcome, my love,” she slickened your thighs with her cum.

[dameronscopilot]

Heater goes out in the middle of a cold night. Wouldn't mind cuddle with benny, and santi. Sigh...

(I swear this was supposed to just be a paragraph of mindless thoughts, and it turned into a drabble somehow oops)

intertwined

Benjamin “Benny” Miller x reader x Santiago "Pope" Garcia

Word Count: 800+

Content: and! they! were! roommates!, roommates to lovers speed run, cuddling kissing for warmth

“Goddamnit.”

You rouse from a light sleep at the sound of Benny’s voice out in the hallway, slowly sitting up and blinking as your eyes adjust. A shudder runs down your spine when your comforter falls down off of your shoulders—it’s freezing. 

Groaning, you slip out of bed, scooping up a small pile of material on the floor that vaguely resembles a sweatshirt before padding across the room to peek out the door. Your roommates, Benny and Santiago, are both standing in front of the thermostat, arms crossed and faces equally fraught with annoyance.

“Did the heater stop working again?” you casually ask, leaning against the door frame.

Santi glances over at you, all pillow-soft curls and tired eyes, and furrows his brows. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

Glancing down at it, you realize that yes, indeed it is. “Maybe,” you reply with a grin, walking over to them.

Benny seemingly gives up on his battle with the device on the wall, and he curses under his breath, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Yeah, it’s busted, but I think the problem’s with the furnace itself this time, not the thermostat. Landlord’s asleep, so we’re fucked until the morning, I guess.”

Far too cold and too damn tired to care about how bold your suggestion may sound, you step between the two of them, looping an arm in each of theirs. “Let’s go then.”

“It’s three in the morning. Where are we going, honey?” Benny asks, a note of amused sarcasm in his voice.

“My bed, obviously.”

Santi chokes, “What?”

“We’re cuddling for warmth. Unless you both want to freeze to death alone in your beds,” you respond primly.

“Wasn’t how I thought you’d ask me to get into bed with you, but I’ll take it,” Benny laughs, the honeyed tone of his deep voice doing far more to you than you should allow it to.

“Wait.” 

You both glance at Santiago, and he continues, “Ben’s bed is the biggest out of all of ours. We’ll probably…fit better.”

Raising an eyebrow, you glance between the two of them. “Interesting that you know how big his bed is.”

Benny glances up at the ceiling, biting his lip. “Is it?”

Santiago coughs, shooting Benny a look. “Alright Sherlock Holmes, you can play detective later. Let’s get a move on, I’m losing feeling in my toes.”

You’ll mull over that later.

For now, all you can think about is the way it feels to find yourself snugly trapped between Santiago and Benny’s combined body heat, burrowed under the silky soft sheets in the latter’s bed.

The way something finally loosens in your chest, tugging free in a rockslide of emotions.

You’ve spent months dancing around it, this inevitability that’s tentatively hovered in the air between the three of you since you moved in. This quiet, unspoken thing that feels so much easier to look at head on now in this very moment, shrouded in the inky black darkness of Benny’s bedroom. 

Benny knows what you want—he can feel it in the way your heart’s wildly beating its way out of your chest as he presses his thumb against your collarbone. Santi knows, too.

And yet, even as Benny's nose brushes against yours, breath fanning across your lips and his hair tickling your forehead, he waits.

He waits until you’re ready, until the feather-light caress of Santiago’s fingers over your hip as he curls against you from behind leaves you shivering with anticipation. Until the barest touch of Benny’s ankle hooking over yours elicits a hitch in your breath.

Until you can't fucking stand it any longer.

But when you do eventually lean forward, finally seeking out the real warmth you desire, Benny stops holding back.

And so does Santiago.

Benny kisses you hard, like he's been waiting for this for days. Weeks. Months. Like he's already memorized the curve of your lips long before being given this chance to finally taste them.

Meanwhile, Santiago's mouth blazes a hot, exploratory trail from behind, calloused fingers tugging at the collar of your—his—sweatshirt, his teeth and tongue lavishing the delicate curve of your neck.

Benny’s lips make start to make their way across your jaw, trailing down the front of your throat, only to be replaced with Santiago’s. He pulls you down onto your back, tongue swiping across your bottom lip before licking his way into your mouth.

You arch your back at the feeling of Benny and Santiago's fingers intertwining against your hipbone, their mouths straying, and you tug both of their faces back toward yours for heated kiss that quickly begins to skirt the edges of desperation. Curiosity still burning in your gut, you run a hand through Benny's hair, tugging on it firmly to pull his lips from yours.

You glance from him to Santiago, whose teeth have begun to graze the sensitive spot just below your earlobe, and Benny grins. He leans over you, cupping the side of Santi's face before capturing his lips in an eager, messy kiss, and the heat in your gut blazes white-hot.

On second thought, the furnace can stay broken.

[phaelimbs]

— December nights (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)

The winter air had never been colder for Gaz.

After December rolled by merely a couple of weeks ago, the weather seemed to cooperate with the calendar, coating the city in shivering air and visible breaths.

Normally, the man wouldn't be bothered by it, having spent majority of his time exposed in such conditions during his deployment, to the hottest days where he felt as if he was being burned alive, to the staggering freezing temperature that made him nearly dead, he figured that things could've been worse.

But right now, he seemed to be pretty bothered by the cold air; from numb fingers to stacked layers of clothing, nothing worked quite well after it had left him with a runny nose and a shivering state.

Tossing and turning in his bed, clutching the blanket tight within his arms as he suffers silently, he'd wondered what sort of heat source can help him with his situation.

The thermostat, a fire, a hot shower, a hot meal—

Bingo.

With a huff, the blanket is tossed on the other side of the bed, his feet on the ground as he searches for his slippers. He nearly bolts down the stairs and across the living room, heading towards the kitchen.

His eyes wander to search around until his eyes lock with his goal, you. You who is calmly stirring the pot, cooking his favorite stew as he 'rests', the sight of you makes his tense shoulders relax, his body into a puddle.

With a few strides, the man now stands behind you, his gaze lovesick as his hands slowly snake its way across your middle, trapping you within his arms.

Letting out a yelp, you nearly drop the spoon as his cold hands make contact with your waist, a laugh erupts from his mouth.

"Calm down, love. 'S just me."

He mumbles softly into your ear, pressing a kiss on your temple as he relaxes into you, nearly engulfing you with his presence. Before you could ask what he is doing out of bed, he continues.

"Just needed you 's all, my personal heater."

And you don't mind at all, not one bit. Not when he sleepily places kisses across your face, helps you set the table, and tries to make conversation with you despite his tiredness, pouting when you laugh at him for his weird voice due to his blocked nose.

And finally, helping you settle into bed as he rests on top of you, a content smile stretched upon his lips as he felt positively sure he'll get better tomorrow. The winter air no longer bothering him when his insides are warmed to the brim, the clothing no longer suffocating, and his mood bright as ever.

Not when you're there beside him to make it all better.

(A/N: It's September in my country, Merry Christmas ! )

[bi-focal12]

Idolish7 fanfic- Ringing Hearts <3

-Nagi x Mitsuki, introspective Mitsuki, fluff, slight angst-

Mitsuki lay on his side in bed, idly swiping through his phone. The only light left on in the room was the small square being projected onto his weary face. Mitsuki should be sleeping at this hour but he couldn’t bring himself to settle, allowing the soft music pouring from the speaker to create a more melancholic atmosphere than the day deserved.

Mitsuki was glad to be getting so much MC work lately. Really, he was.  

It was just difficult to set aside the fact that their fans thought he talked too much, knowing that Mitsuki had only made it onto i7 as part of a package deal. 

But Mitsuki knew better to dwell on that, so he swiped.   

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

-David Foster Wallace   

Mitsuki lingered on this slide long enough for the music in the background to loop, then he laughed quietly.  

How odd was it to go seeking a distraction and stumble across a mirror, instead?

Mitsuki held the moderation Yamato had given him close to his heart, but this- this desperation to keep a white-knuckled grip on the things he held dear- was something written into the very marrow of Mitsuki’s bones. 

It was what kept him signing up for auditions- always reaching, even if it meant his hand might be slapped mercilessly away, again and again. It’s what kept him up at night when he ached from the brutal sting of rejection. It’s what had spurred Iori to glue them together in the first place, if only to spare Mitsuki the pain. 

Gratitude and insecurity were glued in equal measure to that memory, but now that they were here Mitsuki knew he would never let go of i7 without engraving his desperate desire for their success beneath his fingernails, first. 

The thought of ever being dragged away from the group was an uneasy one, though, so Mitsuki swiped again.  

Achilles did not slur my name, as people often did, running it together as if in a hurry to be rid of it. Instead, he rang each syllable:

Pa-tro-clus.

-Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

Again, Mitsuki paused. An image of Nagi’s shining face poked its way into his thoughts, unbidden, whining for Mitsuki to watch Magical Cocona with him. 

Mit-su-ki, Nagi always said. Drawing the syllables out so the shape of Mitsuki’s name lingered on his lips. 

Thoughtful, Mitsuki raised a finger to his own lips and pressed down. 

Mitsuki was used to people wanting to be rid of him. Used to people batting away his outstretched hand in search of something more. Something better. 

No one had ever lingered on Mitsuki, before. 

The thought brought warmth to Mitsuki’s face and he slammed his phone down on the bed, throwing his room into a sudden, searing darkness.

Mitsuki’s heart pounded against his chest- a wild, fluttering thing- and he felt stripped bare, his racing thoughts thrown into sharp relief without the soft haze of the phone screen to blur them.

It was so warm, all of a sudden.  

Had someone messed with the thermostat? 

Surely that’s all it was, and not…

Mitsuki carefully grasped his phone, tilting the screen back towards himself. 

he rang each syllable, it said. Pa-tro-clus. 

A nervous smile tugged at Mitsuki’s burning cheeks, a gentle weightlessness skittering through his stomach. 

Mit-su-ki, Nagi always said. 

Mit-su-ki. 

Surely Nagi knew the emphasis didn’t belong in the middle of his name, and yet…

And yet, he rang each syllable. 

Mitsuki pressed his face into his pillow, carefully cradling the belltower resonance that had been struck each time his name was spoken with such care, building and building and building until the brass echo brought blood rushing to the surface of Mitsuki’s smile.

Mit-su-ki, Nagi always said- sparkling and golden and princelike. 

“Nagi Rokuya,” Mitsuki whispered into his pillow. “Na-gi.”

The music on Mitsuki’s phone looped gently again. 

Mitsuki carefully rang each syllable.

“Ro-ku-ya.”

Delighted laughter bubbled past his lips, swallowed by the walls keeping watch over Mitsuki's feelings. 

Maybe…maybe that’s what Iori had meant the other day. When Mitsuki was sitting on the couch with Nagi, watching the man far more than the anime, and he’d placed a hand on Mitsuki’s shoulder, leaning down to whisper, It’s okay, onii-san. 

Maybe it would be, Mitsuki thought. 

Maybe Nagi Rokuya was another one of those things Mitsuki wouldn’t let go of without a fight.

[mehoymalloy]

Soft fic prompt, 6, maybe Lis x Tilda? 🥺

Took a bit, but here we are; hope ya like it!

This is for the prompt 'coffee in bed' from this prompt list. Thanks to @mr-jaybird for betaing this!

~

Lis stood in an exceedingly clean, blindingly white kitchen, stainless steel appliances gleaming in the soft morning sunlight. She shifted back and forth on the balls of her bare feet, trying to fight off the insidious chill sinking into her skin from the tile floor—also white, naturally. She begrudgingly glared at the shiny, silver espresso machine in front of her for a long moment, tracing her gaze over its many buttons, screens, and meters. Then she cast one last tired, wistful look at the classic drip machine off to the side. It was the only black appliance Tilda had in her kitchen—just for Lis.

Tilda had warned Lis last night that her preferred coffee hadn't come in yet—'shipment delays, darling; it's bound to happen eventually when you only order from a very select lab in Canada'—and Lis was fine with that, she really was. She wasn't one of those snobbish types who insisted on buying only the highest quality coffee beans sourced from a small, three-hundred-year-old farm in some lesser-known country of the world's remaining-but-steadily-dwindling coffee belt. All Lis wanted was her ethical, affordable, sustainable coffee. And a lab in Canada (creatively called EAS Coffee Lab) provided just that. But then shipping delays happened, so now here Lis was—awake first, unfortunately—being a good girlfriend and making coffee Tilda's way.

She knew how to do this—she was an engineer, for God's sake, she knew how to work a machine. Simple steps: Fill up the water tank (filtered, of course), pre-heat the water, grab the bag of fancy, specialty-grade beans from the aforementioned three-hundred-year-old farm, weigh out exactly 18 grams, grind extra finely, pop the single wall (not the double wall, even though this was a double shot) basket into the portafilter, tap the filter on the counter, tamp down the grounds, lock it into the machine and...

Why Tilda insisted on using a semi-automatic machine rather than a fully automatic one, Lis would never understand. (That was a lie; even she could admit there was a certain appeal in the ritual of it all, as opposed to dumping the grounds in and pressing a button). She supposed she should be grateful that Tilda hadn't gotten it in her head to buy a fully manual one—Lis didn't think she could handle waking up and pumping a damn lever just for her morning stim.

She should probably also be grateful that Tilda had programmed one of the buttons specifically for when Lis needed to use the machine—no fuss about measuring out the perfect amount of water or reaching the correct temperature or ensuring the OPV never exceeded 8 bars of pressure (Tilda's preference).

As Lis waited for the machine to do its job, she grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, pouring enough into the little metal cup for each of them. She even used the thermostat to ensure she got the right temperature rather than eyeballing it. The process wasn't complex by any means—it just seemed an unnecessary amount of work for a cup of coffee.

But as Lis padded back to the bedroom with two cups in tow to find Tilda bleary-eyed but sporting a surprised smile, Lis guessed it was worth it.

"You made coffee?" Tilda asked as she sat up. Silk sheets slid down her nude frame like water, pooling in her lap and exposing her skin to the warm sunlight slanting through the blinds.

"You think I could get through the day without it?" Lis shot her a wry smirk as she sat down her own cup on the nightstand.

Tilda gave her a lazy smirk as she lifted the sheets for Lis to scoot in. "I suppose not," she murmured, turning away to stifle a yawn into her shoulder.

Lis leaned in to place a quick peck on the opposite shoulder, gingerly passing Tilda her cup once she had turned back to face Lis.

Tilda's eyes glimmered with warmth rivaling the morning sunlight, and a sleep-soft smile played at her lips as she lifted the mug up to her face. Closing her eyes, she took a slow, deep breath, shoulders curling forward to settle around the cradled cup. Steam wafted upward, carrying the scent to Lis' nose as well—she could admit it smelled way better than her usual coffee. Turning to grab her own cup, she took a sip that singed her tongue, shooting Tilda a rueful smile when she saw the other woman raise a brow at her impatience.

Tilda rolled her eyes as she leaned over, briefly pressing her face into the skin of Lis's neck, offering a quick kiss. "Thank you for the coffee, love," she murmured, still not quite awake.

"You're welcome," Lis said softly, careful to blow before she took another sip.

[sequinsmile-x]

prommmmpt! i’ve read aaron finding out that emily’s stolen his [shirt, hoodie, socks, etc], but i want it flipped! maybe, emily had originally stolen something of aaron’s, but when she had to go to paris, it got left behind and now aaron’s stolen it back. but like, in the saddest way. she finds it under the covers or something because he just missed her. is this too corny?? is it because i just read Linger and i’m DYING over it?? idk whatever, this was just in my head and now it’s here, whatever. whatever!

Heyyyyy bestie. Sorry this took so long, but I think you'll like it!

A gift from me to you to help with the Sunday Scaries.

This could be read as a follow-up to Linger, or on its own.

-x-

Interwoven

A dark green sweater helps bring Emily and Aaron a little bit closer back together after her return from Paris.

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: None!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron turns as he hears his bedroom door open, smiling at the sight of his girlfriend as she walks towards him, stretching her arms over her head. They’d just showered together and he’d left her to get changed. He smirks when he sees what she’s wearing - a dark green cable knit sweater that belonged to him over her pyjama shirt. It was big on her, the material cuffed around her wrists so the sleeves didn’t engulf her hands, and it stopped high up on her thighs, skimming the material of her soft leggings. 

“Is that my sweater?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at her as she joins him on the couch. His arm wraps around her shoulders, the soft material of the sweater rubbing against his skin. 

“Yes,” she replies, smiling up at him, “Your apartment is cold.” 

He playfully rolls his eyes at her before kissing her temple and pulling her impossibly closer, his hand running up and down her arm. It was something they’d bickered about on and off ever since they got together. He ran hot and she ran cold, often meaning they would have different views on what the thermostat should be set at. The upside was, as far as Aaron saw it, she always slept up against him, curled in his embrace as even in sleep she sought him out. 

“Sweetheart, I think you’d be cold anywhere, no matter what.” 

Emily chuckles and tilts her head to look up at him. Her beauty was undeniable. He’d noticed it even when he was still married to someone else. He’d look back on it now, those tense first few weeks she was on the team and desperately trying to prove herself, and realise that was what had fuelled much of his frustration towards her. This undeniable pull, an attraction he hated himself for then as the foundations of his marriage started to rumble beneath him, the walls crumbling, that he didn’t understand. 

She’d always been beautiful to him, but this was different. She had no make-up on, so the fine lines around her eyes when she smiled were more noticeable. Her hair was still damp from their shared shower, its natural wave curling at her shoulders. Here in his apartment, cosy and pliant in his arms, wearing his clothes, she’d never seemed more beautiful.

“Mother would agree with you,” Emily says, smiling at a memory, one of the few from her childhood she could look back on with happiness, “No matter where we lived I was always cold,” she explains, settling further into his side, “It used to drive her crazy.” 

Aaron kisses the top of her head again, “I’ll keep you warm.” 

“I should hope so, you are my own personal furnace,” she says, pressing her lips to his. 

“And yet you still steal my clothes.” 

She rolls her eyes and pushes his hair off of his forehead, smiling at him, “It smells like you, and it keeps me warm when you aren’t here.” 

“I’ll always be here,” he says without thinking, the words escaping before he realises what he’s said, and she beams at him, leaning in to kiss him again. 

“I’ll always be here too.” 

She names the sweater as hers from then on. She started keeping it in the drawer of her belongings at his place and then brought it with her on cases when they went to colder states. He started seeing it at hers too, the dark green wool it was made of complimenting her eyes in the exact same way Haley had told him it did for him when she bought it. It was a strange connection, one that Emily knew about, but one that he liked. That one woman he loved had bought it, and the other wore it. Their love for him stitched together not unlike the sweater itself. 

He forgets about it until after he’s buried her. A grave he knows is empty symbolising everything he’d lost, even if it was only temporary as he hoped. 

He gets home after the funeral, words of sympathy from his friends and team that he can’t take still reverberating around his head, and he finds himself doing laundry just to do something. That’s when he finds it, in amongst her clothes that were tangled up with his and Jack’s in the laundry hamper. 

He doesn’t wash it, he can’t bring himself to get rid of the remnants of her on it. The smell of her perfume along with something that was so uniquely Emily it briefly makes his heart stop. A small stain on the front of the sweater where she’d spilt something on herself, a tiny bit of clumsiness he remembers making fun of her for. 

He puts it away in his bedside cabinet, hides it away from view just like he did with her, only taking it out to look at it, laying it on the pillow that was hers, when missing her felt like it could kill him.

___

In some ways, it feels like she was never away. Aaron and Jack welcome her back into their home like no time had passed, like that last good morning she remembered when they all had breakfast together before she realised Ian was after her. And by extension, them. 

It’s unavoidable in other ways. The ones she expected, the ways she’d prepared herself for the whole time she was in Paris. How the team look at her, relief and distrust in equal measure as they watch her every move. How Aaron looks at her like she might disappear again, barely sleeping some nights as he holds her close as if he’s worried if he falls asleep he’d wake up and she’d be gone. 

It’s the changes she hadn’t expected, the small things she hadn’t thought about, that she struggles with the most. Like how Jack’s obsession with dinosaurs had switched to one about sharks, the boy now wanting to spend all of his time at the aquarium instead of the museum. How JJ and Penelope had changed which bar they preferred for girls' nights, the offers there were apparently better than where they used to go. 

Or how Aaron had switched the laundry detergent he used because Jack had developed an allergy to the old one. 

She sighs as she folds up clothes, separating them into piles for her, Aaron and Jack as she goes. She turns around and looks at Jack who is sitting watching her.

“You don’t have to sit there sweetie,” she says, smiling softly at him, “You finished your homework, you can go play your game if you want.” 

“I like spending time with you,” he replies, and she feels her heart swell, her smile getting wider. 

“I like spending time with you too,” she says as she continues to fold clothes. 

“I’m glad you moved in,” he says, “It means we can spend even more time together.” 

It had been ease, more than anything, that had led to her moving in. It was something she and Aaron had discussed before she had to go to Paris, long conversations as they lay tangled in bed about the pros and cons of each of their places and where would be the best place to merge their lives. Her old place was sold when everyone thought she was dead, solving that part of the debate for them. She’d been hesitant when he’d first suggested she moved in rather than find somewhere else, aware that there was so much for them to discuss, to work through to get to where they’d been before. But she relented, knowing that above anything else she had spent enough time away from him. 

“Me too, sweetie.” 

“You’re not going to go on any more secret missions are you?” Jack asks, and she freezes for a moment. It’s what Aaron had told Jack about her disappearance, a lie that allowed him to avoid telling his son another woman he loved had died. 

“No, Jack,” she replies, hoping he doesn’t see the shake to her smile, the familiar guilt burning at her insides, “No more secret missions.” 

They fall into silence and she continues her task, briefly checking her watch to see the time. Aaron had stayed later at the office than her, caught up in budget meetings she knew he’d rather avoid. 

“Emily,” Jack asks, and she turns to look at him, smiling at the unrelenting questioning of a child that was endlessly curious, any previous concern she’d seen on his face nowhere to be found, “Is being a grown-up boring?” 

She chuckles, turning back to folding up the freshly cleaned laundry, “Why do you ask, honey?”

“You and Dad are always doing laundry,” he exclaims, “Laundry is boring.” 

“You’re not wrong there,” she replies, she smiles at him, “Your Dad will be home any minute, how about I put this away and you go play your game for a little bit? And when he gets here we’ll all go out for pizza. Pizza is never boring.” 

Jack beams at her, and jumps out of his seat, closing the gap behind them as he wraps his arms around her briefly before running off to his room. She watches him go, smiling as she does so. Her love for him enough that she knows there is no way she could love him more. 

She finishes folding the laundry and carries hers and Aaron’s to their room. She puts hers away before moving to his, something so incredible to her in the domesticity of it. Simple day-to-day tasks that sometimes blew her away, the very nature of them making them part of what she had once convinced herself she would never have.

A family. People who loved her unconditionally. 

She idly opens the bottom drawer of his nightstand to put his socks away when she freezes, her eyes landing on dark green wool. She stares for a moment before she reaches for it, sitting on Aaron’s side of the bed as she picks it up, the familiar feel of the sweater in her hands enough to make her heart skip a beat. She places it in her lap, her fingers running over the small stain on the front of it, a sign that Aaron hadn’t washed it since she last wore it. She closes her eyes, blowing out a steady breath at the thought of him pulling it out of the laundry hamper and carefully putting away. Keeping a part of her with him. 

She sits there, her thumb running back and forth over the soft material until she hears the front door open and close, followed by his familiar footsteps getting louder as he walks towards the bedroom. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, “Sorry that took longer than I thought…” 

He drifts off, and she looks up at him and sees he’s staring at the sweater in her lap, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t snooping,” she explains, smiling tightly at him, “I was just putting away your socks.” 

He shakes his head, a silent acknowledgement that he would never have considered she was going through his things. 

“It’s not like I was hiding it,” he says, sitting next to her on the bed, “I meant to put it back when you came back but…” 

“I get it,” she replies, reaching for his hand and linking their fingers together, “You didn’t wash it.” 

“It smelt like you,” he says, offering her a half smile, “It hasn’t for a while now.” 

She nods in response, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “It was cold in Paris,” she says, not missing the flash of a smile across his face, “Obviously it wasn’t actually cold. I was there for the summer, and it’s so…humid in the city. But I was so cold,” she looks down at the sweater in her lap, at his hand over hers, “Especially at night. I missed it,” she says, tightening her hold on the sweater, “I missed you.” 

Aaron leans in and kisses her forehead, “I missed you too.” 

She rests her head on his shoulder, taking the comfort he always so easily gave her. He wraps his arm around her to pull her closer as they fall into contemplative silence. She lifts her head to press a kiss to his jaw. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry for what I put you through,” she says, pulling back to look at him, her eyes shining, “Every time I think we’ve figured it out-” 

“We have figured it out, sweetheart,” he assures her, cupping her cheek, not missing how her eyebrows raise slightly, “Ok, we have most of it figured out,” he smiles at her, “Everything else will fall into place.” 

She hums, “You sound so sure.” 

“I’m sure that I love you,” he says firmly, leaving no room for argument, “And that when you were gone I spent every day promising myself that I wouldn’t waste any time when I got you back.” 

“I love you too,” she replies, leaning forward to kiss him, “I love you so much.” 

He smiles at her when she pulls back, “Maybe we should throw the sweater out,” he says, his eyebrows creasing as he looks down on it, “I think that stain is pretty set in now anyway.”

She chuckles slightly, shaking her head at him, “It was red wine honey, I think it was over for this sweater the second I spilt it.” 

“We should have thrown white wine on it,” he says, echoing the very thing he had said the night she spilt wine on herself. She rolls her eyes playfully at him.

“How many times do I have to tell you that's bulls-”

“Can we go for pizza now?” Jack says, arriving at their open bedroom door, cutting Emily off from finishing her sentence. 

Aaron looks over at his son before looking back at his girlfriend, “Pizza?” 

She scrunches her nose up at him slightly, hiding her smile, “I kind of promised we’d go for pizza when you got home.” 

Aaron smiles as he stands up, offering her a hand to provide unnecessary help as she stands too, the sweater falling to the bed. He guides Emily to the door who then in turn wraps her arm around Jack. 

“Pizza it is,” Aaron says, knowing he could never say no to either of them. 

Two days later she comes home from a shopping trip with Penelope with a new sweater for him,  identical right down to the colour. 

She immediately takes it from him after he’s thanked her and slips it over her head before he can even wear it himself. She winks at him as she walks further into the apartment, a mischievous smile on her face as she goes. 

He follows her, which he knows was her intention, catching up before she makes it to their bedroom by placing his hands on her hips, pulling her back to him in a way that makes her laugh. The sound loud and bright, echoing around the apartment as he kisses her neck. 

“I thought this was my sweater?” He asks, nipping at her skin as she reaches back to run her fingers through his hair. 

“It’s our sweater.” 

-x-

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[royaltyautoservicediesel]

Tips To Identify Dodge RAM Engine Failure from Certified Mechanics in Kingsland

Dodge RAM is a very popular pickup truck known for its raw power which is provided by the technologically advanced engine under the hood of the truck. However, like other pickups, the engine of your Dodge RAM can also encounter issues with its functioning over the years leading to various problems while driving.

There are various signs exhibited by your Dodge RAM when the engine is encountering issues & you need to pick out those subtle symptoms. In this article, we will discuss the symptoms that indicate engine failure in Dodge RAM shared with us by certified mechanics in Kingsland, GA.

Unusual Sounds

Now, drivers of Dodge RAM would be familiar with the roaring sound made by their pickup when they press the gas pedal for acceleration. However, when you are driving with a bad engine under the hood, you are going to come across knocking & pinging sounds coming from the engine bay signifying serious issues with your pickup truck.

When you hear pinging & knocking noise coming from the engine of your RAM then it might be caused by damaged timing chain, worn-out bearings, or the engine oil level being too low in the vehicle. Besides that, knocking noise from your engine can also be caused due to carbon buildup or malfunctioning spark plugs that need to be replaced.

At times, drivers continue to drive their Dodge RAM even though they get to hear these noises on a continuous basis and this can create additional trouble for you in the form of serious damages to the crankshaft & piston rods of your pickup truck and that is why it is important to take immediate steps to address the problem rather than ignoring it.

Engine Overheating

While driving if you notice that the temperature gauge is rising and the needle is in the red zone then it signals that the engine is overheating in your Dodge RAM which is a serious issue. There are various underlying issues that can cause the engine of your pickup truck to overheat when driving.

The issues in your RAM might range from a failing thermostat to a faulty water pump and malfunctioning radiator which are the root causes behind an overheating engine. Now, issues with any of these components cause disruptions in the flow of coolant to the engine of your Dodge RAM leading to abnormal rise in engine temperature.

If you happen to face overheating issues in your Dodge RAM then you must immediately get in touch with a certified mechanic to diagnose the source of the problem and take remedial steps because overheating can affect the engine block or cylinder head leading to inflated repair bills.

Engine Performance Decreases

The Dodge RAM is known for its performance and any deviation from that is definitely going to catch your attention. If you notice a sudden drop in the performance of your pickup like slow acceleration, problem in starting, and decreased power output then it indicates towards malfunctioning engine.

The drastic drop in the performance of your engine can be caused by several factors ranging from failing fuel pumps to clogged fuel injectors and issues with the ignition system of your pickup truck. In addition to that, worn-out piston rings and a bad oxygen sensor can also cause the performance to decrease in your Dodge RAM.

The issues with the internal components linked to the engine of your truck adversely affect the air-fuel mixture in your vehicle leading to the drastic drop in the performance of your Dodge RAM.

Illuminated Check Engine Light

There are a host of warning lights located on the dashboard of your pickup truck and the check engine light is one such prominent light. If you come across an illuminating check engine light on the dashboard of your pickup then it indicates that something is wrong with the engine of your Dodge RAM.

Most of the time it is seen that the illumination of the check engine light is caused due to issues with the ignition system, bad piston rings, or failing oxygen sensors. You must get in touch with a certified mechanic to help inspect your truck with the help of advanced tools & rectify the issues affecting the engine.

Finally

The above-discussed factors are some of the symptoms associated with engine failure in your Dodge RAM and you must never ignore these signs because if left unaddressed it can lead to serious problems. Contact a professional mechanic to get the engine of your Dodge RAM fixed.

[ashish2345]

The Top 10 Hidden Features of the iPhone 15 You Didn’t Know About

The iPhone 15 has hit the market with a flurry of excitement, bringing a host of new features and enhancements. While many of us are familiar with its standout upgrades, there are numerous hidden gems that you might not have discovered yet. In this article, we’ll delve into the top 10 hidden features of the

 that you didn’t know about, ensuring you get the most out of your new device.

1. Enhanced Back Tap Functionality

One of the most underrated features of the iPhone 15 is the enhanced Back Tap functionality. While this feature was introduced in iOS 14, it has seen significant improvements in the iPhone 15. By going to Settings > Accessibility > Touch > Back Tap, you can now customize double-tap and triple-tap actions to execute a wider range of commands. Whether you want to open specific apps, take screenshots, or activate VoiceOver, this feature provides a seamless way to personalize your iPhone experience.

2. Advanced Focus Modes

The iPhone 15’s Focus modes have been upgraded to provide even more customization. In addition to the standard Do Not Disturb and Sleep modes, you can now create multiple Focus profiles for different activities such as Work, Study, or Leisure. These profiles can be tailored with unique home screen layouts, notification settings, and app filters. To explore these options, navigate to Settings > Focus and see how you can refine your notifications and app usage based on your current activity.

3. Live Voicemail Transcription

One of the most useful hidden features in the iPhone 15 is Live Voicemail Transcription. When you receive a voicemail, you can view a real-time transcription of the message directly on your screen. This is particularly handy if you’re in a meeting or unable to listen to the voicemail immediately. To enable this feature, go to Settings > Phone > Voicemail and toggle on Live Voicemail Transcription.

4. Customizable Widgets

While widgets have been a part of iOS for a while, the iPhone 15 introduces more flexibility in widget customization. You can now stack multiple widgets in a single widget space and create personalized widget stacks that can be swiped through. Additionally, widgets on the iPhone 15 can be resized and placed on the Lock Screen, providing quicker access to essential information without unlocking your device. To customize widgets, long-press on your home screen and select "Edit Widgets."

5. Safari Tab Groups

Safari on the iPhone 15 comes with an enhanced Tab Groups feature. This allows you to organize your browsing sessions more efficiently by grouping related tabs together. For instance, you can create separate tab groups for work, personal browsing, or research. To use Tab Groups, open Safari, tap on the tabs button, then select “New Tab Group” to start organizing your tabs.

6. Customizable Control Center

The Control Center on the iPhone 15 has gained new customization options. You can now add or remove various controls to tailor the Control Center to your preferences. For instance, if you frequently use the flashlight or calculator, you can add these controls for quicker access. To customize Control Center, go to Settings > Control Center and add or remove shortcuts as desired.

7. Siri Shortcuts with Expanded Actions

Siri Shortcuts have always been a useful feature, but the iPhone 15 expands its capabilities with more customizable actions. You can now create shortcuts for specific tasks within apps, automate complex workflows, and even set up multi-step routines. For example, you can create a shortcut that turns off your lights, sets your thermostat, and sends a message to a contact with a single command. To explore these options, go to Settings > Siri & Search > All Shortcuts.

8. Enhanced Privacy Features

The iPhone 15 introduces new privacy features that enhance your control over data sharing. One notable addition is the Privacy Report in the Settings app, which gives you an overview of how your data is being accessed by various apps. Additionally, apps now need explicit permission to access your device's clipboard, which further protects your personal information. To review privacy settings, navigate to Settings > Privacy & Security.

9. Improved Live Photos Editing

Editing Live Photos has become more intuitive on the iPhone 15. The Photos app now includes advanced editing tools that allow you to fine-tune your Live Photos with greater precision. You can trim the video portion, select a different key photo, and even apply filters. To edit a Live Photo, open the Photos app, select the Live Photo, tap “Edit,” and explore the new editing options.

10. ProRAW and ProRes Improvements

For photography enthusiasts, the iPhone 15 offers enhanced ProRAW and ProRes capabilities. The updated ProRAW format now supports more advanced editing features, including increased control over exposure and color balance. ProRes video recording has also been optimized for better performance and higher quality. To access these features, go to Settings > Camera > Formats and enable ProRAW and ProRes options.

The iPhone 15 is packed with features that go beyond the surface, offering a range of tools and settings that can significantly enhance your user experience. By exploring these hidden features, you can unlock the full potential of your iPhone 15 and tailor it to meet your specific needs. Whether it’s customizing your Control Center or leveraging advanced privacy settings, these tips will help you make the most of your new device.

[lewisibarra1512]

Go Fan PRO Review - A stunning (and portable) fan in a creative way

While my mascot is currently inside his own cryogenic chamber but won't come out until August is over (save for You-Know-Who on the 11th), I've felt the need of doing a review of a certain product I bought a couple months ago out of complete boredom. Enter the Go Fan PRO.

At first glance, while taking out of the box, you're greeted with the official Go Fan PRO, as well as a Micro-USB to USB charging cable that I've connected on my Amazon adatper. It even came with an instruction manual to tell you to charge it first before using. I've already done my part removing the tab inside the battery so I put the manual back inside the package.

As I turn it on, it indicates blue, meaning the fan is currently on depending which speed is set. When turning it on by pressing the button, it comes in three different speeds: one press for low, two for medium and three for high.

I prefer medium since the box did say Whisper Quiet Speed and New and Improved Design.

The fan can also rotate in 360° angles with its Smart Spin Technology, where it streams air in every direction. Because of the fact it's a desktop stand, I use it for my exercise bike in my office, as well as going to sleep whenever August keeps hitting me with an excessive heat condition. It is also rechargeable so I can withstand 30 minutes of medium speed whenever I'm at work or just eating something. The instructions also tells me not to remove the battery from the Go Fan PRO, since it is only exclusive to it. Especially when placing it near an open flame or a heater.

Well, just for the latter alone, I happen to have the Handy Heater Pure Warmth which… I won't bother risking my fan for that. It's just for the festivities to come around the corner.

Charging the Go Fan PRO up is very simple. When plugging in the Micro USB port, it lights on red. And when it's off, it indicates it's fully charged.

The Go Fan PRO also has a grip, but since my animation cubicle and my exercise bike has those thick lines, I don't think it's perfectly safe to damage it unless there's a separate accessory for me to safely hold in place.

One good thing I wanna add to the fan is that it helps me sleep faster by beating the heat. Now I don't have to take half a dose of ZzzQuil while avoiding sleeping problems!

For an efficient price of almost $18 at a supermarket, you could save lots of money with this bad boy instead of affording air conditioning or lowering the thermostat against August's signature weather. This means with the Go Fan PRO, it's also useful for kitchens, offices, sporting events, bike riding, workshops and many other things and places. I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to combat against the heat.

Pros: Whisper Quiet Speed; 360° angles with Smart Spin Technology; grip (unless an accessory is used); less than $20 price; charging; great for cooling off in desktop stand; perfect for anywhere and anything. Cons: None! :D

Overall Score - 5 / 5

Whelp, I'm off to send August back to the fifth dimension using my Go Fan PRO. :)