#Pre offer home inspection

[homeinspectorclayton]

How does this year buying a great burg home in Massachusetts

How Buying a Great Burg Home in Massachusetts This Year Is a Smart Move This year presents an exceptional opportunity to buy a home in Massachusetts’s charming burgs. Here’s why several factors make this a wise decision. Affordability Meets Quality Living Massachusetts’s burgs offer an appealing balance between cost and quality. Home prices are more affordable compared to urban centers. This…

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Praise [König]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Masturbation, Perverted König, Age Gap, Legal Age Gap, Lowkey Gooner König just minus the Porn, No-Rizz König, Panty Flashing, Praise Kink, Reader Wears a Skirt, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

König fucking himself absolutely silly after you helped him discover he has a praise kink.

It had been just a simple “Wow, you’ve done a good job with that shelf!” as you stood by and watched him repair your bookcase that had König fisting his cock like it owed him money. 

König huffed amidst the darkness of his desolate apartment, leaning against the wall which separated your abode from his as his hand worked furiously to exorcise himself of his carnal lust, of the heaviness in his engorged ballsack. 

He could hear the creaking of floorboards as you meandered from one room to another. The only sounds in König’s apartment were his muted breaths and the wet noise of him fisting himself, his hand slick and sticky with the layers of pre you’d already coaxed from him, his balls growing tighter by the second as his release lay just shy of reach.

He whimpered – gasped – as he recalled the way you smiled at him, how you pressed a hand to his bulging bicep and told him to take a break, giving a glass of freshly-squeezed lemonade to your ‘hard-working man’.

He moaned, lewd and low, as white-hot euphoria shot straight to the head of his dick, setting his body buzzing and ablaze, cracking his resolve ever more. You’d called him yours. Your man.

God, he wanted that so badly to be true. He’d repair a thousand bookshelves if he had to, fix a million burst pipes and bleed as many radiators as you needed if it meant you’d call him yours again, or just touch him.

As he’d sat back upon your dainty sofa and had a drink, you’d bent over – just for him – and given him a perfect look at your panties. You complimented his work, inspecting the shelf. All the while, König damn-near spat out his drink, the fizz burning the back of his nose as he coughed and spluttered. 

Already, he felt all the blood rush from his head to his cock.

You bolted up to check on him, and if it weren’t for your hands touching his face and the soft swoop of your voice, König would’ve probably slapped himself for depriving himself of the sight of you in that short skirt.

Fuck, he felt like a lecherous old man, especially considering how there was a definite age gap between the two of you. But König couldn’t convince himself of remorse – not as his orgasm drew closer still.

The fantasy – or perhaps it was his heaving breaths, hyperventilation – of having you completely at his mercy in your own home left him light-headed, his reddened and bulbous tip pulsating. König could scarcely form a coherent thought as his orgasm came hurtling towards him. 

The wet sound of him throttling himself, stroking his dick languidly, was drowned out by his desire for what could’ve happened if he’d willed it, if he’d pounced on you – the opportunity – to prove just how much of a man he could be for you.

But no, instead of grabbing you and bending you over the nearest surface – ideally your bookcase just so he could break it all over again – he’d given an anxious laugh, a quiet ‘thanks’ for your hospitality and went on his way when the job was complete.

Fucking idiot.

Though, you did leave him one ‘in’, as it were. You offered him a favour – any favour – in return for his services since he declined any form of payment you’d offered him.

He can taste it. The parallel reality wherein he pounds on your apartment door, only to push his way inside and leave you breathless with wet, tongue-filled kisses as he takes you against the wall, stretching you out on a cock that’s far too big for you. But you take it anyway, because you owe him.

The phantom sensation of your wet, wanting hole pulsating around his weeping cock is what finishes König off, moaning loudly and shooting thick ropes of semen against the wall – the only thing separating the two of you. The only thing saving you from his hot, fertile load.

He can feel it pumping out of him, his balls growing lighter by the second as he empties himself thoroughly and completely. He gives himself a few shallow strokes as to prolong the feeling of release, of a most carnal pleasure, whilst imagining what it would feel like to be filling you with his cum.

He knows he’ll have to clean it up later, but it’s not even a priority for him right now as he comes down, the world eventually reloading around him.

Sure, perhaps the post-nut clarity will hit later as he’s wiping his cum off the wall and mopping up the puddle he’s created, but right now, all König can see is you – all he can think and feel is you.

Barely a few minutes pass before he’s hard again, the memory of your voice intrusive as he simply tries to catch his breath.

Perhaps he will pay you a quick visit. He reckons you’ll be more than willing to make good on your repayment – especially with what a good job he’d done on your bookshelf.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[charliemwrites]

A continuation of this:

Outside time is heavily monitored but fairly regular. Simon keeps nearby and you learned early on that he’s more than capable of crossing the yard in the time it takes for you to even consider trying to scale the tall fence. It’s one of the only times he’s actually put hands on you, carefully restraining you and then letting go once you were both safely inside again. You sported one, singular bruise that he fussed over despite your hissing and cursing.

What about when he’s away on missions? He has the ability to call you, and you him, though you don’t. He preps well in advance for being gone. Frozen stews that you can heat up. Pre-cut meat if you want to cook. Frozen veggies aren’t GREAT, but he’s left some vitamin supplements and dried fruits.

When he gets back, he always gives you a once over. Usually from afar, but if he sees something that concerns him, he’ll have to try to coax you closer. After the first two times he cornered you just to inspect a stupid bruise, you learned to tolerate the poking and prodding with minimal snarling, biting, and yanking.

He’s got a plan if something happens to him too. Johnny will, of course, take over your care.

You didn’t think you could get angrier at anyone more than Simon, until he brings a strange Scottish man into your HOME, the place you’re SAFE. And the man takes one look at you, whistles, and murmurs, “isn’t she a beaut?”

You may or may not try to strangle him with his own dog tags. Simon may or may not laugh at his dumb friend before expertly prying you off. You take a bite out of him too, but he’s used to it by now. Just shakes out his arm and ushers you off, chuckling “go sulk in a corner, little one.”

And you do, but not because he told you to. In fact, you make it a point to scowl at Johnny the entire time he’s there, always just within view but far, far away. You’re pissed at Simon too. Can’t believe there’s TWO of them now.

When Johnny finally leaves, Simon tries to coax you from your room - there are no locks, but he understands what it means when you’ve cocooned yourself on the high bunk of your bed.

“You’re not going to come down?” He croons.

“Fuck off,” you grumble.

“Not even if I have a peace offering?”

You poke your head out and lean over the railing a bit, peering down narrow-eyed and terribly grumpy. Simon forces himself not to coo at you, it’ll just make you crankier. He holds up a new book - one you’ve been talking about wanting.

“Have something to go with this if you come down,” he entreats.

And well, you’re hungry anyway. So you clamber down, wrinkling your nose when he tries to scratch behind your ear. Then he leads you out, to the back of the house which has been blocked off for the last month. There’s a new door - he pops it open, revealing a closed in patio.

“Plexiglass,” he explains as you creep outside. “So you’ll be safe but can still see the yard.”

It’ll get a lot of light, you’ll see the rain. There are little tables and cushions and a daybed with blankets. It’s - damn him - perfect.

“Is… he coming by again?” you ask, feeling at a soft pillow.

“Johnny? Probably not, unless I die.”

You twist, looking alarmed.

“Not likely to happen,” he soothes, ruffling your hair just to see you pout and swat at him. “Have someone relying on me after all.”

You blush again. You’ve been doing that a lot. He lets you snatch the book from his hands.

“Unless you want him to come by again? You could use a little socializing, feral thing.”

He’s right, but Simon is barely tolerable, never mind is friends.

“Hmph.”

“Alright, maybe in a couple weeks.”

[si1verghosts]

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀��regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

[froggy-demon]

Ford x College Age!Reader (gender neutral)

Please accept this offering Ford lovers, I plan on doing some pre portal ford writing so pleaseee send requests for pre portal ford/stan, also open to (almost) any other asks !! <3

You’re in college for either business or a STEM program, in fact it’s the summer before your senior year of your program

You had been looking for internships to take on over the summer when one of your aunts insisted upon reaching out to a friend of hers from college

“Smart man that Pines, told me he owed me a favor one time and I’m sure he has something for you to work on!”

You were not so sure about shipping out to the middle of Oregon to work for some old college buddy of your Aunt’s, but off you went anyway, it was better for your resume than nothing.

So you had been working at the Mystery Shack

Upon arriving you found that there was in fact two ‘Stan’s, there was the one who actually went by Stan as well as Ford, your Aunt’s actual former classmate.

Stan was very laid back, and he loved having an extra set of cheap hands around the shop even if it meant you were taking up the (formerly wax statue) spare room and drinking all their coffee. You grew on him pretty quickly and you had a very friendly and sarcastic sort of dynamic, it was easy to joke around with him and the two of you were absolutely encourageable

Ford was not so quick to warm up to you it seemed. He was certainly the more serious of the two and always had some experiment to work on or thing to engineer, meaning you also just didn’t spend as much time with him off the bat.

“It’s too easy to get hurt. I can’t exactly send you back home with a broken arm, or worse, I fear your Aunt will trek all the way up here just to wack me on the head!”

That said he did sometimes let you come down to the lab, especially if you played it off by bringing a coffee for him and offered to organize or clean something up (Ford had no motivation in cleaning his horribly chaotic labs, but he did very much enjoy a clean lab when it was possible) and you found yourself sitting at the cash register upstairs just trying to think of excuses to go downstairs more than you’d like to admit.

One afternoon at the shack you were stocking inventory onto the floor while Ford uncharacteristically had been chatting with Stan for quite a while in the gift shop. you’d been stealing glances their way, but Ford’s back was to you anyway, his six fingered hands clasped behind his back as they often were. After the third of fourth time Stan caught you he winked at you, “like what you see?” He teased. Your ears burned when Ford turned to follow where his twin was looking, you turned back to the merchandise in front of you replying sarcastically “yeah these Bigfoot snow globes are pretty cool.” Earning a laugh from Stan and from the corner of your eye you could see Ford smiling at you curiously before going back to their conversation.

Eventually Ford had gone back downstairs and two tour groups later you were still thinking about the way he had look at you. It was ridiculous though, he was supposed to be your mentor this summer and you’d been brought up to date on all the freaky goings ons of last summer when he walked out of a different dimension, not to mention he had a few decades on you. He wasn’t the first older man to have caught your eye, but he was the first you fell so hard for. Given this, while you pretended to read all you could think about was what excuse to give Stan. The sound of the “employees only” entrance into the house caught your attention, you were ready to ask for a coffee break and of course you would be polite and bring one to Ford who always appreciated more coffee. Stan didn’t even give you the chance, “I don’t wanna hear it, you are actually going to work the job you have here today.” He chided, inspecting your stock job. “I have rights you know, you still need to give me breaks, I’ve yet to have one today.” You’d defend. “This is not how you get a glowing letter of recommendation.” He grumbled checking shelves for dust that wasn’t there. “Isn’t Ford supposed to write that?” You quirked an eyebrow at his assessment of the store, he is not normally so picky. “Fucking- Fine I guess so, is that why you want to go kiss his ass right now?” The older man asked walking back over to you at the cash register, evidently satisfied with the store. His arms were crossed over his chest, now he was assessing you, clearly he could tell you were working an angle, but couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was. You took the excuse, hopping out of your seat. “Yup! Thank you Stan!” You said walking past him. “For what?” He asked. “For the rest of the day off!” And you disappeared through the door he had just come through before he could argue. Quickly you went to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee and before long had poured two cups just the way you each liked them. You quietly walked down the staircase carefully not to disturb the scientist prematurely, a knot building in your stomach, some mix of anxiety and excitement. Ford always mumbled to himself while working, something you honestly found kinda charming, but it also made it easy to know which room he was in if you just listened for his low voice. “Dr. Ford?” You called out as you approached the open door. You had called him ‘Dr. Ford’ the first time you met him and he had lit up at the title ‘Dr. Ford, I like that’ he had said with a smile, it always pulled a small smile to his lips to hear you call him like that.

Three doctorates and only one person he knows uses his proper title! He certainly wasn’t going to stop you, especially when you always said it so sweetly, it almost sounded like a compliment the way you said it and it definitely boosted his ego like one. He liked that about you, you may have seemed friendlier with Stan, but never sweet like you are with him. “Come in, come in” he called, glancing quickly towards you before continuing writing. “I was making myself fresh coffee and thought you might like one as well?” You offered holding one mug out to him. He placed his pen on his page closing the journal to take the mug from you as you walked in. Taking a sip his smile widened, “two sugars, perfect, thank you.” He said. Your coffee always tasted better than his, sometimes he’s even put off getting himself a fresh one in hope you would offer instead.

He watched you walk over to the seat on the opposite side of the table and sit down with your own mug, his eyes clung to the curve of your silhouette for longer than they should. Internally he chastised himself for even wanting to look at you that way, some your age—it wasn’t appropriate, but the guilt still never stopped him. “Is there anything else I can help with?” You asked, looking around the room. Ford forced him mind to push out the thought of something you could help him with. “Well,” he paused to clear his throat, “I’m not sure if there is much to be done today. Just boring data entry.” Your mouth formed a small frown at his words, still not looking back at him as you anxious tapped your mug. “What about your glassware, I’d be happy to clean and sanitize them, I know it can be a pain.” You offered, acutely aware that you didn’t actually see any dirty lab equipment, maybe he was hiding it all in one room like a kid after being told to clean up. Ford had already done that though, he seemed easily distracted today so his focus had been on tasks that didn’t necessarily require full mental effort like cleaning the glassware and simple data entry. His eyes dwelled on your mouth when you bit your lip at this news, all your usual tasks had been done already, “Well, is it okay if I just read down here then? I like the quiet.” You asked softly trying to ignore the light blush you could feel dusting your face. He nodded, unsure of why you wanted to, but happy to accommodate, especially if it meant his got to observe you more.

After that Ford found himself watching you more often whenever you were around, even going out of his way to go up to the gift shop when you knew he was there to hang around or talk to Stan. He also liked when you’d ask for his help: “Dr. Ford? Could you reach that box?” “Dr. Ford, can you help me move the display?” He loved feeling needed by you.

His thoughts about you were loudest at night though, when the store was closed and you’d just be hanging around the shack in your pjs. He would try to work late, especially once Stan caught him looking at you as your reached for the top of a cabinet on your tiptoes, the hem of your shirt and shorts each riding up exposing even more skin. Stan had walked in and promptly clocked his brother, silently hitting him on the back of the head, ‘Need me to reach that for ya?’

Yeah he didn’t trust himself to be subtle enough around you in that state, even if he craved it.

You on the other hand were worried you’d done something wrong seeing his withdrawal. Still, he never turned away your coffee, he’d get this soft tired look in his eyes every time you handed it to him, you knew this was a weak point for him. One you didn’t mind exploiting.

You and Stan have just finished a watch of one of those cheesy and overly generic horror movies that played nonstop on channel 13, he was off to bed for the night, but you hadn’t seen Ford come up since before dinner. The man kept odd sleeping hours, but you brewed a decaf pot just to be safe. The summer heat and barely working ac unit of the mystery shack meant you were only ever able to wear your little sleep shorts and a tank top or maybe an oversized tshirt overnight and this was no exception. Totallyyyy no other reason…

You crept down the staircase with his coffee in hand, thinking of your excuse, readying a reason to stick around. “Dr. Ford? It’s pretty late you know, you should be getting to bed soon.” You called out, keeping your voice light. When you got to the bottom of the stairs you saw he was in the main room sitting at the first table with one hand propping up his chin as tired eyes examined the journal he was writing in. “You’re one to talk.” He retorted with a weary smile before looking up towards you. Ford could feel his face warm at the sight of you, what a sight you were, your pjs hugged the shape of you revealing the tops of your thighs, the curve of your hips, even a section of your waist exposed. His eyes raked over you slowly as you approached him, you were very pleased to have caught his attention. “I couldn’t sleep,” you said, holding out his mug, leaning one hip against the table next to where his hands rested. Ford hesitated before taking the mug. “It’s decaf, coffee is not a replacement for sleep.” You said and he finally took it. His eyes were fighting to focus on yours, your hands overlapping on the mug as you transferred it. You could feel the callouses that had formed on his hands over time rake across your softer skin and it nearly sent a shiver down your spine as the little voice in the back of your head begged to know what they would feel like against more of your skin. “I know.” Was all he said flatly, closing his journal and eliciting a frown out of you. He pushed his glasses up, pinching his eyes closed as he rubbed them from a mix of tiredness and trying to focus his guilty mind. “Dr. Ford?” You asked, adding to the knot forming in his gut. “Do I bother you?” You asked, pulling yourself onto the table so that your legs dangled over the side, trying to read him. Truly it was impossible for you to tell if he had decided you were the most annoying person in town or if he possibly returned the interest you held in him. Ford leaned back in his seat, looking back at you, feeling ashamed that he wanted to do nothing more than to spread your soft thighs in front of him and show you just how highly he thought of you, ‘does this feel like you bother me?��� He’d coo, but he couldn’t. “Why do you ask?” He managed to say, his voice coming out lower than usual. You’re soft lips pressed together as you searched for the right words, “Stan said I’d been bugging you too much and you just seemed withdrawn when I tried to help down here, I’m sorry.” Your voice was soft and your thumb was subconsciously busy digging into your other nail beds one at a time, a nervous tick. Ford parted his lips, pausing, choosing his words very carefully, “Of course not, in fact I’ve been very grateful to have you here, it’s just-“ his eyes were transfixed on your hands, resting in your lap, he placed his larger hand on top, stilling your anxious movement. “-I’ve been having a hard time concentrating on my work when you’re around.” His choice of words made your heart pound in your chest. “I’m not used to be observed.” He added, deflating you once more. You had no idea what to do with him, all you could think about was that his skin was touching yours, fixating on the way his thumb was gently rubbing your hand. At one point you knew you would have to just say it because this second he was driving you absolutely crazy. He so rarely touched you and here, so alone, so late, so exposed, you desperately needed a conclusion.

“Ford?” You started, the sound rang in his ears. He was always ‘Dr. Ford’ to you, always, as much as he loved hearing you use his title the lack of it here was even more arousing. You felt your face burning as you built up the courage to continue, “I’d like it if you kissed me.” You wanted to say something more, but it all was caught in your throat. His thumb stopped, neither of you said a word as you sat perfectly still, you wanted to run up the stairs and never look at him again and probably die of embarrassment at some point along the way from the silence. Finally, he moved his hand off of yours, you closed your eyes unwilling to take in the sight of him, even when you felt him cup your cheek and gently turn your face towards him. “You shouldn’t want to.” Was all he said, but when you raised your eyes to look at him his face was so soft, you leaned into his touch, placing a hand on the arm reached out to you. A small “Please” was the only encouragement he needed before he buckled, shoving aside what he think should be and focusing on what he desperately wanted, he slid his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. His guilt and worry washed away, this was perfect you were perfect. Finally, what you had been daydreaming of for weeks happened, your fingers quickly found themselves in his hair and his free hand moved to your thigh, squeezing the soft exposed skin. You reveled in the taste of him, coffee mixing with the scent of leather filled your senses as you leaned further into him. His hand on your thigh began to explore you, squeezing your hips, tracing around your waist, threatening the hem of your shirt, you encouraged him by parting your lips gently and allowing him to deepen the kiss. Ford was eager to, eliciting a small groan to escape you and only turning him on more, such a sweet sound, he wanted more of them. His grip on you tightened bringing more sweet moans to his ears yet just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. He pulled away resting his forehead on yours letting you both process and catch your breath. Ford wanted to do everything he’d been envisioning of the last few weeks, but he also didn’t want to rush things with you, it wasn’t just lust for him. He had grown incredibly attached to you, the way you smiled and laughed and were sweet to him and smart, he wanted more of all of you. He moved both of his hands down to your waist, tracing tiny circles there with his thumbs keeping you captivated, afraid to break the tension. “That was a good idea.” He practically panted, rolling his head down to your neck where he planted gentle, barely there, kisses up towards your jaw. On one hand he wanted to taste more of you, but on the other he was embarrassed for you to see the desperation for you that he couldn’t keep off of his face. “We should both get some rest.” He asserted against your skin. You melted at his touch and you didn’t want to leave this moment, but you couldn’t produce a whole sentence fast enough. “Before you get to working tomorrow,” he planted one more kiss on your cheek, “come back down here okay?” You breathily agreed, Ford hummed and released you, his eyes tracing over you again, using all the composure he had left to restrain himself in front of you as you hopped down and left for your room for the night. Admittedly you both had a very difficult time falling asleep.

The first few days after that you didn’t say much on the matter. You had done as asked and found him back in the lab looking better rested than normal the next day, fully dressed, he was less confident, but you were eager for his touch and his lips on your skin again. It repeated like that for the next couple nights, until you worked up the courage to ask him, while sitting on his lap and acutely aware of a hickey forming just below the collar of your tshirt, “Ford,” you caught his attention seeing his eyes flick their focus back to your face, “I absolutely enjoy this, but-“ crimson washed over your features, unsure the right way to proceed. You didn’t want to scare him off, nor for your late nights to end, but you also had to tell him your feelings for him. “I like you as more than this I-“ Ford you kept one arm around your back to keep you steady as he moved the other to take one of your hands, bringing in front of his lips. “I’d like more than this.” He finished for you, kissing your knuckles gently, he fumbled for his words a moment before stopping and taking a deep breath, “I treasure you far too much to not want more.”

The two of you spent the rest of the night on the roof after that, talking mostly, kissing some, Ford had a wonderfully awful trait of wandering hands while he spoke. Whenever he was listening to you though his mind was too occupied to wander so much, instead he busied himself by playing with your hair or holding your face. Whenever you’d point out his handsiness he’d become flustered and turn pink, even under the moonlight you could tell that he was flushed as he stuttered out an explanation.

While you didn’t immediately say anything to Stan, he caught on fairly quickly that something had shifted with the two of you, especially since he had picked up on Ford’s attraction in the past. ‘How the hell did that happen?’ Stan asked on a particularly slow day when it was just the two of you in the gift shop, you didn’t need to hear his train of thought to know what he meant. ‘You don’t seriously think I liked brewing that much coffee just for fun do you?’ Which was enough for him seeing how much his brother had been smiling and even sleeping more regularly. (Something was tiring him out for once)

Master List

[thetriumphantpanda]

Howdy Charlie 🤠 l have been enjoying these new fic releases from you. You’re amazing and I love reading your work at the end of the day to unwind.

I’m not in a hurry as I’ve read you’re taking a break but if you do get inspired to write again, can I please request

❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜ & ❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜

Pre-outbreak where reader does something that causes a huge fight with Joel and they ignore each other for days then reader thinks it’s the end of their relationship so she packs her bag to leave without a word but Joel comes home earlier than expected and stops her and they get into another fight before reconciling and he shows his sweeter side to make up to her . Can you make it EXTREMELY angsty and a lil fluffy in the end.

Thank you! 😘

Anon, when I say that I've had this fic sitting in my drafts FOR WEEKS I'm not even lying. I absolutely loved this prompt but idk I couldn't make it seem right... I've done my best, I really hope you enjoy it! I'm just on my Joel Miller bullshit atm, don't judge me.

Pairing | Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count | 3k

Warnings | Some angst, some fluff, mentions of alcohol, mean!Joel at one point, SMUT - oral (f receiving) no use of y/n and I think that's it.

Main Masterlist

There was something about Joel Miller that had you smitten from the start. Maybe it was the fact that he was so different to the stupid college boys you’d been wasting your time with, or maybe it was the fact that he was devastatingly handsome, or the fact that whenever you were together, he would make it his mission to make you come enough times that you forgot your name before he even thought about taking pleasure for himself. Whatever it was he was different, and you were pretty sure you loved him. 

He'd barreled into your life headfirst a few months ago. Your car had given up the ghost on a small country road and you had no cell service to call a recovery. There had been a moment of dread when his truck had pulled up behind yours, this is how so many girls died in those documentaries you’d watched, but when he stepped out of his truck and that Southern drawl had hit your ears, you thought that even if he was going to murder you and leave you in a ditch, you wouldn’t mind all that much. Got you out of finishing your thesis if nothing else. 

“You stranded, sugar?” He’d called out, keeping his distance enough to reassure you he wasn’t going to try anything stupid. 

“Yeah,” You called back, “I have no idea what’s wrong with it and there’s no cell service.”

“You want me to take a look?” 

“You a mechanic?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly, but I’m good with my hands.” 

The innuendo isn’t lost on either of you, you smirk but give him a signal to look at your car. He pops the hood and takes a few minutes to look around, “Was it steaming when you pulled over?” He asks. 

“Yeah.” You admit. 

“Looks like it’s just overheated, sugar,” He muses, “Not much to do but sit and wait for it to cool down a little,” You pull a face at the thought of having to sit in your car without the air con, “I don’t got anywhere to be so you can sit in my truck with me for a bit?” He offers, “The air-con is on.” He adds, sweetening the deal. 

So you do. You sit with him for an hour, talking about your master’s programme and how stressed you are with your thesis. He talks about his work, bailing his brother out of jail for the second time that week and his daughter Sarah. When the sun starts to set, he jumps out of his truck to inspect your engine again, deeming it safe to drive. 

“Well, thanks,” You say as you sit in the driver’s seat and start the engine up, “Literally don’t know what I’d have done if it weren’t for you.” 

“You’d have let it sit, tried turning the key a little while later and been fine,” He chuckles, “But you’re welcome, it was nice meetin’ you.” 

“Joel-” You call as he tries to walk away, “Can I maybe buy you a drink to say thank you?” 

He turns around and smirks at you, “You askin’ me on a date?” 

“Would you say yes if I was?” You arch an eyebrow at him. 

“I’d be a fool not to, sugar.” 

It’s cliché for you to say but the rest really was history. You’d bought him a drink to say thank you a few days later, he’d bought you more because he liked your company. You’d snuck him into your room a few hours after that, managing to dash past the kitchen where your housemates were having dinner, where he’d spent an hour knelt between your legs, lapping at your pussy and then fucked you better than anyone had ever done in your life. 

It was summer break now. Sarah was away at camp for a few weeks, your thesis finally done and submitted. Joel had suggested that you stay with him, he’d mumbled something about it being nice not having to sneak around to see each other and you had to admit he was right. Waking up next to him with streams of sunlight illuminating his face, that was priceless. Making him breakfast before he went to work, domesticated but you loved it. 

It had been two weeks of that, with another one still to come before Sarah came home and you had to go back to the small room in your shared apartment. One of your friends had invited you out on Saturday night – a way for you all to celebrate being done with studies. You’d planned to go back to Joel’s that night, he’d even given you money for the cab ride home – but one too many tequila shots and a dead cell phone later, you’d been led back to your apartment by your friends, plugged your phone in to charge and promptly fallen asleep. 

When you’d woken up the next morning there was dread in your stomach, reading through the texts from Joel last night. Ten missed calls and texts that read where r u and please let me know ur safe. 

You dressed as quickly as you could, grabbing your phone and keys before you called a cab to pick you up. You knew you’d fucked up. You wanted to call him, let him know you were okay, but this was something you’d have to do face to face. It took far longer to get to Joel’s, Sunday morning traffic proving a challenge as you left the city and headed for the suburbs. You took a deep breath as you fit his spare key into the door and opened it. 

“Where the fucking hell have you been?” He asks when you shut the door and put your keys on the side table, “I’ve been worried sick about you all night.” 

“I’m sorry Joel,” You mumble, you really were, “We got carried away and then my phone died, and my housemates just dragged me back to my apartment, I was just going to charge my phone a little and then come back here but I must have fallen asleep.” 

“You didn’t think to use that landline’a yours?” He was sat on the couch, but he’d turned his body towards you in the doorway, he was pissed. 

“I’m sorry Joel, okay, it was a stupid mistake, what more do you want me to say?” 

“I gave you money to get home, told you to tell someone to remind you that’s where you were going, what were you thinking goin’ out and gettin’ so drunk you couldn’t remember where you were going home?!” 

“Don’t you dare make this out like I was outta control!” You counter, “I was safe Joel, I was with my friends, I’m not fucking stupid.” 

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” He’s standing now, taking steps towards you. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Should’a fuckin’ known,” He says, mostly to himself, “Don’t think about anyone but yourself, silly little girl.” 

His words cut through you like a knife. He’d never once made you feel like this. Despite the ten-year age gap you’d always seemed like his equal. Not now, now you felt small and insignificant. 

“You are losing my interest and that’s very dangerous.” Is all he says next.

“Fuck you Joel Miller,” You spit at him, reaching for your keys, “You think you’re doing me a favour? Letting me stay in your nice big house playing families? All you wanted was a fucking maid the way you’ve been behaving.” 

You’re out of the door, slamming it behind you and pulling your car out of his driveway in record time. You make it to the end of the round and a little way around the corner before you have to pull over and sob into your hands. 

*

Four days. Four miserable fucking days and he hadn’t even bothered to text you. You’d moped around in your room for the first twenty-four hours. Then your housemate had practically forced herself in because she thought you’d died. You’d cried to her about how unfair it was, then she’d made you sit on the couch, drink too much wine and watch shitty reruns. 

If it had been four days and he hadn't bothered to message, then it really must be over, right? You led in bed that morning running through all the things you’d left at his house that you really did need back. You still had the spare key, and you knew he’d be at work until later this evening, so you push yourself out of the tangle of sheets, get dressed and make the drive over. 

Thankfully when you arrive his truck is nowhere to be seen. Definitely at work then. You open the front door, closing it behind you softly. You take a moment when you step in to remember all the times you’d been happy here. The time you’d helped him make Sarah’s birthday cake, or the time you’d snuggled up under the blanket together on the sofa and fallen asleep watching a movie. The time he’d hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter and eaten you out like it was his last meal. Or the time you’d not made it up the stairs and he’d fucked you from behind halfway up the steps. Tears pricked at your eyes. Foolish. Silly Little Girl, thinking he might be the one, just like he’d said. 

You wiped angrily at your eyes and made your way up the stairs to his room, trying to block out the shiver down your spine as you thought of the long nights and lazy mornings you’d spent wrapped up in his bed. You find your duffle bag in the bottom of his wardrobe, you set it on the bed and start pulling clothes from his drawers, shoving them as quickly as you can into the bag. 

You’re setting a bottle of perfume into it when you hear a key in the door. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Of all the days he could come home for lunch, it had to be this one. 

“Sugar?” You hear him tentatively call from downstairs. 

He won’t get the satisfaction, you think, you won't talk to him, just get your things and leave. You hurry to gather the last of your belongings, hoping you can just leave, when you hear his work boots on the stairs.

You’re fighting with the zip on the bag when the door creaks behind you, “Hey, I was calling you.” 

“I heard.” You reply. 

“What are you doing?” He asks. 

You groan in frustration when the zip catches and refuses to move, “What does it look like, Joel?” You hiss, “I’m packing my stuff so I can be outta your hair like you want.” 

“I don’t want that.” Is all he says. 

“Well you’re doing a fucking good impression of it,” You turn to him, “You don’t call me, you don’t message me, you call me a silly little girl, but you want to keep me around?!” 

“Sugar, listen to me,” He’s walking forward, gripping your arms in his hands, “I was angry, and I handled it badly, I’m just-” He falters, “I’m not used to any of this, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t mean what I said.” 

You look at him and you don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes plead with you like they are now. It breaks your heart a little. 

“But you called me a silly little girl Joel,” You whimper, trying hard not to cry, “Everything you said to me hurt.” 

“I know sugar, I know.” He breaths, pulling you into his chest, “I thought if I gave you some time, we’d be able to talk, but I don’t want you to leave,” His lips brush the top of your head in a kiss, “Never want you to leave.” 

You tilt your head and press a kiss to his jawline; it had always felt like home when you were wrapped in his arms. 

“Let me make it up t’ya, sugar.” His hands are roaming down your spine and you can’t resist him anymore. 

You soften into his body, and he takes it as a yes, he tilts your chin up with one of his hands and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and you let out a sigh as you wrap your arms around his neck to mold yourself closer to him. His hands are gripping at the meat of your ass as he’s walking you back towards the bed. Before he lets you fall, he grabs the forgotten bag of your belongings and tosses it to the floor, settling you to sit on the edge of the bed whilst he drops to his knees. 

His hands are pushing the skirt of your dress up to gather at your hips, his mouth leaving trails of hot kisses up one thigh and down the other. Your head drops back, and you let out a sigh when his big hands come to rest on your hips, “Can I take them off, sugar?” He asks, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. 

You look down at him and smirk, “If you want to make it up to me, I’d say it’s pretty essential.” 

He copies your smirk, “Lift up then.” 

You push down on your hands to lift your ass off the bed just enough for him to pull the lace off your skin and down your legs. You set yourself back down on the sheets but opt to stay in your sitting position, shifting your backside as close to the edge as you can without risking falling off, widening your open legs for Joel to see you. 

“God, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, sugar.” He groans, leaning down to press kisses over your mound, but never once dipping low enough to give you relief. 

He knows what you want, your hips are chasing his mouth as they move around to press kisses to everywhere but your pussy. You grumble in frustration when he moves away from you, “You want my mouth on your pussy, sugar?” He asked, looking up at you like the cat that got the cream. 

“I’d have thought that was pretty obvious by now.” 

“I gotta hear you say it, sugar.” 

“Joel-” You moan, reaching out to grab a fistful of his hair, “Please put your mouth on me.”

He responds with a grin from between your legs before he licks one long stripe up the seam of your pussy, tongue dipping ever so slightly through your folds to tease your clit before he’s pulling away, “See what happens when you ask nicely?” 

You’re about to respond with something smart when he uses his fingers to spread your lips to reveal your clit, and then he’s running soft circles on it with the tip of his tongue. A guttural moan drops from your lips and your hips are bucking into his face as he continues his teasing touches with his tongue. His hands are gripping the meat of your thighs and God you want more. 

“Joel-” You moan, gripping his hair again, “Fuck, God alive I need more.” 

He pulls away from your pussy just enough to say, “What do you need, sugar?” Before he’s back to work. 

“Fu-fuck, Joel,” You’re grinding your hips into his mouth, “Fingers, please, I need your fingers.” 

You swear you can feel him smile against you, but one of his hands moves from your thighs and you feel him slip one inside of you. You’re so wet that it’s easy for him, he pulls out and when he’s pushing his fingers back into you, there’s a second, “Oh my god yes just like that.” Is all you can managed to get out. 

He’s being more forceful with his tongue now, switching between the soft teases from the tip of his tongue to full licks with the flat of it and it’s got you on the edge already. When you look down at him it’s like heaven. You can see his tongue teasing your clit and the movement of his shoulder as he pumps his fingers into you. It’s a depraved sight but one that you never want to forget. 

“Can feel you gettin’ tight around my fingers sugar,” He mumbles into your pussy, “You gonna come for me like a good girl?” 

“Yes!” You’re crying out as his fingers curl inside you into just the right spot to have spots clouding your vision, “ohmygod Joel, I’m so fucking close.” 

He knows exactly what to do from here. He’s learnt how to play your body like a fucking fiddle, and he knows it. He’s pressing his fingers so deep into your pussy, curling them to hit that sweet spot inside of you. Then he wraps his lips over your clit and sucks whilst his tongue is still flicking tight little circles over you, and you’re gone. 

Your head is thrown back and you’re screaming his name. Your pussy is clenching around his fingers and your whole body is convulsing as it washes over you. Joel pulls his fingers from you, and you look down to watch him lick your slick off them before he’s dipping his tongue lower and literally drinking from you. Wide stripes from his tongue from your aching entrance as he cleans up what you’ve given him. 

He pressed kisses to the inside of your thigh, and you can feel your slick on the scratch of his beard, “I really am sorry, sugar.” He says and you laugh. 

“Get up here.” You say, pulling at the neck of his t-shirt. 

He obliges, standing up briefly to kick off his work boots, before he’s gathering you up and placing your head against the pillows. He’s kissing you; you can taste yourself on his tongue as it molds into your own. 

He flops down on the bed next to you and you curl into his side, running your hands down his chest to rest on the bulge of his jeans before a yawn falls from your mouth, “Tired, sugar?” 

You nod, burying your face into his chest, “Not been sleeping.” Is all you offer in explanation. 

He presses a kiss to your temple, “Take a nap.” Is what he says, taking hold of your hand on his groin, wrapping your fingers together to rest on his stomach, “I can wait.” 

“Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up?” You ask, looking up to meet his eyes. 

“I got nowhere else on earth I’d rather be, sugar.” 

[djarinsphere]

SOFT KISSES, QUIET EVENINGS | JOEL MILLER

Joel Miller x female!reader

Summary: An unlucky incident brings you and Joel closer together. After that, you continue to find peace and pleasure with him. (Pre-Outbreak!)

Request: Can you please make like one shot smut with pre-outbreak joel with reader.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, swear words, unprotected p in v, oral sex (female receiving), creampie, some very light dirty talk, mostly fluff

Words: 4.6k

A/N: I am so gone for this man... and this request just turned into something fluffy with some smut in between. I hope you can enjoy!

Masterlist | Request

You had met Joel on your way to work one day. Recalling it in your mind, it reminded you of the few rom-coms you had watched together on different occasions. The ones Sarah would always shake her head at and Joel would also just grumpily watch them with you – they made you happy, so he was willing to endure them. 

There were a few things that Joel was doing for you, just for you, but never once had he thought that it hadn’t been worth it. He got up earlier than he had to in the morning when there was the promise of seeing you sooner. He watched silly rom-coms with you, picked up your favourite food from another city, denied himself sleep when you wanted to read a little longer at night. 

Thinking back, you never would have expected all of this to come from such a small incident. Maybe in another life you would have driven home that day and never talked again, but somehow things ended up being different. 

That fateful day, your car had broken down in the middle of the road to work. You cursed and hit the steering wheel a few times, knowing you would be too late now. You had already been late to begin with, but you could have made it to work with a bit of luck. Now that luck had run out and you were stuck here. The car didn’t turn on anymore and when you opened the door to inspect it from the outside, you also spotted the tire that was certainly not going to bring you to work anymore. 

You didn’t even have a spare one with you. Not that it would change anything if the car didn’t turn on anymore to begin with. 

How were you going to explain this to your boss? You couldn’t. There was no way he would accept this ‘excuse’ for being late to work. You could feel your throat getting tighter with every second you spent looking at your car – that wasn’t moving anywhere anymore. 

A quick glance to your watch told you that you didn’t even have time to catch the bus anymore. The next one would only arrive at the next bus stop in an hour. And by the time you would arrive at work, it would be late enough for your boss to probably legally be allowed to murder you. 

“Fuck,” you hissed, giving the flat tire a kick, knowing that it couldn’t get any worse. It was already at the end of its life, a small kick to let some of your frustration out wouldn’t change anything anymore. 

“I don’t think the tire deserves that kind of hate, Miss.” 

You turned around when you heard a deep voice behind you. A man was standing there, hands in pockets, the once blue T-Shirt now stained with what you assumed was dirt. His hands were also smeared with dirt and you could also spot some on his cheek, just above the beard around his jaw. The man looked tired to you, but he was carrying a slight smile around on his lips. You didn’t quite understand what was so amusing about your situation. Nothing. Nothing was amusing and you were in trouble.

“Well, I think it does! I’m stuck here, because the engine won’t turn on anymore,” you grumbled, not caring enough to hide any of your frustration. The stranger had already seen it anyway when you had so rudely kicked against your tire. 

“Can I have a look at it or do you want to keep hitting that tire until it maybe… falls off?” He asked, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. You opened your mouth to respond, but didn’t quite find the words. It seemed like he was making fun of your situation, but he had offered to help all the same. You would be a fool to turn it down. 

“Well, if you want to,” you mumbled, before clearing your throat. You suspected that the man didn’t hear you, but he soon moved towards your car, walking right past you and taking a closer look at the tire. “This one needs to be replac-“

“No shit.” You were quick to reply. That flat tire could be seen from a mile away. Of course, it needed to be replaced. 

A moment later you already felt guilty. Just because everything was awful today didn’t mean that you could talk like this to a stranger that was offering his help to you. Without you even asking him in the first place. 

“I’m sorry…” you mumbled. The man turned around to look at you again for a moment. He didn’t seem to be upset which let some weight fall off your shoulders. “It’s alright. I can tell it hasn’t been a good day so far,” he shrugged. 

You watched his broad shoulders move up and down. He was really attractive, even with the dirty clothing and dirt-covered hands. The man was crouching down in front of the car and seemed to think for a moment. “I can get you that one replaced, definitely,” he announced, standing up again. 

He walked around the car then, opening the hood of the car and having a closer look at the engine. You knew you were just awkwardly standing around, but at the moment, you were just grateful someone was helping you out here. The man looked like he knew what he was doing or he at least knew more than you about this problem. 

“Can you do anything or is it a hopeless case? I really need to get to work, but the next bus comes in an hour.” You tried to explain your situation some more. Not that it would accelerate anything. Maybe you just wanted to make sure that the stranger knew why you were so frustrated in the first place. “I see…” he mumbled as a response while he reached into the car, tugging on a few cords. “I think I need a moment with this. I could drive you to work though, before I properly start to repair this.”

Driving to work with a stranger? That seemed like a good idea to get murdered. 

“I don’t drive to work with strangers. I don’t even get into a car with strangers.” To be fair, you sounded like a little kid, reciting what their parents had told them about not leaving with strangers. 

“I always tell my daughter that as well. Don’t get into a car with someone you don’t know. Don’t talk to strangers.” The man gave you another shrug and then closed the hood of the car. “I’m Joel and what’s your name? Maybe we aren’t strangers anymore.” 

It was clever, you had to admit that. There was a silence resting between the two of you for a moment. Were you going to take the risk and let this stranger drive you to work? You had never heard of someone going missing in your town. You trusted most of the people here. 

“I’m Y/N. I could use a ride.”

That ride had changed your life. You couldn’t remember ever having a conversation as good as the one you had with Joel on your way to work. The fear of your boss even subsided with every new topic you two came up with. Everything seemed fine, even though nothing had been fine half an hour earlier. 

Numbers were exchanged, the first bricks were being set for something bigger. 

You were experiencing that ‘bigger’ thing now. 

Sarah was having a sleepover at a friend’s today, so Joel had invited you over to spend the night there. You didn’t move in together yet, it was still too early for that. You had talked about it already though, especially since it would also be a change for Sarah if you permanently moved in with them. 

You got along well with Sarah. Really well. You loved to watch shows and movies with her, bake with her or just play a board game or two. Every day spent with the girl was a great one and you started to see her like your own child with time. You hadn’t mentioned that to Joel yet though. Maybe your feelings were all over the place and it was way too early to say anything like that about his daughter. But one thing was sure – Sarah had a special place in your heart already.

Joel and you had agreed that you would pick up some food on your way to his house. He would come in late from work and wouldn’t have any time to cook, so you agreed on getting Chinese takeout. By the time you arrived at his home, his truck was already parked in front of the house, the lights from the kitchen shining into the front yard. A smile appeared on your lips as soon as you stopped your car and got the plastic bag from the back seat. 

After you rang the doorbell, it didn’t even take two minutes for Joel to appear in front of you. He leaned against the door slightly, grin on his face and joy in his eyes. You loved to see him like this. It was your favourite sight in the world, to be honest. 

He was wearing his sweat pants and a soft-looking blue sweater on top of it. Unlike your first meeting, his hands were clean except for a trace of what looked like pudding. He probably used the opportunity to enjoy some sweets for himself, now that Sarah was out for the night. 

“Already claimed the pudding from Monday?” You asked with a smile, feeling a warmth spread throughout your entire body. This felt like coming home. Arriving on his doorstep, being invited inside and exchanging a kiss or two on your way to the kitchen. All of this felt like coming home and not just visiting. Maybe one day this would be your home and you wouldn’t have to leave after the weekend. You didn’t say any of this out loud, but silently hoped that Joel maybe felt the same. Or thought about the same things, imagined them. 

“Of course I did. It knew it wouldn’t survive another day if I didn’t,” your boyfriend explained, a small laugh following his words. His laugh sounded like music in your ears, soothing you and relieving you of all the stress that followed you throughout the day. 

You took two plates out of the cupboard above the stove, moving your food from the takeout boxes to proper plates. “They didn’t have your favourite anymore, but I got whatever was closest to that,” you explained while also arranging some cutlery for you two. 

After moving everything to the small kitchen table, you sat down next to Joel. This specific chair had become your spot over the last few months. You would always sit here and whenever you weren’t there, no one else would sit in this spot. 

“I missed you,” Joel smiled at you, reaching over to briefly brush over the back of your hand with his thumb. It caused a tingling sensation to run through your entire arm. Every touch by him had this effect on you. Nothing had changed since your first date. All the feelings were still as intense, still coursing through your entire body. Joel occupied your mind for the whole day. 

“I missed you too. A lot,” you replied with a smile on your lips. 

While you two were talking about your day, eating your food and just enjoying the time together, you felt all the stress of the day falling from your shoulders. You started to feel relaxed, relieved to be here and just at home. Joel had become your home, just like Sarah had. There was no other place you’d rather be than here, at this small kitchen table, eating Chinese takeout before you would spend the night together on the couch, watching movies and chatting about your day. 

When you were both done with the food, you took both of your plates and put them into the dishwasher, together with the forks. Joel was walking around the kitchen behind you, getting out two wine glasses from a cup board and filling them with a red wine he had picked out earlier already. After work, he headed down into the basement and got out one of the good ones. Tommy had recently bought a whole box of very cheap red wine which did not taste good at all. Joel was sure he still had that taste in his mouth two days later – which was not a good sign. He wouldn’t let you drink that awful beverage. 

After filling both of the wine glasses, he put one down on the counter in front of you, before wrapping one arm lazily around your waist as he approached you from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, breath brushing past your neck and leaving a trail of goosebumps to run down your spine. His soft lips planted a feather-like kiss on your neck as he pressed himself closer against you, humming slightly. “I’m glad we’ve got a night alone here,” he whispered, his voice deep and raspy. 

You slowly picked up the glass in front of you, taking a sip from the very good wine. You could already feel yourself getting excited at the small touches Joel was offering. Your heartbeat was picking up and the smile couldn’t be brushed off your face anymore. “I’m glad about that too. Leaves us with a lot of time…” you replied, keeping your voice down and glancing over to where Joel was resting his head. 

His arm tightened around your waist, fingers spreading over your tummy as he pulled you against him. You could feel his chest pressing against your back, just like the beginning of his arousal could be felt against your butt.

He took another sip from his glass of wine, before placing it down on the counter, ready to give his full attention to you now. His other arm wrapped around you as well while he continued to plant kisses on your neck. He sometimes stayed for longer in the same spot, making sure to nib on the sensitive skin, maybe leaving the faintest bit of red. 

You finished your glass of wine in one go then, also disposing of it on the counter before you completely leaned into Joel’s touches and the way he was sending shivers through your body. You started to feel the wetness between your legs already when Joel was focusing on your neck. 

His fingers soon slipped under the waistband of your pants, eventually your panties as well. You let out a small gasp, but your hips moved forward to press against his touch. You wanted more. You needed more.

His middle finger found your clit quite easily, just slowly moving over it in circles. A shiver went through your legs, but Joel held you tightly against him as he continued to rub your clit slowly. You grew more and more wet, more and more desperate for his touch. For some kind of relief, especially when he started to move his finger faster and faster. 

His name fell of your lips in as gasp, a low chuckle coming from your boyfriend in response. “I think we should move to the couch, honey,” he suggested, slowly taking his hand out of your pants. “Then I can actually help you out.”

The thought alone sent another shiver down your spine. You loved to be intimate with Joel, loved how he made your entire body feel. You felt sexy, wanted, every time he put his hands on your body, every time he made love to you or just went to chase his own pleasure, just like you did. You worked perfectly together, being able to read the other at all times and knowing exactly what turned them on and what didn’t. 

Joel took your hand, guiding you back into the living room where he pulled the curtains shut and sat down on the left end of the couch. “Come here, love,” he smiled, patting his lap for a moment before you sat down and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could smell his cologne again, that wooden scent filling your nose, leaving a tingling sensation in your stomach. Your hands moved through his dark hair, gently tugging on it before you leant in for a kiss, Joel meeting you halfway. 

The kiss started out slow and sensual, but soon turned more demanding, craving more and more. Your hands slid down over his neck, nails lightly scratching over the skin there. Joel took a sharp breath in response, but you could feel him pulsate between your legs, moving your hips forward a bit to rub your middle against his arousal. A groan escaped Joel once more, his hands squeezing your hips. 

Your hands grabbed his collar and you helped him get rid of the sweater, carelessly throwing it to the ground. Your shirt soon followed, your partner’s lips attaching to your breasts. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, a moan escaping from your throat as he made his way down with his mouth, moving your bra aside to get to your nipple. He started to suck on it, tongue swirling around it as they started to get erect with arousal. Your hips continued to move against his, working the two of you up, even though you doubted his arousal could grow even more. 

Your name slipped past his lips, his deep voice being muffled by your breasts. “I love your tits,” he mumbled, giving your nipples more attention before he eventually let go of them and captured your lips with his own once more. The kiss was desperate, full of desire and his hands did quick work with your bra, tossing it to the ground next to the rest of your clothes. His eyes moved over your exposed chest, filling with desire as his hands wandered up your body once more, taking your breasts into his rough palms and kneading them gently. He knew exactly what he had to do to get you worked up through your just touching your breasts. 

One last kiss was planted to each breast before he grabbed your waist and laid down you down on the length of the couch, swiftly opening your pants and pulling them down your legs. His mouth found your belly, placing soft kisses there until it made its journey downwards, teeth pulling off your panties until you were completely naked in front of him. There was no sense of shame between you two anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel assured you which brought a smile to your lips and the heat into your cheeks. Your hand reached out to briefly brush over his beard while he leaned into your touch. Your gaze travelled over his bare chest, from the slight chest hair to his stomach, all the construction work having definitely left its mark. When you hand landed in his hair again, you tugged him closer, Joel manoeuvring to lay between your legs as you wrapped them around him. His erection was straining against his sweatpants as he pressed his hips against yours, so close to your wet core. Another moan escaped your lips, your body screaming for more of his touch. 

He rolled his hips against you once more, a groan coming from him as well. His hands travelled over your legs, giving your thighs a squeeze before he let go of you to strip his sweatpants down his legs. You watched him expose his strong legs as the sweatpants joined the pile of clothing on the floor. 

Joel directed his attention back at you when he started to kiss up your right leg, getting closer and closer to your middle, beard scraping against the insides of your thighs. His mouth eventually found your core, tongue brushing up all the way from your opening to your clit. That’s where he rested for a moment, tongue flicking against your sensitive nub, waves of pleasure rolling over your body. His arms wrapped around your thighs, holding them apart as he started to move his tongue in circles around your clit. 

You couldn’t hold back the moans coming from your lips and you also didn’t want to. He deserved to know how good he made you feel. Your hips moved up in a desperate manner to meet his touches, meet his tongue as it brought you pleasure over and over again. Joel wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly, his eyes glancing up to meet yours. 

Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging on it, holding onto it as the pleasure increased and increased, pushing you further to that cliff you were almost ready to tumble down. “Feels so good,” you murmured and it made Joel flick his tongue over your clit even faster. A tension was building up in your abdomen, getting stronger and stronger with each wave that ran through your body. 

Joel closed his lips around your clit again, sucking on it, giving you the last push over the edge. Your orgasm came in one strong wave at first, hips buckling up, his name slipping past your lips and moans following as the pleasure continued to course through you. A layer of sweat was building up on your forehead, your breathing getting faster as you continued to dwell in the pleasure. 

“Oh, I love the sounds you make when you cum for me,” he whispered into your ear, giving you a quick kiss to your lips before he got rid of his boxers finally. 

Joel leaned down to give you another kiss, his tongue brushing over your lips while he pressed himself against you, his cock applying slight pressure to your clit again. It made your legs shiver, that small contact, still sensitive from your first climax. 

His hands gently spread your legs apart a bit further before he aligned himself with your middle, eventually filling you completely. A moan came from both of you, your hands looking for something to hold onto, eventually finding his shoulders. You got a got hold of them when Joel started to move his hips against yours, starting out with slow and sensual thrusts. 

You felt so close to him in that moment, as close as you could physically be, but also mentally. His lips found yours again, putting all his adoration into it as he rolled his hips against yours. You moaned into his mouth every now and then, your hold on him getting tighter as soon as he started to thrust a bit harder. Groans slipped past his lips as well, a sign of his arousal and how much he liked being buried deep inside you. 

“You feel so good,” he whispered into your ear, his teeth getting a hold of your earlobe while his hips started to move faster, his thrusts picking up speed as well. 

The contact with his teeth was sending shivers down your spine while the tension in your abdomen continued to build once more. It was getting stronger and stronger, with each thrust, with each time you could feel him deep inside you. 

Joel let out another groan, so close to your ear, and you could tell he was getting closer to, his thrusts shaking your entire body. He was starting to chase his own climax, getting closer and closer. His hand found your hair and he tugged you a bit closer to him, to kiss you, to press you close against him while he continued to pound into you. 

All you could hear were your mutual moans, his groans and the sound of skin slapping against skin. You could smell his cologne so close to you, could feel his hot skin pressed against yours as he seemed to approach his climax, dragging you right with him. 

“I’m so close, baby,” he announced, hands gripping your hips as he focused on his last thrusts, making them slow, but hard. 

It was enough for you to reach your high as well. His thrusts send you over the edge, the grip on your hips pulled you closer and you could feel him pulsate inside you as he came and filled you up. A loud moan escaped your throat, your back slightly arching when all that pleasure came over you in a strong wave. Your legs shivered, your hands desperately held onto Joel’s back and his chest was pressed close against yours by the time his climax also faded away in waves. 

When your lips met again, the kiss was gentle, soft, while still being as close to each other as possible. Love confessions were exchanged between breaths, his lips left a few additional kisses on your neck before he eventually pulled out of you, gathering his boxer shorts from the ground and looking for some tissues to clean you up a bit. 

After making sure you were cleaned again, he offered you his hand to help you off the couch. “You know, a shower sounds wonderful right now. Together?” He suggested, pulling your naked body close as soon as you were standing on your feet again. “A shower together always sounds great,” you agreed with a smile on your lips. 

Your legs still felt a bit weak, your body still in a state of bliss, especially when you were pressed against him, arms wrapping around his torso. “Shower it is then,” he confirmed once more, before he picked you up like a bride, carrying you to the bathroom. 

You loved to shower with Joel. It was peaceful and a way to enjoy some intimacy that didn’t involve any actual sex. You both always took the time to wash each other’s hair, to cover the other person in shampoo and give them a good massage every now and then. You exchanged soft kisses, giggles whenever some water dripped into your eyes.

He turned the shower on, waiting a bit and then eventually checking the temperature to see if you two could go inside. When he was sure that it was warm enough, but not too hot, he got rid of his boxers again, but letting you go in first. He followed close after, pulling the shower curtain shut and eventually pulling you in close to himself. 

His hands found your waist, his right hand moving further back to rest against the small of your back. He leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss again and a smile rested on your face when he let go again. You felt loved, cared for. You knew Joel would always look after you and you would always look after him. 

His fingers moved over your cheek, eventually taking your chin between two fingers and gently caressing it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You were sure that nothing could ever separate you. You would go to the end of the world with him and maybe one day, you two would also live together. You could watch Sarah grow up and grow old with Joel. 

This was everything you had ever wanted. Just live a peaceful life with him, wake up next to him every day and knowing that this was exactly the place you were supposed to be. You were meant to be here, with him and his daughter. 

Maybe you had already known the day your car broke down and you chose to take the ride offered to you. 

And what a ride it would still be in the future. 

If you want to be added to a taglist, send me a quick ask over here!

[lorimay2862]

Twin-Cuisine Technology: Mastering the Art of Dual-Basket Air Frying

In the realm of modern kitchen appliances, the dual air fryer stands out as a revolutionary tool. With its unique twin-basket design, this appliance offers unparalleled convenience and versatility, making it a must-have for any home chef.

What is a Dual Air Fryer?

A dual air fryer is an advanced version of the traditional air fryer, featuring two separate cooking baskets. This allows users to cook two different dishes simultaneously, saving time and energy. Imagine preparing crispy chicken wings in one basket while roasting vegetables in the other—without any flavor crossover.

Key Features of Dual Air Fryers

"The dual air fryer is designed to enhance your cooking experience by providing flexibility and efficiency."

Separate Cooking Zones: Each basket operates independently, allowing for different cooking times and temperatures.

Large Capacity: Ideal for families, dual air fryers can handle larger quantities of food.

Energy Efficiency: Cook multiple dishes at once, reducing overall cooking time and energy consumption.

Versatility: From frying and roasting to baking and grilling, the dual air fryer can do it all.

Benefits of Using a Dual Air Fryer

Why should you consider adding a dual air fryer to your kitchen arsenal? Here are some compelling reasons:

Time-Saving: Cook two dishes simultaneously, cutting your meal preparation time in half.Healthier Meals: Enjoy your favorite fried foods with up to 75% less fat.

Convenience: With pre-set cooking functions, making a variety of dishes is a breeze.

Easy Cleanup: Most dual air fryers come with dishwasher-safe baskets and accessories.

Popular Dual Air Fryer Models

Several brands offer high-quality dual air fryers. One notable example is the Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, known for its versatility and user-friendly features.

How to Use a Dual Air Fryer

Using a dual air fryer is straightforward, but here are some tips to get the most out of your appliance:

Preheat: Preheating ensures even cooking and optimal results.

Use the Right Temperature: Different foods require different temperatures. Refer to the user manual for guidelines.

Shake the Basket: For even cooking, shake the basket halfway through the cooking process.

Experiment: Don't be afraid to try new recipes and cooking techniques.

Maintaining Your Dual Air Fryer

Proper maintenance can extend the life of your dual air fryer. Here are some tips:

Regular Cleaning: Clean the baskets and accessories after each use to prevent buildup.

Check for Wear and Tear: Inspect the appliance regularly for any signs of damage.

Store Properly: When not in use, store your dual air fryer in a cool, dry place.

Conclusion

The dual air fryer is more than just a kitchen gadget; it's a game-changer. Whether you're a busy parent, a health-conscious individual, or someone who loves to cook, this appliance offers something for everyone. With its twin-basket design, versatile cooking options, and user-friendly features, the dual air fryer is set to become a staple in modern kitchens worldwide.

For more information on dual air fryers, check out this highly-rated model.

About Toshiba

Toshiba is a well-known brand in the home appliances industry, offering innovative and versatile products designed to make your life easier. One of their popular products is the Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, which features 8 cooking functions, Fuzzy Logic Technology, and a 24-hour delay timer.

For more information on Toshiba's range of products, visit their official website.

Additional Resources

Understanding Air Fryers

Toshiba Small Rice Cooker

[spacemilkies]

stress management

pairing: könig x reader

rqt: [] yes [x] no

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i promised to write about this fandom ages ago but got distracted as usual. but hey, can we talk about this new autosave feature. saved a life today.

synopsis: könig knows how to fix a very bad, no good day

warnings: on the job stress. fingering. könig is a literally a king

if he knows one thing, könig knows a lot about hard limits. he grew up on the cusp surviving the severity of emotional cruelty at a young age. so he, subjectively, knew better than anyone the signs of a very bad, no good day. 

he was pre-warned throughout the day by both colleagues and indirectly yourself. his off-days were few and far between and rarely matched with yours, so he spent the first three hours straightening up the flat when he got the text about the surprise inspection.

 being part of the special forces did not excuse unscheduled routine checks and more often than not it never failed to catch soldiers off guard. he was one of those, metaphorically caught with his pants below the knees more than once. the job came with many expectations, it was impossible to keep up with them all.

but you. 

you were a perfectionist, priding yourself with promptness and precision. as a weapons specialist, your caches were always primed and ready. you were so particular, it had become normal for you to customize specific loadouts for different teams and specializations. each freight equipped with situation fixed accessories and artillery. 

it set you up for a lot of success but equally as much failure on the wrong day. 

the warning came from fender, the demolitionist expert whom praised you as his saving grace on more than one occasion. könig trusted him to watch your back in the field in his absence, the tacked on friendship came later after the result of too many beers and a local football match. 

you valued all your loadouts, but there were a few that picked up dust. the speciality meant that you catered to all factions, but lately kortac favored tactical contestation over free-roam agency. a forgotten division that apparently took precedence today, and unfortunately you off guard.

there was no telling the severity of the reprimand, for something as simple as a short bullet count could count towards you. but he knew your reliability favored higher than the marks. it wouldn't stain your record, but it would certainly ruin your day. 

könig had given you an hour after receiving the news to see if you would seek him out. he had no doubt that you would spend the rest of the day clearing and taking inventory of every cache on deck and likely recalling some others. when it became apparent that you weren't in the mood for comfort, he decided to strategize another approach.

it became increasingly apparent just how much the failed inspection wore down on you when you arrive home in a /mood. könig was ready, however, alerted by the pointed click of the front door closing. 

he’s a picture of openness, relaxed comfortably against the wall adjoining the kitchen and the hall as you kick away your shoes and stack them neatly at the door. he always finds it adorable how your persistence to structure is retained regardless of any emotion. it’s what makes you so good at your job and so proud. 

könig knows though, that now is not the time to mention work, instead opting to great you with his usual kiss and squeeze at the waist. you never withhold affection when it comes to external factors, though your reciprocation is a muted affair. 

könig matches your reservation at first, cataloging your stiff posture and rigid movements. he can see the tension taut in every muscle of your body, more obvious in the way you handle appliances and when your back is turned to him.

he knows you’re not yet ready to talk about it, so he offers peace another route, attentive to your reaction as he slides against you from behind. between the two of you, it’s difficult to catch one another off guard with your actions, on the job training making it imperative to be cognitive of your surrounds. 

so he’s assured that his approach is consented if not yet wholly welcomed as his fingers deftly unravel your hand from whatever you have in your grasp. könig is aware that he has a lot of ground to cover in the short range of your allowance before you catch on. he swallows your instinctive complaint, coaxing you into a rhythm of lips and tongue distinctive to your relationship. 

it’s a difficult angle for him to kiss, and likely stiff your neck to meet him over your shoulder due to his height, but it’s a perfect way to keep you secure. with the right tactic, he only needs a few minutes to effectively bring you down a few notches.

he loves when you curl beautifully into his touch, the role of a nurturer falling seamlessly into his palms when you allow yourself to be pliable like this. the two of you share the role, knowing when taking the mantle is necessary. könig has never let his size dictate a relationship, preferring to rely on healthy communication to assign what was needed in any giving situation.

you gasp into his mouth when his knuckles first brush against heat of your sex beneath your pants. the way you immediately latch onto the gesture and draw your hips away from the counter in invitation, give him all the approval he needs to make quick work of your fastenings. 

he planed for it all to be hasty but thorough. just enough to workout the initial frustrations before offering you the soundbox and a meal. he knew from experience that not all things could be talked out, but effective comfort could come from other gestures of affection. if all you wanted was an orgasm and hot shower, he’d pluck your strings until only he could keep you upright then carry you to the bath himself.

könig moves the articles of clothing out of place rather than pulling them down, easily finding the elastic at your inner thigh and slipping his fingers underneath. he is ready when your knees go weak, his free arm holding you at the waist as he slides a digit into the stretch of your body. you’re no longer invested in his offered kiss, so he pulls away in favor of blooming small red blossoms against the skin of your throat as his thumb strokes your pearl with each punctuated nip of his teeth.

the rate at which you wet his fingers only strengthens his decision to go down this route as he adds another finger to your weeping entrance, teasing them into a slow thrust that already has you tightening in anticipation. the hidden danger of a calculating mind gave way for perceptiveness to detail as he stroked your most sensitive walls with practiced ease.

the flat of his tongue traces the line of your jaw, the even exhale through his nose leaving a slight chill against the dampness left behind. “no matter what sours your day, i will be here to make it better,” he promises against your ear.

he’s aware that he makes it impossible for you to reply, but it’s intentional. for now he just wants you to feel— soak in all his love and adoration until is washes away everything on the opposite side of the threshold of the door. 

your head drops back against his shoulder, as your hips undulate with the rise of your toes as you attempt to meet him on each upward drive you’re sure the roses he’s littered against the column of your throat have brightened under the heat of your flush, projecting as beacon of your obvious pleasure. 

any thoughts of returning the favor are effectively cut off by a twist of his wrist as the calloused pads of his fingers create friction with a bundle of nerves. 

it’s tacky and slick as he glides through your passage. a particular angle brings him knuckle deep, as his thumb continues to rotate in circles without rest. you’re well gone by this point but he exhausts the point by crooking his touch inward to produce white spots in your vision as your eyes flutter shut. your body trembles with the effort of wading through the anticipation as pleasure coils in your stomach and radiates to pressure at the base of your spine.

somehow your threshold allows you to pinpoint the roundness of his nose as it meets the crown of your head. the tone of his voice dropping as his fingers widen to spread you open to his touch,” let go, little maus.”

and you follow the command like a wave pulling you to the sea, the sensations lapping over you in a consistent current. könig remains insistent, blunt nail scraping hypersensitive tissue until you squirm. he hums a note of satisfaction as you squeeze one last time before going limp in his hold.

you inhale sharply when his touch leaves you, but voice no complaint when soiled his fingers run excessively over your thighs to get rid of some of your release still clinging to them.

his lips return to your hairline, and there’s a delay before you realize the movement is intended to form words.

“…now then, tell me about your day.”

you can 100% send me your thots on this man. i can go on for days

[homeinspectorclayton]

Now Home inspection negotiations are so effective

Now Home inspection negotiations are so effective? Buying a home is one of the most significant investments most people will make in their lifetime. As part of the home buying process, a home inspection is crucial. It helps in determining the property’s condition. It also identifies any potential issues. However, what happens after the inspection? Now Home inspection negotiations are so…

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3792

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con bordering on non-con, ignoring of sexual boundaries

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

A.N.: The embedded music is a fond suggestion from the author: it fits the mood of the chapter sooo perfectly (... and I'm a nerd for some Duran Duran)

6. Main Course

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Steve takes the steps downward, nervous though he’s not sure why. “James?” he says quietly, but receives no answer.

James had said the basement was a dank storage space, but it’s not.

Steve, barefoot, goes down the curved staircase, running his hand along the rough hewn rock walls. It’s reminiscent of a dungeon, only prettier, more like a spa. A spa-dungeon, Steve thinks, lips quirking. He knows he shouldn’t be in the basement, knows it’s rude to go walking around James’ house uninvited. But he’s already down here so he might as well have a look. It’s pretty clear by now that the basement is meticulously designed. The materials are dark but beautiful, the dim uplighting along the walls making it feel kind of spooky.

There’s a hallway that curves, and Steve walks, eyes flicking around. “Hello?” he says again, but receives no answer. Abruptly, he comes upon a room on the right that’s brightly lit. Steve blinks, shocked. It’s… it’s an operating room. He doesn’t know why, but something about seeing it there makes dread well in his gut. Why would James have a surgery room set up in his basement?

Why did he lie about it?

Everything looks perfectly clean and sanitized, new and shiny like it’s never been used. There’s a bare operating table and big surgical lamps shining down on it. Steve swallows as his eyes land on one of the rolling metal trays, lined with pristine rows of surgical tools that look downright menacing. He tears his eyes away, feeling uneasy.

Maybe James takes patients at home—people who want privacy away from a public hospital? Celebrities maybe? Or maybe James does facial surgeries on people in the witness protection program, he thinks wildly.

Steve knows how absurd that sounds. He really can’t think of a realistic reason why James would have an operating room set up in his basement. And he can’t make sense of why he’d lie about it. “...James?” he says again, only this time he’s whispered it, unsure if he wants to run into James down here after all.

Scared, he keeps walking down the hall, which keeps curving. There’s a metal panel on the wall that he comes to, and after a brief inspection he sees that it’s the other end of the dumbwaiter that goes up to the kitchen. Steve shuts the panel and walks further. His heart rate picks up when he sees the first of the rooms. They’re on the outer wall of the circle. They’re cells, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that much. Steve stands at the entrance to one and starts breathing rapidly as he takes in the bare room, the mattress, the prison-grade toilet-sink in the corner.

The chain and leather shackle bolted into the floor.

He backs out of the room, terrified. “What the fuck,” he exhales shakily. He starts walking down the hallway faster, eager to get out of there. He passes four more cells, identical to the first. Multiple cells in the basement. Lies. James lied to him!

It’s terrifying, but Steve’s mind is still trying to offer something up, trying to rationalize it. Maybe it’s a kink thing, he thinks desperately. Maybe people pay money for James to lock them up and dominate them. Maybe James shoots porn down here or maybe—

He comes to the last cell and, unlike the others, this one’s sliding door is closed. And there’s someone, or something, in there. “Oh my god,” he whispers, looking through the wooden slats of the door. He knows it’s horribly wrong, even before his mind makes sense of what he’s seeing. It’s a woman, Steve can see her face. She’s laying on the mattress on her back, body under a thin blanket. But something’s wrong. Steve blinks. The lump under the blanket is too small, he realizes. It should be … it should be bigger. There should be more, where her arms and legs are.

A wave of nausea overcomes him and he slaps his hand over his mouth, gasping. The woman in the cell whips her head towards Steve. The too-small lump under the blanket moves. Steve whimpers, his vision tunneling. “No,” he squeaks. “No, no.”

“Help me,” the woman says, staring right at him. “Please. Kill me.”

Steve thinks he might vomit.

Bucky hoses the debris off his tools at the barn’s spigot, then hangs them neatly back in their places. He sighs, feeling tired. Harvesting is a workout all on its own, but he’s not going to use that as an excuse to skip his run. That’d just be lazy.

So he puts the product in a Cambro with a lid and sends it down in the barn’s dumbwaiter to freeze. He hangs up his apron and face shield, takes off the rubber coveralls and gloves and slips his sneakers back on. Outside the barn, he starts into a series of high knees and plank jacks to get his muscles warming up.

His usual path takes him around the edge of the forest that lines his property. He jogs, inhaling the wet, crisp air of the early morning. His feet pound against the grass and patches of packed earth. Running has always been relaxing for Bucky, and as he jogs he finds himself reflecting on the last two weeks; how well things have been going, both with Steve and with the business. He grins as he jogs, happier than he can remember being in a long time.

Two weeks earlier:

Bucky purchases the package of venison, then walks out of the store and chucks it in one of the parking lot trash cans. He waits in a dark corner alongside the building until he sees the guy—Steve—leave with his bag of groceries. Bucky watches fondly as he disappears from sight.

Bucky makes a mental note to text him.

Then he remembers his mission and he goes back into the store. Eileen is still on aisle six, muttering at the junk food options, trying to talk herself down from a potato chip cliff, apparently. She winds up putting three different types in the cart. Bucky rolls his eyes at her lack of self-control. Pathetic.

He follows her out to the parking lot, where she gets into her car. Bucky knows the routine by now. This is the Ex’s weekend with the kid, so Bucky knows she’ll be alone. She’ll stop at the liquor store, then drive home to her shitty walk-up in Vinegar Hill, get drunk watching The Real HouseWives of Somewhere-or-other, passing out sometime around one am.

“Good girl,” he mutters through the binoculars, when her eyes close right on schedule. Bucky watches from his spot across the street, waiting until she’s been out for a full forty minutes before he goes to get her. He stares at her where she’s slumped on the couch, mouth open as she snores, potato chip crumbs on her shirt. Slob.

She’s his preferred stock—heavyset but short. Plenty of product in a compact package. And already unconscious for him as well? Talk about a sitting duck. It means she’s easy to chloroform, and not too hard to manage with the hand truck and plastic storage bin he puts her in. He takes a moment to find a few items worth pilfering: lingerie, some cheap jewelry, an old photo album—things the clients will appreciate in their care packages. After all, Bucky isn’t just some vulgar meat man. He’s a cuisinier; he sells the whole experience. The various accessories get chucked on top of Eileen in the bin. He clips the lid on securely with a giddy spring to his step, thinking of the cute guy he’d met at the grocery store. Steve. Bucky’s lips twitch as he remembers the guy’s pink rainboots. “Cute,” he murmurs, hefting the hand truck onto its wheels and pushing out the door.

Eileen’s apartment is barely furnished, let alone equipped with any sort of a security system. And the neighborhood outside is equally as rough. Last week’s reconnaissance had revealed cameras at the corner ATM, but nowhere else. Nobody bothers him as he loads the bin into his car and drives off.

It’s a long drive out to the house, and she starts making noises from the back after the first hour or so. Bucky pulls into a rest stop and grabs another drugged gauze. He opens the car’s rear door and removes the lid to the bin. Puffy, confused eyes blink up at him. “Wassit?!” she squeals, squirming around like a big fish in a little bucket.

“Comfy?” Bucky asks. Eileen frowns and cries out, and Bucky sighs. He leans over and holds the cloth over her mouth and nose until she goes limp again. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, clipping the lid back onto the bin and returning to the driver’s seat. “We’ll be there soon.”

He imagines her ex coming by for the custody swap on Sunday evening, imagines the face of Eileen’s seven year old daughter as she realizes that she won’t have to go back into that filthy apartment again, with her filthy mother and her mother’s filthy boyfriend. The thought of how happy he’s about to make that little girl makes Bucky feel like a million bucks.

Eileen, chunky monkey that she is, makes him feel like a mil point two.

💬James: Hey you. I’ve got a red eye out tonight. Doing some consulting work outta state. I might not be very reachable for a few days. But I’ll text you when I get back, maybe we can grab lunch or something.

🗨️Steve: Okay! Sounds good. Have a fun trip!

The kid’s enthusiasm makes Bucky smile. He texts back that it’s just work, but he’ll try to enjoy it where he can.

He closes out the screen and sets his phone onto the kitchen counter. He sends one lunch tray down in the dumbwaiter and carries the other himself. It’s Eileen’s sixth day, Melissa’s fifty-sixth.

Melissa’s gone kind of nuts, now, which Bucky finds vaguely amusing, vaguely sad, and probably in the poor girl’s best interest. It’s her mind protecting her from what she can’t handle. It’s merciful.

And Melissa’s a walk in the park compared to Eileen, who is progressing rather typically, and is still in the Anger stage. But Bucky expects she’ll make the transition to Bargaining soon, promising Bucky her silence, her cooperation, money, sex; anything if he’ll let her go. Bucky understands. He doesn’t judge them for it, pathetic as it is.

The first surgery tends to be the hardest for them, psychologically, no matter which part he chooses to harvest. He prefers to start with a leaner cut like the forearm, since they’re still pretty stressed out at that point and he’s found that fear seeps into and taints the fatty cuts of meat the most. Better to save those for once they’ve calmed down and accepted their fate.

“Meh-liss-aah,” he sing-songs to her as he passes her room, hearing her answering giggle. “How you doing, silly goose?”

Melissa babbles out some sort of answer, and he tells her she’s a good girl, he’ll come feed her her lunch in a bit (she’s 0 for 2 in the arms department these days). Bucky didn’t used to be so nice to her. Like all of his girls, she’d fallen into his hands because he’d found some very damning public records. Melissa used to like to do drugs, and it didn’t matter to her whether she was pregnant at the time or not. She’d given birth to multiple babies—disabled and addicted to crack or whatever other drug of choice she was on at that time.

Bucky’s relationship with her has only gotten friendly since she started talking to the walls, hearing colors and smelling shapes and all that shit. Bucky can’t bring himself to pick on an insane person.

Eileen is in the farthest of the six cells. Bucky’s never had more than four people in stock at once, but he’d been feeling very entrepreneurial when he was designing the basement. The rooms are meticulous, designed to prevent any possibility of escape or self harm. They’re spacious, plain, easy to clean. The only difference between them is that each room has a large feature wall depicting some sort of scenery. One’s a fish tank, one’s a forest. Melissa is in the sunset room and Eileen has the beach.

He finds her sitting on her mattress, leaning against the wall and staring towards the beach, but her gaze sharpens when he slides the door open. “Hi,” he says, taking a few steps into the room. He’s standing outside of her reach, having long ago memorized the radius that the restraints allow his captives. He sets the tray of food down in the safety zone and watches her look at it. “Fettucini alfredo, broccolini, side salad, tiramisu,” he says calmly. He never tries to feed them meat, that’s too much of a mindfuck, even for him. “And your pills,” he adds, seeing her eyes fixating on the little cup of capsules and tablets next to the water cup. Eileen sneers and turns her head away. “No.”

Bucky hums. “If you don’t eat and take your pills, I cut off your pain meds.” She inhales sharply and whips her head back to gape at him. Bucky nods. “You must be hurting by now. You didn’t take your afternoon dose.”

“I don’t need it,” she says.

“Liar.” Bucky toes the tray further across the carpet, into the range where Eileen can reach it, if she wants to. “Take your pills.” There are antibiotics, blood thinners and vitamins that he needs her to take. “And eat. Then I’ll give you your morphine.”

It’s rare that a captive doesn’t press the button every chance they get; like a little, addicted rat in a cage. The button triggers a dispenser to drop their pain pills down into a receptacle in the wall. Bucky’s got the system rigged to allow a customizable amount for each individual, depending on where they are in their process. Right now he’s allowing Eileen a decent dose every three to four hours—she’s only two days out from her first surgery, after all.

Bucky eyes the dressings on the stump at her left elbow. It looks clean enough, but he’ll have to change it soon. It’s just good practice. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she mutters darkly, and Bucky knows she’s imagining a multitude of ways to murder him.

Not to Bargaining quite yet, then. He sighs, watching her and thinking that he really wants to get back to New York to see Steve. He doesn’t mind his work here, enjoys it even, depending on the personalities of who he’s got in rotation. But the excitement of a new relationship is headier than he remembers it ever being before. He likes Steve, and he feels giddy whenever he thinks about the possibility of this maybe going somewhere, maybe going all the way. Steve has made him realize how lonely he’s been these past few years. Bucky thinks of maybe telling Steve, someday; of getting to share that with him. It’s Bucky’s ultimate fantasy.

His attention returns to Eileen. He looks her over critically, thinking that maybe he’ll just do a chop and freeze, make a bunch of meatballs. It’s not his preference, of course. He can usually take his time, lovingly harvesting half a limb every three weeks or so and mailing it off: expertly prepped and with gourmet recipes and serving suggestions. The clients pay almost double for fresh meat, and they like knowing that the woman they’re eating is still alive, that the woman they’re eating knows that they’re eating her. And Bucky’s a damn good surgeon. He prides himself in being able to take all the limbs, plus either the ass or the breasts, before the final harvest is required. But if he’s going to be starting a relationship—a real one, this time—then he’d prefer not to have to drive out here to the house every other day. What a pain in the butt.

He watches as Eileen gets to the tray and starts eating the pasta. She tosses back the pills and Bucky hums, pleased. “Good girl.”

“Fuck you.” She skips the veggies and starts eating the tiramisu. “You can eat shit and die,” she mutters.

Bucky’s lips quirk. He moves for the door, thinking that he might just do an accelerated slaughter, after all. Most of the meat will have to be kept frozen, and the clients won’t pay as much. But Bucky will eat the loss. He doesn’t mind meatballs.

And besides, Steve’s worth it.

Bucky doesn’t usually keep live product for long; not once the final limb is harvested. It’s cruel, he thinks, to leave a stump of a person laying on a mattress, stewing in their own misery and unable to scratch a damn itch on their nose. Often, he even gives them a choice when they’re being put under for that last thigh or upper arm: Do they want him to just finish them on the table this time? Many of them say yes please, and if Bucky’s at all pitying, he honors their wishes and they never wake up again.

Bucky’s got no such sympathy for a woman who turns a blind eye to her disgusting boyfriend raping her seven-year-old daughter. He’d discovered her special case in the public records database a few months ago. So no, he hadn’t done a quick chop and freeze on her, but he had taken all her limbs in one fell swoop. Watching the look on her face when she came to in her cell and realized what he’d done was priceless. Bucky almost regrets not taping it. He thinks that maybe Eileen’s daughter might’ve liked to see it, one day. Eileen can stew a little longer, he decides vindictively. She’s currently a legless, armless, breastless stump, dwindling away in her room until Bucky gets an order in for organ meat or short ribs.

Bucky is a very thorough person. The basement is meticulously designed to conceal everything that goes on down there, so Bucky’s not really worried at all about bringing Steve to the house for the weekend. The door will be locked and Steve and he will have a great time.

Bucky doesn’t make mistakes like leaving the door unlocked. He just doesn’t.

Until he does, and it makes everything come crumbling down.

It’s the second morning of their trip. Bucky’s already harvested Melissa, but he gets up early to take Eileen her food and meds. He finishes up with her and then heads out for the run that he told a barely-awake Steve he was going for. The dew on the grass outside soaks his sneakers, and he feels invigorated by the time he returns through the front door. He toes his sneakers off and pads into the kitchen in his socks. The tea kettle is rattling and whistling on the stovetop. He frowns, grabbing a potholder and moving it off the flame. He looks around for Steve, confused.

And then his eyes land on the basement door. It’s halfway open. No. Oh please, God, no.

His heart feels like it stops in his chest and he could almost cry, because he knows Steve is down there, and he’d really wanted to keep Steve. …He’s kind of been falling for him. “Fuck,” he hisses, wanting to punch the wall. Wanting to punch himself. “Fuck, God, fuck!”

He knows what he has to do, but it’s heartbreaking. It enrages him. He doesn’t want to lose someone else he cares about to this. How could he have left that fucking door open! He yanks angrily at his own hair, then makes up his mind. He has to fix this. He has no choice. Inhaling deeply, he goes and retrieves a syringe from his med kit. He draws up enough of a sedative and caps it. Trying to gather his courage, Bucky steps through the basement doorway, shutting and locking the door behind him. He walks down the stairs, guts crawling with regret and sorrow and dread.

It’s quiet downstairs. Bucky had just finished cycling through two chop and freezes in preparation for Steve’s visit. He’d intended to finish Eileen next week, after his and Steve’s weekend trip was over. Bucky inhales deeply, steeling himself for what he knows he’s going to find. The basement is laid out in a pattern like a conch shell: the hallway spiraling in and in until finishing at a dead end.

His footsteps are silent in his socks, and he passes the operating room, the walk-in freezer and three of the newly-sanitized cells. Steve is standing at the last cell, peering in through the wooden slats. Bucky sighs, so incredibly disappointed. “Oh, Steve,” he bemoans, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin as he cries out and whirls around. Bucky shakes his head sadly. “Why’d you have to come down here, honey? I had such high hopes for us.”

Steve makes an animal sound, desperate and panicked, and he runs away from Bucky. He’s running in the direction of the center of the spiral, unaware that it’s a dead end he’s headed for. Bucky sighs and uncaps the syringe he’s brought. “Stevie? C’mere, baby.” He walks in the direction Steve went. He finds him at the wall, trapped and crouching down low. Bucky’s heart clenches. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he says. “I didn’t want it to go like this. I wanted to—”

Steve screams and charges him, wild and fast. He breaks past Bucky, surprising him so much that he actually laughs in disbelief. He starts off in the direction Steve ran. “Steve,” he warns calmly. “There’s no way out of here, honey. Why don’t you stop running and we can talk? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He finds him at the very top of the stairs, yanking and jiggling the doorknob in frantic desperation. Bucky hates to see him so terrified. “Steve, I’m not gonna hurt you. C’mere.”

Steve has nowhere to go, and Bucky is able to close in on him. He doesn’t let him see the needle, just pulls him in against his body and hugs him tightly. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers into his hair. Steve is whining and fighting, but it dies down quickly once Bucky jabs him with the needle. “Shh sh sh,” Bucky hushes him, holding more and more of his slight weight as he loses lucidity.

“James?” he asks weakly, sounding so confused that it just feels like a punch to Bucky’s heart. There are tears in Steve’s eyes, and Bucky starts to cry, too. He didn’t want it to be like this. Not again.

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[ominoose]

Do you have any headcanons about Kane/Shimmer! Kane?

Can't believe I'm getting asked this ahh thank you so much 😭 Some of this is inspired by the books, some are just from my gut.

Kane:

He grew up in Tennessee, lived in a small town. His goal growing up was to help people, always admiring the aesthetic and way military men held themselves.

A secret ambivert. Outwardly he is very extroverted, always wanting to mess around with friends, permanently down to go out drinking with his friends whenever the offer is thrown around. Kane could carry a conversation with anyone, be it a complete stranger or the shyest person on earth.

Behind closed doors, besides people he feels truly comfortable with, he's absolutely content with silence. He doesn't come across as a bookworm, but he is when he has a quiet moment to just enjoy a bit of text. Usually its nerdy sci-fi, probably some Star Wars too.

Secretly loves building Legos. He's a man that likes to occupy his hands, traditionally he'd fix up cars but secretly when no one's home he'll pull out a lego set and get to work.

Kane can fall asleep anywhere and everywhere in two seconds flat. The moment he closes his eyes and puts his head down with the intention to sleep, he's dead to the world. Could also sleep through a bomb, but his body seems to sense when somethings amiss and wakes him up.

His love for the ocean came from being pent up in his small home town, partially related to his need to join the military growing up, he wants to travel. Growing up in the same four walls, the same school, the same houses surrounding him, the same trees and yellow corn for miles made him want something new. In the ocean, there's an absence of anything but water and sky. It's simple, not in the complicated small town way, but in the way that lets the mind go where it wants.

Shimmer Kane:

He doesn't have many actual memories of people he'd known when he comes home, only an instinct. There was a pull towards his partner, in his gut, his heart, his mind. It's almost this primal, caveman urge to protect and maintain the person.

Sometimes he's normal with life, sometimes he is genuinely like an alien that's discovered something new out of the mundane. He knows what a fork is, but when he first held a spoon he held it up and inspected it for a few minutes.

Still enjoys lego sets. Instead of sitting down with them, face scrunched, humming or even cursing when he messes something up as he used to, Kane's quiet now. He sits silently, methodologically putting pieces together, face completely blank. If you asked he wouldn't be able to explain exactly why he feels pulled to it, but its the closest thing he can attribute to comfort.

Similarly, he could stare at the sea for hours. Usually Kane now only his very muted feelings about anything, be it memories, people, places, colours, foods, weather, etc. When staring at the sea, those feelings become more colourful, more saturated, more life like. On occasion it even takes on pictures.

This Kane is aware he is not the original Kane, but isn't sure what that entails. Is he a clone? Is he something mimicking the first Kane, and if so why? Is he from this earth or whatever spawned from the meteor that hit it, or both? Is he an individual, his own man, being, or is he confined to whatever made the first Kane, Kane?

The thoughts plague him, driving him close to frustration. It's like a permanent filter over every thought or action he takes. The constant need to analyze himself and the world around him in relation to the man before him almost makes him self concious, not that he would recognise such an emotion.

Deep down, not only does he crave security of self, he craves acceptance. I wouldn't say he's aware of this, he's pre-occupied with just being, with observing the world around him. Kane doesn't put words to feelings, not even sure whether he feels or not. But if his partner or a close friend from Kanes past or even someone new that's aware of his situation explicitly and openly accepted the new Kane as an individual, he'd unknowingly cling to them.

[lordgrimwing]

Food #03

‘No people-food for Gilly’ was the byword for the Marillion family as of late.

Gilly (short for ‘High King Gil-galad, Uniter of Peoples, Ender of Wars’) was the family cat. Solid grey, with short whiskers and a long tail, the diminutive cat quickly wound her way into their home and hearts when Celebrían bought her from the city animal shelter. She was well into middle age now, and at their last check-up, the veterinarian strongly recommended getting her to lose weight.

They got a prescription for special food to help with that and the whole family sat down one evening to draw out a feeding plan. Everyone promised to follow the plan and check the feeding chart taped above her food dish to make sure she wasn’t overfed because multiple people thought she still needed dinner. 

Gilly was, needless to say, not happy with the new world order. She meowed at the dinner table. She meowed in the middle of the kitchen. She meowed at the kids when they came home from school. She meowed whenever she thought she could get little morsels of taste food from her people’s hands. She’d always been good at getting handouts, tricking them with pitiful, hungry cries, or doing something cute, and her efforts doubled now that she couldn’t get more kibble.

The family stood resolute against her lies, petting and playing with her but never offering her food outside of her meals. Well, most of them did, anyway. It didn’t take long for everyone to realize who was slipping up.

**

Elrond was in the kitchen, putting together a plate of leftovers to eat because he’d gotten home late and missed dinner. He'd been struggling with a bout of insomnia again, and tired circles were forming under his eyes.

 Arwen sat at the table, working on a multiplication sheet while her brothers played with action figures on the stairs (by the sound of it, they were in the midst of a dramatic battle). Celebrían was sitting next to her daughter, penciling in options on a sudoku puzzle and helping Arwen when she got stuck. 

Gilly, previously lounging in the living room, walked into the dining room. She inspected the stairs, ears pointed toward the noise before ultimately deciding whatever was happening was of no interest to her. She took a winding way between the chair legs and under the table, coming out next to Arwen. With a mew, she jumped up onto the pre-teen’s lap.

Arwen ran a hand down her head and back as she inspected the table's contents. Finding them lacking, Gilly rubbed her chin against Arwen’s arm and jumped back to the floor, wandering away.

Rather tired of the times tables, Arwen looked away from her homework to watch the cat. If she hadn’t, they might never have worked out that someone wasn’t following the agreed-upon feeding plan, which made few allowances for treats and completely prohibited letting Gilly ‘steal’ food that ‘fell’ on the floor.

Gilly trotted into the kitchen and sat between the counter and the refrigerator.

“Mew?” She asked, looking up at Elrond, and began to purr.

Elrond looked down at her, plate ready to go into the microwave to warm up rice, kidney beans, sautéed vegetables, and a few pieces of chicken. 

Gilly purred louder, expectant.

Elrond pulled apart a bit of chicken with his fingers. 

“Dad!” Arwen exclaimed.

His hand jerked away from the cat but not before she took the treat from his fingers. A guilty look crept onto his face as Gilly happily gulped down the offering and then rubbed against his pant legs. 

“Dad,” Arwen complained, “we promised! You can't do that.”

Now everyone was looking at the pleased cat and guilty father. Celebrían hid a smile behind her hand. Elrond looked at her for help but she just shook her head.

Elladan and Elrohir slid down the stairs. “Did Dad just give Gilly something?” They asked their sister.

“He gave her chicken,” she said, incensed that their dad, of all people, would cave to Gilly's demands so easily like it was a habit. 

“Can we give her chicken?” Elrohir asked. He was having a harder time teaching Gilly tricks now that he couldn't use as many treats as he wanted.

“No,” Celebrían said, shaking her head. “We're still following the plan, Dad just messed up a little—like everyone does.”

That smoothed the drama over. The children went back to what they were doing, Elrond warmed up his food and came to the table, happy cat trailing behind him.

**

“How long has that been going on?” Celebrían asked that night when she and Elrond were in bed.

“What?” 

“You, feeding Gilly from the counter?”

“Oh,” he sighed and put a hand over his eyes. He groaned. “Off and on. Usually when I can’t sleep, and she follows me around.”

“Even when she was still brand new?”

“Yeah.”

Celebrían coughed around a laugh.

“What?” Elrond asked, lowering his arm and turning his head to look at her. “Why’s that funny?”

“It’s just, you were so hesitant about getting a cat and you looked so awkward when you had to move her from where you wanted to sit or any time you had to interact.” He hadn’t grown up around any pets. While he was competent with horses thanks to his family’s insistence that everyone be able to ride and go camping on horseback (odd, for people who outwardly seemed as though they would be out of their depth if they ever set foot anywhere less developed than a suburb), the only other animals he’d interacted with were his uncle’s hunting dogs. An experience he admitted often wasn’t very pleasant. “Is that why she warmed up to you so well? You fed her in the middle of the night?”

A pause. 

“Probably.”

She turned, resting her head on his pillow, and kissed him lightly. “You’re cute.”

He kissed her back.

She pressed a finger to the tip of his nose. “Though, try not to do it again in front of the kids or we could have a riot of incensed Gilly-lovers.”

He hummed acknowledgment.  “Wouldn’t want that happening.”

“But Gilly would and she clearly has you under her paw.”

“Hmm, possibly.”

**

Out in the hallway, Gilly stalked an imaginary mouse. 

[cadet-aviator]

Meeting the Admiral (1)

The officers in the barracks near my school would often have receptions or dinners, and they ‘invited’ a group of us to be there, for what they called ‘conviviality’. Sometimes these were nice occasions where the older officers would chat to us, inquire about our families, our plans and such. Sometimes we were just there for decoration: nice fresh faces in perfect uniform performing as a silent honour guard. 

Since I was an exemplary cadet (and I didn’t have much to do, in the evenings, or in the weekends, other than cadet things) I found myself a guest at these events fairly often, sometimes twice a month.

It may seem a bit odd, perhaps, that a 13-year old would find it fun to mingle with older men, officers, people in authority, and talk to them for a few hours over a glass of Sprite while being totally subservient and polite, but that never crossed my mind. I was being paid attention to, more than at home. 

I was usually quite proud of myself, having passed inspection. I felt ‘perfect’ and even (dare I say it) ‘pure’.

I loved my uniform. I was a master of the tie knot – it would never slip. The crease in my shirt sleeves was razor sharp.

And I was full of admiration of these high ranked officers, who also looked perfect, and who appreciated my efforts in turn. You might say: I was a bit of a lonely child, and I found some warmth there, plus the reassuring effect of simple, rigid rules and regulations.

Then the level was raised. One day, the event was a bit more official than others, as the commander-in-chief of the Malaysian military, an Admiral of the Fleet, was in attendance. This was a serious thing not only because of his rank, but because he was related to the reigning royal family. For a lot of the people that meant he had a status beyond his military rank, perhaps not god-like, but certainly worthy of a certain reverence. 

There were two things which made this a special experience for me.

First of all, the pre-event inspections were even more meticulous than before.

I was instructed how to show deference to His Excellency: I had to kneel and prostrate myself, face down.

I had to be taught exactly how to do this. It took 30 minutes, easily, before the staff felt I was ‘humble’ enough.

The second thing was: His Excellency knew my father. They had had dealings, as my Dad was something like the Military Attaché too – he was not in the military himself, but everything having to do with security and military co-operation (i.e.: arms deals) between the two nations was part of his job. Apparently, the relationship was very friendly.

I would find this out the first time I was presented. I did what I was told, made the sign of obedience and respect, put my face on the floor.

I heard my name whispered by the Admiral’s aide.

When my presence was acknowledged by the Admiral, I was to raise my upper body but stay on my knees, head bowed, until I was dismissed – only then was I allowed to stand, and this was ‘to attention’, no casual chatting or mingling, the focus was always on the high guest.

I was raised up, and His Excellency very kindly talked to me.

He said what a pleasure it was to meet the son of such a distinguished diplomat, and how pleased he was to see a foreign boy so enthusiastically involved in Malaysian cadet service.

I did what was expected. I responded how honoured I was to be in his presence and how wonderful cadet service was, etc.

And then he made me an offer. This would seriously change the course of my young expat life.

(All images are AI-generated)

[vibingandsimping]

I see you write for skyrim are you interested in crossovers? If so can I tell you my ideas for TES dragonborn coming ov3r to Baldur's Gate and Gortash being interested in her not only for her power but old strings still attached. Maybe she stood against him and he saw her as an equal. Or what about a daedric prince such as Molag Bal trying to invade BG3 because he failed to cross over from Oblivion to Skyrim. Or what about something like the Dark brotherhood in BG3? What about moral conflicted Tav/DB who joined the DB when she was in Skyrim and Gortash finding out then him trying to encourage the darkness in her especially if she's the listener? So she's already prone to hearing the evil whispers of the Night Mother, commanding her assassinations. Gortash would find her ability to shout and control dragons very useful.

Crossovers are definitely an interesting concept! Would be willing to write for them more.

The idea of Durge and being a listener would be… interesting. You’re already serving the purpose as an assassin pre-tadpole as durge. Durge who becomes the listener when the two worlds collide. The Night Mother taking a shining to their ruthless and sadistic nature. Or perhaps a listener who Bhaal takes a liking to? They end up worshipping Bhaal alongside The Night Mother.

Gortash would definitely take an interest in a dragonborn Tav. Previously, Githyanki are the only ones with an affinity to tame dragons and command them. Someone with the natural born ability to not only command them but imitate them? You are truly a force to be reckoned with. He’d want you by his side, Dark Brotherhood or not, promising you anything to get you there. He’ll find a way to return you home, assure you a seat in luxury… whatever it takes. However if he’s telling the truth at all is up for debate. There may be something in his words besides false lies disguised. The praise he sings with his tongue on your strength and his fascination is true. He’d love to see how you worked as a being from another dimension. How did you get to this realm?

Molag Bal invading with you. You’re unbeknownst to it at first- seemingly caught up in this strange world. He followed suite- perhaps the reason you’re here in the first place. You smell trouble when you sense his presence and you knew this would only complicate things. One of the daedric princes always meant something nasty (even if you sold your soul to one or more). Power came corruption.

I also think Orin and Withers would be quite interested in you. Orin, for reasons similar to Gortash, regarding your power and capabilities. Instead of an alliance she wants to see it first hand. To peel back your layers of skin like an onion and sacrifice a being of another realm to Bhaal. Withers in a more practical sense. How did you get here? He’d love to chat and inspect you. Offering you whatever support he could aid in your journey home (or settling down here if it doesn’t warp or rip reality?)

EDIT: FIRM BELIEVER THAT CICERO AND ASTARION WOULD BE FRIENDS.

[10crunchynapkins]

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

Just a little something I did for my own amusement because let’s be honest, Cait pre-benign intervention is most likely a horny, angry, depressed woman that doesn’t know how to deal with emotions other than sex, booze, and physco. I made Sole a bit of a bottom but as gender neutral as possible, so anyone can read it! It doesn’t get all the way to smut, but damn does it get close. If you want a continuation that goes into a little more detail per-se, just lmk ;)

Also this is my first real attempt at nsfw so like… don’t burn me at the stake if it’s bad. <3

GN!Sole x Cait (pre-Benign Intervention)

Cait and Sole were sitting on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. They had cleared the place out and decided to rest for a bit. The smell of dust and blood was stinging Sole’s nostrils, Super Mutants have such a strong smell of death it’s ridiculous, they thought as they pulled out their gun and inspected it. Sole looked up at Cait, watching her open a beer before looking back down at their gun. “We’re not gonna go anywhere else tonight, so you might as well get comfy.” Sole spoke into the air.

Cait hummed in acknowledgement, taking a swig of her beer. She offered a drink to Sole but they turn it down, a hit to the head they had taken earlier in the day finally catching up to them making their head spin. “Y’sure? Might make that headache of yours better.” Sole declines once again and Cait shrugs her shoulders, taking another drink.

Sole could hear the beer slosh in the bottle as Cait pulled it away from her lips, the sound of glass meeting concrete echoed as she put the bottle down. It was quiet for a moment before Cait shuffled across the floor, the utility belt Sole had got for her in Bunker Hill scraping against the floor. Sole pulled their attention from cleaning their gun to whatever Cait was doing, but when they looked up their eyes met, barely even a foot apart from each other. Cait’s eyelids were hooded and a smirk Sole knew all too well spread across her face.

“No.”

Cait’s smirk dropped into a frown and her eyebrows furrowed, making Sole blow a sharp breath of air out their nose in amusement. Sole returns her attention back to cleaning their gun and Cait sulks back to her backpack, placing her head on the back part of it. She sharply turned to her side and groaned, letting out a bratty, childlike grumble, “Fuck you.”

“I’m sure you want to.”

The Next Day, Diamond City

While Cait was getting checked over at Dr. Sun’s, Sole lay on the couch at Home Plate. It’d been ages since they had stayed here, most of their time in Diamond City either being spent at the Wright’s or in the Valentine Agency. They had promised Piper they’d stop by for a drink some time this afternoon when they passed by, so they decided to spend what little downtime they had to get comfortable and get some shut eye.

SLAM!

“Wake yer ass up Sole, I’m not drinkin’ alone.”

“You’re grown Cait, you can drink alone,” Sole grumbled, keeping their eyes closed. Cait flipped the switch on the wall and turned on the bright fluorescent lights above them. Sole’s eyebrows furrowed and they threw their forearm over their eyes, “-Just let me be for 30 minutes please.”

A sly smile came across Cait’s face, “Have a drink wit’ me, an’ I might consider it.”

Sole is quiet for a beat before groaning and falling into her bribery. They push themself off the couch and make their way over to a shelf of ‘collectibles’ they’d made over the past year. Brands of whiskey, wine, and tequila donned the wooden shelves. Almost every bottle was full and in mint condition, the exception being the whiskey bottles which they heavily favored in their pick of poison.

“And you call yerself a drinker,” Cait chuckles, slapping her hand hard on Sole’s back, kind of like a divorced dad in his late forties would. “Nothin’ compared to what I’d have polished if I were you.”

“These are far and few between Cait, and those Bobrov’s are overcharging for their drinks, so I found a happy medium.” Sole shrugs and grabs glasses off the top shelf. Cait lets out a ‘humph’ and grabs a bottle of whiskey with the faded label reading ‘Crown Royale’ before mumbling, “How you’ve managed to make drinkin’ nerdy, I’ll never know.”

They sit down on the couch, the heavy glass bottle of Crown in Cait’s hand and two glasses in Sole’s. Sole places the glasses on the table and grabs the cigar box from the lower shelf on the table. “I dunno how you smoke those things. Gives me a headache.” Sole shrugs at Cait’s comment and lights the cigar, taking a long drag from it and blowing out a cloud of smoke. “And I don’t know how you drink 24 hours if the day and still function; but hey, we all have our niches, don’t we doll?” Cait lets out a grunt at Sole’s snarky remark and pours their drinks, filling her cup only slightly more than her counterpart, which is to be expected at this point.

Cait wraps her hand around her drink, already starting to take it to the head. “Sip on it, Cait, we’ve still got errands to run.” She ignores Sole’s warning, flipping them off as she finishes her glass, letting out a sigh of relief once she’s swallowed the liquor. She puts down the glass with a hefty sounding ‘thunk’ of the wood meeting the thick glass.

“Lucky for you, I’m a functioning drunk.”

Sole scoffs and rolls their eyes, “Functioning my ass! I’ve carried you out of the Dugout every time we’ve been there.” Sole’s eyes locked onto Cait’s when she started to move closer. Cait’s breath hitting their face; it was warm and smelled of the whiskey she’d just downed.

“If you didn’t like my sweet arse, you woulda left me there to rot by now.” Closer, closer, closer. By this point, Sole could tell you the pattern of the specks of brown in her green eyes and pat connect the dots with the freckles that covered her face.

“No, I’d just have to pay for a room if I left you there. Dugout policy.” They shot back quickly. Cait snickered at Sole’s hasty response and continued to move closer.

She was playing a game Sole always lost: ‘How Far Can I Push My Flirtation Before You Pounce Me?’ She especially played this game whenever either of them were drinking. Cait knew how to push Sole’s buttons in a way that always put one of them pressed against a wall and moaning each other’s name.

“I suggest you move back before something happens.” Sole takes a drag from their cigar before turning back to face Cait. She cocked her left eyebrow, the same sly, fox-like smirk as before painted across her face.

“Oh really? Is this 'somethin’' similar to what happened in Goodneighbor? Or is it closer to the police station? Either way I’m willing to try me luck.” She touched her nose to Sole’s, her eyelids hooded yet still maintaining heated eye contact with them.

“And I’d be willin’ to bet you’d want it too.”

Sole leaned in and parted their lips, their fingers moving to lightly grip Cait’s chin and pull her face closer to theirs. Their left hand slid over the curve that separated her hips from her ribs, eliciting a soft sigh from Cait. Sole could feel her body push further into theirs, her own hands starting to slide against and up their outer thigh, gripping the waistband of Sole’s pants once she got to it. Their lips brushed against each other, but before Cait’s lips could lock with her lover’s, Sole let out the puff of smoke they had been holding in, the grayish smoke covering Cait’s face and flooding into her mouth.

Barely able to get out her words over her coughing she growled, “You’re- cough -such a bastard!” Sole falls back onto the arm of the couch and starts to crack up. They dropped their cigar onto the ashtray on the end table, saving it for later. They continued to laugh after Cait’s coughing fit was over, but she stayed uncharacteristically quiet. They expected at least a snarky remark at my laughing; but there was nothing.

Starting to sit back up, they stop their laughter and start an apology, “Cait, I didn’t mean to make you upset. I was just messin’ with you-”

Cait turned to face Sole; and before they knew what was happening, Cait’s hands, body, and lips were all over Sole. Their eyes went wide, completely taken aback from what was happening. Cait had pushed Sole’s shoulders back onto the arm of the couch roughly. It was like she couldn’t wait to be close to Sole.

Cait’s left hand made its way up Sole’s shirt and against their stomach, her calloused palm causing goosebumps to form on their skin. Her right hand was unbuckling their belt, pulling harshly on the leather before getting it off and starting on Sole’s jeans button and zipper.

Her lips were locked onto Sole’s jawline, sucking harshly on the skin, occasionally tugging at it with her front teeth; just enough to hear Sole’s breath hitch and feel their body melt further into the couch. Their head was trying to catch up with what was happening. Cait and Sole had definitely done this before, they (mostly Cait) were constantly making passes at each other, most of the time leading to quick and hot sex in semi-safe places. Didn’t matter where or when, if Cait wanted Sole, she got them. Sole didn’t mind, really; it was a nice release and Cait was a very attractive woman, but usually there was at least some type of foreplay, or hell even a warning.

Cait’s lips left their neck and met Sole’s lips, cutting them off from saying anything. She had finally got their pants unbuttoned and was feverishly pulling them down. She pulled away for a moment, Sole’s hand moving on its own and tangling in her messy, red hair in a faint attempt to pull her back down to their kiss. She let their hand pull her back in, but instead leaned down to their ear, kissing the top of it. Her warm ragged breath hitting the cold cartilage made Sole’s face heat up more than it already had. The sound of her breathing was hard and desperate; it tickled Sole’s ear, goosebumps forming on their neck.

Cait moved her legs to wrap around Sole’s waist, grinding against their hips. They could feel how hot her sex was, and it was only turning them on more than they already were. She made her way agonizingly slow up and down their neck, kissing and biting on the skin. Sole’s hand tangled in her hair and gave it a firm tug, making her moan into their skin, sending shivers down their back. Sole let their other hand find her hip, encouraging her hips to rock against their waist, loving the white hot flares of pleasure it was sending down their stomach.

Sole let a lazy smile grow on their lips and let out a soft mumble, “Guess this means you forgive me then?” Cait just let out a low chuckle that vibrated against her lips that abused Sole’s neck and continued her work. Sole shuddered before somewhat coming back to their senses. Their eyes roamed down Cait’s body, watching her hips ride back and forth in a needy, erratic motion. Her moans were getting louder the longer they went on, and when Sole started to rock in sync with her, Cait’s voice broke into a high pitched mewl that drove Sole crazy. Their voice hoarse and quiet, a needy request fell past their lips.

“Fuck, I need you, Cait.”

Sole unbuckled Cait’s pants, pulling them down to her knees and letting her kick them to the floor. Barely even spending a moment apart, they were back together, lips moving fast and hard against each other. Their tongues met and danced with one another, their saliva mixing along with the moans they traded into the others mouth. Cait had started grinding her hips down on Sole again, this time pulling up their shirt to put her thinly covered sex against their skin. Sole could feel Cait all over her. Sole could feel how those lovely lips below her waist glided across their stomach; the way they slightly parted when Cait’s hips moved forward and how their wet skin got cold from the air that hit it when Cait wasn’t atop it. Sole needed Cait, and Cait needed Sole. Bad.

Their moans and the slight squeaking of the couch was what filled the room; Cait picking up in volume as she rocked harder and faster into Sole’s hips. Sole pulled harder on Cait’s hair, which in-turn made Cait suck hard on Sole’s tongue. She would occasionally pull back while biting their lip, letting it pop back into place before diving back into the taste she yearned for. The pair’s lips were swollen and sore from the biting and tugging the other would do to entice the other.

Making her way from her lover’s neck and to their ear, her left hand found the soft skin of their neck and rested it there, her thumb rubbing back and forth on the purple-ish marks she had made. Once Cait made it back to her original position on Sole’s ear, she bit down hard and let the tip of her tongue dance on the tip of it. Her left hand started playing with the band of their underwear; her fingers dipping just low enough to glide against the crevice of their hip bone. Cait’s tongue, making sure to let her ragged, breathy moans sound in her ear. Sole was barely keeping it together at this point; the wet, lewd sounds entering their ear drums at an alarming rate, those fingers moving tantalizingly slow down their hips were causing them to short circuit, and dear god that moan of hers; everything about Cait made Sole go insane in the best way possible.

Cait gave a hard squeeze against Sole’s neck, making their breath hitch in their throat, a submissive whimper following. A wicked smile paints on Cait’s face, lustful eyes meeting Sole’s needy orbs. Another flare lit up in Sole’s stomach, this time shooting down to their legs.

Cait wanted Sole to know what she had been waiting for since last night, but was going to tease her just as she did before. “You shouldn’t have done that, lover,” she murmured, before placing a soft, almost unnoticeable kiss on the tragus of their ear, pulling down their underwear and placing wet, slow kisses on her way down their body. Cait stopped right above their navel, kissing it and making Sole’s hips arch in selfish need, “Cuz’ yer in for a long ride.”

Sole’ll just stop by Piper’s tomorrow.

Bonus:

One foot in front of the other, Sole walked to Piper’s door and raised their hand to knock on the metal, nervous smile on their face. The handle turned and the door flew open, an angry Piper standing behind it.

“I waited all afternoon for you to show up and you just-“ Piper cut herself off, her eyes widening when she saw Sole’s neck.

“Did a Yao Gaui chew on your neck last night?”