#rectangular glass coffee tables

[choicefurnituresuperstore]

Unveiling the Elegance of Rectangular Glass Coffee Tables

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The design excellence of rectangular glass coffee tables lies in their sleek lines and transparent surfaces. They effortlessly adapt to various interior design styles, whether minimalist, contemporary, or traditional. Their versatility ensures they harmonize with any decor scheme, from urban lofts to classic homes.

Practicality and functionality are integral to their appeal. These rectangular glass coffee tables are easy to maintain, requiring only a gentle wipe to keep them looking pristine. Their transparent tops enhance the sense of space in your living room, making them an excellent choice for smaller rooms. Many models also offer storage options, adding functionality to their aesthetic charm.

Styling your rectangular glass coffee table is a delightful creative endeavor. Consider a decorative centerpiece, coasters, and trays for both aesthetics and functionality. Accent lighting can add a warm ambiance to your living space.glass coffee tables are more than furniture; they are a statement of elegance and versatility. Explore our exquisite collection and elevate the sophistication of your living space.

[dearbluebmw]

New York Music Room Living Room Large traditional open concept living room idea with a medium tone wood floor, white walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[violetdiary]

Open in Dallas Example of a large, open-concept living room in the beach-style with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[alicesbookshelf]

Living Room Enclosed Ottawa An enclosed, medium-sized, transitional living room with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a tile fireplace, and a wall-mounted television is shown above.

[acamouflage]

Living Room in New York

Mid-sized country loft-style limestone floor living room photo with white walls, a two-sided fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[fashiongifs74]

Pool Lap in Los Angeles Inspiration for a mid-sized, rectangular, lap pool remodel in a backyard with decking

[covenofagatha]

Sex therapy

Your sexual life has been...lacking for the past year. Enter sex therapist Dr. Agatha Harkness to help you out.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: patient x therapist, mentions of sex and masturbation, guided orgasm, dirty talk

A/N: we just learned about sexual disorders in one of my classes and my professor kept talking about sex therapy lol so here we go (I hope this is good/hot I just genuinely couldn't stop thinking about it and had to write something) and maybe part 2?

The first thing you notice when you open the door to the waiting room is the smell. 

It’s slightly earthy with a hint of honeysuckle and sweet undertones. Not unpleasant, but it does little to calm your nerves. 

The lobby is small, cozy almost, with only four gray chairs tucked against one wall and a rectangular wooden coffee table in front of them with a short stack of magazines on it. 

Across from the furniture is the front desk and you step in front of it, waiting for the blonde receptionist sitting behind it to look up at you. She’s typing something on the computer and in the reflection of her glasses, it looks like she’s filling out a form. 

After standing there for a few moments, you clear your throat, trying to make it sound natural and not pointed. It works and the lady looks up at you with a smile that looks like more of a grimace. 

“How can I help you?” she asks. You tell her your name and she scrolls down on her screen before clicking. “First time?” 

“Oh, um, yes,” you answer, cheeks heating up. 

She looks you up and down. “You can go ahead and have a seat, you’re all checked in. Dr. Harkness will be with you shortly.” 

Muttering a quick “Thank you,” you pick the chair closest to the exit to settle into and anxiously tap your fingers against your leg. 

You barely have time to rethink your decision when a door on the wall of the front desk opens and a woman steps out. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun with a few strands loose and framing her face. She’s wearing white pants and a blue and gray striped shirt with black ankle boots. Black glasses rest on her nose. She looks around futilely—for there’s no one else in the room—before her eyes fall on you. 

She calls your name. You wipe your hands on your pants, swallow roughly, and stand up, nodding with a stiff smile. She beckons you forward and you obey, feeling a tug in your gut.  

“I’m Dr. Harkness,” she says warmly, pushing the door even more open so you can walk by her. You pause so she can get in front of you and she takes you down to the second door on the left. “But you can call me Agatha. I want you to feel comfortable while we’re here.” 

She opens it for you and you feel her hand on your lower back, guiding you in. It’s a small room, dark with about ten lit candles. There’s a warm scent of vanilla and jasmine and you deeply inhale. 

Agatha steps in next to you and the door closes shut behind you both. She points to the blue couch across from a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat there?”

The cushion dips under you as you perch on the edge and Agatha sits down in the chair and crosses one leg over the other, grabbing the yellow notepad from the side table and a pen in her left hand. You’re not exactly sure where to look—at the posters on the wall? At your fingers? At her? Who talks first? Should you say something?

She clicks the pen. “So, do you want to start with what brought you here to sex therapy?

You cringe at the words. Sex therapy is definitely not something you’d ever even think of. You didn’t even know what it was until about three weeks ago. It’s a bit unnerving how she just wants to get right into it—although, what kind of small talk were you expecting?—but you suppose you’re paying for a session so you might as well get the most of it.

“Um, I just…I just haven’t been having good sex lately. Like, I haven’t been feeling much at all and it’s fine, but I just can’t really focus or get into it, you know?” You pick at imaginary lint on your pants to avoid having to meet Agatha’s scrutinizing gaze. “I got a little drunk a month or so ago and was complaining to a friend about it. She said I should look into this and you were the closest therapist to me.”

Your friend had laughed when you told her that you hadn’t had an orgasm in about a year but her eyebrows had then shot up when she realized you were serious. She had promptly pulled out her phone and searched sex therapists near me. You had reluctantly moved next to her to scroll through the results and she let out a low whistle when she got to Agatha’s practice. She’d shown you the headshot of the woman sitting in front of you and you had to pretend to be unimpressed. 

But really, you felt more heat in your stomach than you had in awhile. 

“When did this start happening? When did you start noticing that you weren’t really feeling much?” 

It takes you a moment to ponder the question. Things had been relatively good with your ex-girlfriend two years ago. You had been together for almost two years before things just fizzled out. Both of you had decided the break up was for the best, even though the sex was normally pretty good. 

After that, there had been a series of hook-ups and flings, mostly casual sex that never turned into anything more. It had been alright, nothing special. You came about half the time. 

But then you’d gotten a promotion at work about a year ago and started seeing someone more seriously and sex turned into a chore. And when you did have sex, you stared blankly at the ceiling and couldn’t stop from thinking about all the work you had to do or making a grocery list in your head or desperately trying to will yourself to be into your girlfriend’s tongue on your clit but it just felt like nothing. 

It wasn’t her fault, no, the problem was you. Even masturbating seemed hard and you’d end up stopping in the middle of a session just because you weren’t getting anywhere. 

She had broken up with you about three months ago because you started rejecting her advances or just wanted to focus on her. You could make her come with no problem, but you shied away from her touch after, because even faking it was getting to be too much work. 

You haven’t even tried having sex since then. Seeing a therapist for your problem was clearly a long time coming and you’re not sure why you didn’t think about it sooner. 

“I don’t know, work has just become a lot and it’s hard to keep my mind from wandering while I’m having sex. I don’t know what changed—can stress really just kill your libido?” 

Agatha hums and frowns. “Sometimes. It’s not usual for it to essentially turn off feeling though. How’s the foreplay been before having sex?”

Shrugging, you pick at the skin on your cuticles. It’s a bit weird being this open about it with someone you just met. “Um, it’s not bad. There is foreplay. And I mean, there isn’t a problem with lubrication or anything.” Your cheeks heat up and you dare to peek up at Agatha. 

She’s staring at you with an intense look. It makes a strange feeling grow in your stomach, something akin to arousal if you had to put a name to it. 

“Are you actually attracted to the people you’re having sex with?” 

“What?—Of course,” you snap. She holds up her hands in defense and writes something on the notepad. But now that you think about it, and not that you’d ever tell her, you’re not sure that you have because you’ve never had the physical reaction you’re having to her with anyone else. 

Which is just great, really. Leave it to you to be attracted to your sex therapist, the one person who is arguably off-limits. 

Then you start to wonder if this happens often for her. Do her other patients blur the lines, start associating her with sex? You don’t actually know what you’re going to be doing in these sessions, but you could definitely see some lines being crossed in your head. 

“Are there any needs you have that might not be fulfilled in your sex life? Any kinks, fetishes, things you like that you aren’t engaging in that could bring you pleasure?” she asks, looking at you expectantly. 

How can she be so calm when it feels like you’re about to explode? “Not that I know of,” you answer hoarsely. 

“Hm. No choking or bondage or pain?” 

You choke on your own saliva. “I mean, I’m sure I like it as much as the next person, but it’s not necessary.” 

A wry smile plays on her lips at your attempt at deflective humor. “Daddy kink? Mommy kink? Degradation? Praise?” 

“I…I don’t know,” you rasp. For the first time in almost a year, you think you might actually want to touch yourself. 

Agatha thinks for a moment. “Well, first of all, you might want to experiment a little and see if there’s something you might like that will enhance your pleasure. A lot of patients find that impact play and things like that actually help clear your mind so you’re able to focus on just the sensation.” 

You nod, not sure what to say. How do I experiment? Can you help me? 

“But another thing you can try is sexual mediation. It centers around the practice of mindfulness and it’s a focus on sensuality and the current state of your body. Do you have a partner who can help you with this?” 

Shaking your head, you think you might see a gleam in her eyes. 

“That’s okay. You first want to find a quiet place with no distractions. Your bedroom would be a great place. Dim the lights, maybe light a candle, whatever helps set the mood. Sit on the floor and get comfortable; you can either lie down or sit up—”

“Do I wear clothes?” you interrupt, feeling bad immediately. 

She just smiles gently. “You can wear something loose or nothing at all, whatever your preference is. You can play music if that will help you tune other things out."

There’s a visible difference in her demeanor now, almost like she’s coming alive. Her hands gesture animatedly and her pupils are blown out and looking wildly all over your body. 

“Close your eyes and try to remain aware of your surroundings. Pay attention to your body, your breath, and any sounds. As you inhale, pull the air into your abdomen and imagine the stress leaving your body as you exhale. If stray thoughts get in, just accept them and move on. Visualize your body—visualize your desire. I like to tell my patients to think of it as an orb inside you. It starts out small, in your vagina, and then it grows bigger and spreads throughout you. Feel it spread.” 

Your chest is rapidly falling and rising, a sheen of sweat beading on your forehead. There’s an ache inside you right now—your orb of desire is red-hot and throbbing. 

“Try to be aware of your own body and what you’re feeling. The goal is heightened awareness, which can lead to increased arousal. If you have a partner, once you’re done visualizing yourself, shift that focus to your partner and think about how they’re feeling. If not, you can think about someone you find attractive or just skip this step entirely.” 

It feels like she put that part in there just to taunt you. Like she knows you find her attractive. You can’t think about her though, that would be so wrong. How would you come in here again and look her in the eye, knowing you had fantasized about her?

“Sexual meditation should take about twenty minutes and then you move on to intercourse or masturbation. The hope is that clearing your mind beforehand will allow your body to feel more. There’s things you can do with a partner, but for now, why don’t you start with trying that?” 

Your mouth is suddenly very dry. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. Oh—what if it doesn’t work?”

Agatha smirks, eyes traveling down your body and back up to your face. “Then come back and see me.” 

——

You’re almost hoping that this doesn’t work, just so you’d have the excuse to go back and see her. 

But then it would mean that you could enjoy sex again, so that would definitely be the bigger win here. 

The lights in your room are turned off with four lit candles, all smelling like something different, resting on your dresser. You decide to strip down to just your bra and your underwear and sit criss-cross on a pillow on the floor. The silence is too loud so you grab your phone and turn on ocean noises. You’ve always felt more relaxed at the beach. 

Settling onto the pillow and shifting to get comfortable, you close your eyes and try to remember all of Agatha’s instructions. You inhale deeply, feeling your lungs expand, and then push out the air and imagine your stress seeping out of your bones. 

At work, you had to fix what could have been a very bad mistake if someone hadn’t caught it in the nick of time. But there could still be consequences if your boss found out and—If stray thoughts get in, just accept them and move on.

Another deep breath. 

Smell the mix of citrus and vanilla cinnamon and lavender and pumpkin. 

The air conditioning has goosebumps peppering with goosebumps but it keeps your mind sharp. 

The orb of desire. 

You picture it, red and glowing, small as a seed at first. It’s settled deep in your cunt. The image of Agatha smiling at you flashes against your eyelids and the orb grows to the size of a grape. 

No, not her! 

Agatha’s hands flutter around the air while she tells you exactly what to do to make yourself feel good. 

Stop! She’s your therapist! 

The alarm from your mind shatters the focus you had and the orb is completely gone. You grunt as you struggle and try to bring it back. Agatha won’t know if you’re thinking about her—in fact, if the thoughts get you to an orgasm, she’d probably be happy for you. 

But it’s too late. The moment is gone, the now-odorous blend of scents makes your head hurt, and you’re feeling vaguely confused by what is right and wrong. 

You might want to see an actual therapist about your self-sabotaging tendencies. 

——

“The meditation didn’t work?” Agatha asks a week later after taking a long sip from her coffee mug when you go back to see her. She’s wearing a black sweater and gray pants, hair loose, and it’s making your stomach feel fuzzy. You’re not actually sure why you came back but now you still can’t come and you’re sexually frustrated. 

Is that an improvement? Some might say it is. At least you’re feeling something. You had given in a day after your failed attempt at meditating and touched yourself, letting yourself think about Agatha, but each time you got close to an orgasm, you just couldn’t. 

“It helped a little,” you tell her truthfully. “I got in tune with my body and desire like you said. It actually felt good when I moved onto masturbation. But…” 

You trail off so she can hopefully fill in the gaps without you having to say more. She nods knowingly. “I see. It is a lot harder to sexually meditate on your own—it doesn’t always work.” 

The air gets sucked out of your lungs and your heart skips a beat. What is she suggesting? 

Agatha gestures to the ground. “We can try it, if you’d like.” 

A sound tears itself out from your throat, somewhere between a strangled gasp and a choke. 

She smirks. “Of course, without the sex.” 

You nod like it should’ve been obvious, feeling your face flush. “How does it work?” 

“Well first, let’s get comfortable,” she says, putting her notepad down on the side table and standing up. She kicks off her sandals, hikes up her pants just a little, and sits down on the floor, crossing one leg over the other. 

She nods to the spot across from her and you scramble to assume the same position. Now that you’re closer to her, maybe three feet between you, you can see the lines and creases on her face. You think they only make her more attractive. Her blue eyes look more gray today and you try not to look down at her lips. 

“Close your eyes,” she says and you do, enveloping your vision in darkness. You can feel your muscles tense but you roll back your shoulders and take a deep breath. The stiffness lessens. “Good job, there you go.” 

Her murmuring makes you shiver and there’s a slight melodic chuckle. 

“Work on breathing and getting in touch with your surroundings and then go through your five senses and tell me what you’re aware of.”

In…out…in…out…you lose yourself and almost forget what she asked you to do until she moves slightly and reminds you that you’re not alone. 

“I see my orb of desire,” you whisper. She hums softly. “It’s in my lower stomach, red, but small. I hear you, your breathing, and the rattle of the air conditioning. I can smell the candles, vanilla and jasmine. It’s good, calming. I can taste the spearmint from the gum I had in the car on my way here. And I can feel my body.” 

“Good,” Agatha says. “Focus on the orb. Feel it growing with your desire. Think about sex—think about lips on yours, moving down to kiss your chest, your breasts, hands on your hips holding you in place.” 

Your breath comes out gravelly and you imagine Agatha doing all that to you. Her lips on yours, her hands on your hips. You squirm despite yourself and swear that she’s smirking. The orb burns brighter, pulsing in time with your clit. 

When was the last time you were this wet? 

Agatha’s voice drops deeper. “Feel your partner running their fingers through your folds, teasing you, giving you pleasure.” 

A small moan escapes your lips and you’re momentarily distracted by praying that she didn’t hear it. 

“Feel the tension in your core increasing. Feel yourself becoming wetter. Feel your desire expanding and encompassing your body, your mind, all of you.” 

There’s a slight rustling noise and you sense her presence even closer to you now. You think you might be sucking air through a straw with how hard it’s become to breathe. 

Smooth skin touches your hands and you almost jump. Agatha slides her palms over yours and the sparks run straight to your cunt. Your head is spinning but simultaneously is the clearest it’s ever been. 

She takes over your senses—you can hear only her words and the way her tone becomes lighter and breathier, you can see only her in your mind, you can smell the coffee she was drinking, and she’s touching you—completely and utterly overwhelming you until there’s only her. 

You just wish you could find out how she tastes. 

“Focus on me now,” Agatha says, strangely affected. “Think about my body and my feelings. Think about my orb, my desire, and how it might be growing.” 

There’s an ache inside you that won’t go away, an ache that’s filling you up and leaving you hungry for something you can’t have. Your cunt is clenching, trying to draw something in that isn’t there, and when you shift forward just the slightest, there’s a pressure on your sensitive clit that makes you gasp. 

“I want you to think about your partner finally giving you what you want,” she purrs and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “Think about that moment when your partner slips their fingers into you, that moment of relief when you get what you’ve been waiting for.” 

It’s like you can feel it through just the touch of her hands on yours. You can imagine Agatha’s fingers gently thrusting into you for the first time, curling and immediately knowing what to do. 

There’s a thrumming under your skin that’s only getting worse, a tightening in your stomach. You haven’t felt this way in so long you almost don’t recognize it. 

You peer through your eyelids just in time to catch her pink tongue darting out and licking her lips and a pang of heat blasts through you. 

Now you can’t stop imagining her tongue on you, delving into your folds, circling your clit. 

Can she see how much of a mess you are right now? Does she like it? The thought makes your breath stutter. 

“Picture your pleasure as a flowing river,” she says thickly, hotly. “Up until now, it’s been hitting a dam. It’s being blocked. But we’re going to break it.” 

Agatha’s fingers start moving against your palm, dragging them up so they’re curled before sliding them back down. It’s soothing, grounding, but also indicative of what she would be doing if she was inside your cunt right now. 

Is that why she’s doing it? 

She presses harder and you can almost feel the stroking movements in your pussy, like she’s fucking you and filling you and proving that there’s nothing wrong with you. Her knees brush against yours and you shiver again. You’ve never felt more alive. 

“Let yourself become one with pleasure. Let it overtake you, let it overwhelm you. Feel your partner’s lips on your skin, sucking on your nipples, feel your walls clench around their fingers, feel their thumb on your clit. It’s so good it makes your eyes water and you’re dripping and you’re about to come—let yourself come.”

For the first time in a year, the dam breaks. The tension snaps. It’s more intense than you remember an orgasm ever being and your mind goes white briefly. 

“Agatha,” you moan softly, jerking your hips forward to prolong your pleasure with some pressure on your clit, and then you realize what you just said. 

Your eyes shoot open, a hazy cloud still hanging over you, to find the color in her eyes almost completely swallowed by a hot darkness. Her cheeks are flushed slightly—you’d probably miss it if you weren’t sitting so close—and her tongue runs out across her lips again. 

“I’m so sorry,” you exclaim, clamping a hand over your mouth. 

She smirks and waves a hand, brushing it off. “I’m flattered, honey. What’s really important is that you had an orgasm. How do you feel?” 

The dopamine is still giving you a high that you don’t want to ever come down from. “Really good,” you answer honestly and she laughs. 

“Well, I’m very proud of the progress you’ve made in only two sessions.” She stands up and you follow. Agatha starts walking to the door and it sobers you up a little for her to be throwing you out so quickly after that. She sees your crestfallen look and winks. “It’s my lunch break. And I need to take care of a few things.” 

The suggestive tone is not lost on you and you feel another burst of heat. Would it be stupid of you to ask if you could stay? 

Yes, you decide. 

But you do ask, “So, is this it, then? I’m cured; I don’t have to come back?” 

Agatha shrugs with a twinkle in her eye. “Totally up to you. Although, I’d recommend at least a few more sessions. Just to make sure you don’t have any more problems. Just because you can orgasm by yourself again doesn’t mean it’ll just come naturally with other people.” 

“Are you going to help me with that, too?” you say before you lose the nerve. 

She just winks at you and your clit aches all the way to the receptionist’s desk. 

You book another session. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

[holylulusworld]

No exceptions (2)

Summary: He likes your guts and your cake.

Pairing: Mobster!Frank Castle x Baker!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mafia business

Catch up here: No exceptions

No exceptions masterlist

Over the next few days, you’re a busy bee. Customer after customer enters your little bakery. Every day you’re out of baked goods in no time.

You huff as you carry out a tray with freshly baked cupcakes. You’re unsure if you can keep up with all the hungry customers roaming your bakery for much longer without help. Though, you cannot pay a waitress or barista.

“Sweet cheeks, my friend and I are getting three of these and coffee, black,” Frank, your tormentor, grins as you almost drop the tray at the sight of the man dressed in all black. You had hoped he had forgotten about you and your bakery. – No such luck.

He and his companion claim one of the free tables, making the chairs creak as they plop down. Frank watches you brew fresh coffee as your eyes meet.

“Right away,” you stammer. This man won’t get a reaction out of you this time. If he wants money, you’ll pay him. For the first time in months, you made a decent amount of money.

“Told ya she’s something else,” Frank smirks at his companion. You try to ignore his words and focus on work. While you prepare a tray with the cupcakes and coffee, Frank watches you the whole time. “Got some meat on her cute ass too.”

“Frank,” the other man sneers. You give him a quick once-over and wonder why he’s around a man like Frank. The man is wearing a well-fitted, dark-colored suit, complete with a tie. This is a stark contrast to Frank’s dark, worn-out jeans, a faded t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and dirty black boots.

His glasses are the only thing standing out. The man is wearing a pair of sleek, rectangular-framed sunglasses that have a dark, tinted lens. You wonder if he’s got problems with his eyes, or if it’s just another fancy accessory to him.

“What?” Frank cackles as you near with the tray. He’s quick to get up and take the tray out of your hands. He places it on the table before grabbing you by the waist to sit back down. You end up in his lap, squirming and wiggling. Frank wraps his arms tightly around your waist, laughing as his boss clears his throat. “I like what I see. It’s not my fault you sent me here to collect.”

“Frank,” the man sighs deeply and straightens his glasses. “I don’t need to see the woman to know she’s uncomfortable in your lap. Let her go. She pays for our protection, not to sit in your lap.”

“But—” Frank grunts. “Only thanks to me has she got all the customers. And I bet she likes sitting in my lap.” He chuckles darkly while you still try to break out of his embrace. “Right, sweet cheeks.”

“I think,” his boss cocks his head. He can’t see you, but listens closely as you elbow Frank, “She wants you to let her go and to pay for our service. Don’t ruin another fruitful business relationship.”

Frank smirks because you are no match for his strength. “Sweet cheeks, you are a whirlwind, and that plum you call your ass is as fine as the best wine.” He rhymes. “Let’s get back to this another time.”

“You must excuse my overenthusiastic friend. He’s got a new position, but still likes to come here to collect cash from you,” the man leans back, smirking as you call Frank a jerk. “You must consider that was probably the most romantic thing he ever said to a woman.”

“Relax, sweet cheeks,” Frank nuzzles your cheek. “I’m here to protect you, remember? I won’t let anyone hurt my cute baker.”

“Frank, get a grip. We came here to discuss business and taking over the bakery,” the man says, looking at you. “I’m Mr. Murdock, and your bakery is officially under my protection. From now on, you’re working for me.”

“What? I…no! This is my bakery!” You wiggle even harder, making Frank groan when you brush his crotch with your ass.

“That’s good news, sweet cheeks. No more paying for protection. You can keep the money if you, let’s say, do us a favor.” Frank believes his words will calm you, but you won’t have it.

“A favor?” You quirk a brow. “That’s not going to happen!”

“You see,” Matt leans forward. “This will happen one way or another. You can keep the bakery, make lots of money, and the only thing I’m asking for is a small favor. That’s not much.”

“A favor…” You murmur. “What kind of favor? I won’t do anything illegal.”

“I wouldn’t dream of letting my girl do the dirty work,” Frank chuckles as you elbow him again. “I’m going to do it for you.” He whispers in your ear. “If you are a pillow princess, I wouldn’t mind, either.”

“Creep,” you ram your elbow into his stomach, making Frank grunt. “If you want to do business with me, keep that lunatic away from me.”

Matt shrugs and says, “Frank is Frank. He is a little shy when it comes to pretty women. Frank is not good with courting a woman.”

“He doesn’t seem to be a shy guy,” you harrumph. “More the grabby kind of guy. If he doesn’t stop, I’ll poison his coffee next time or beat him to death with my baking pin.”

Frank smirks darkly. “I told you she’s something else, Matt.” He laughs before finally letting you go. “Hmm…I think I’ll marry her one day…”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[iidilio]

Day 01: Itachi using a smartphone for the first time

— just Itachi trying to use his new phone for the first time

[🌸] I decide to make an event—a kind of celebration birthday month for him because omg it’s June! The post where i’ll put all the days should be posted in some hours, hahaha hopefully

Characters: itachi uchiha ; other characters

Warnings: nothing just fluff ; AU: Where Itachi is alive, retired, and living in the Boruto era. Just an adorable man with glasses and an even more adorable wife (aka you).

more? here

The soft light of the sunset filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the tatami floor. Outside, the wind whispered gently, rustling the cherry blossom trees in the garden—trees Itachi had planted himself years ago with his own hands. He was no longer a shinobi, nor a spy, nor a man haunted by the weight of his past. He was simply himself. A man who had survived it all.

And now, he faced… a new enemy: a smartphone.

“Where’s the…?” he muttered, frowning in concentration as he tapped the screen carefully, like pressing too hard might break it.

He sat on the couch with his legs crossed like he still belonged to the ninja world, though now with rectangular glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. They suited him, even if he insisted they made him look old. Oh, but for you? For you he looked adorable—especially because every five minutes, he pushed them up with a finger, as if that would help him better understand how the ‘demonic device’ worked.

“Babe… I told you, if you swipe up, the camera opens”

“The camera? Isn’t that just for recording things?”

“It takes pictures too,” you replied with a patient, amused smile as you sat beside him and pointed to where he needed to tap.

Itachi mumbled something under his breath, probably a complaint about modern tech, and finally—after a few failed attempts—he managed to open the camera.

He lifted the phone with slightly shaky hands—not from weakness, but from the gentle care he always had—and… pointed it at you.

“Like this…?” he asked.

“Just like that,” you smiled, tilting your head to one side.

Suddenly, the camera clicked, making you flinch a little.

“Perfect,” he said with a faint, curious smile as his beautiful obsidian eyes scanned the screen. “What do I do with it now?”

“Well… you can set it as your wallpaper. Do you want to?”

“…I do,” he said softly after a moment, with a smile only you ever got to see.

You guided him step by step, helping his fingers glide across the screen with ease, until the very first picture in his gallery became his new wallpaper—a slightly messy-haired you, smiling. He stared at it in silence for a few seconds.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, not looking at you, as if unaware you’d heard him.

“Hmm? What was that, love?”

“Nothing,” he answered quietly, and his hand reached for yours naturally, fingers intertwining with calm certainty.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he leaned into you slightly. In that moment of peace—surrounded by the scent of the tea cooling on the coffee table, the rustle of the trees, and the quiet weight of your presence—Itachi felt, as he had many times since meeting you, that he was finally home again.

Like a blessing, you had come into his life after the war.

He didn’t need anything more.

He had you.

He had his brother.

Your photo on his phone.

…and your hand in his.

[inoreuct]

i actually desperately need 40y/o zoro with reading glasses. thin wire frames with teensy rectangular lenses perched on his nose as he peers down at one of sanji’s french romance novels to see what all the fuss is about— after so many years with his husband he’s picked up a bit of the language and sanji has a stack of them on the nightstand and he’s bored, alright? sanji has something to wrap up at the restaurant and he might as well. he’s farsighted and squints at everything near him and it makes him look even grouchier than usual and the fact that he’s graying at the temples doesn’t help. he looks terrifyingly severe with all his scars and his frowning, until he smiles— he’s been doing that a lot more lately, and then people realise that’s why he has crow’s feet around his eyes. i need him to have a collection of bottles that he’s fiercely protective over; they’re all empty and the labels are faded to hell, but point to any one and he can tell you where it had been drunk. there’s a beer bottle from the first night he’d sailed with luffy. a sweet rum they’d popped to celebrate usopp’s return. the champagne from when he and sanji had gotten married.

i need 40y/o sanji with long, long hair that he ties and pins and styles differently every day. sometimes he makes decorative sourdough and he matches his braids to the patterns. i need him taking on protégés in his restaurant, guiding a new generation of culinary genius even though teenagers are fucking terrifying and annoying and argumentative, because he remembers being exactly like them and at the end of it they’re good kids. they listen to him (…to an extent). they’re sweet and talented and they do absolutely crazy shit in the process of trying to push their boundaries; sometimes they trip and fall, but it’s fine. that’s how they learn. that’s what sanji’s for, as their safety net and their mentor— he’ll give them shit for it and pick them up anyway, nag them while brusquely brushing off their knees. but sometimes, sometimes, they come up with something extraordinary, and sanji gets so proud he could cry. zeff drops by and nags at him for everything under the damn roof. sanji doesn’t mind it.

i need them in their kitchen, in the morning, when sanji’s far too chipper and zoro’s not awake enough, nursing a cup of coffee and half-asleep again at the table as sanji fries their eggs. i need zoro to have one of those old man rocking chairs that he settles into to watch the sunset and drink tea, because sanji’s managed to get him into tea of all things. he’d have never imagined liking matcha a decade ago. i need that rocking chair to be big enough for two so that sanji can curl into his side and thumb through yet another of his novels. i need zoro braiding his hair and falling asleep halfway. i need sanji pulling his glasses off when they slip down his nose and dragging his husband to bed so that he doesn’t bitch about his back hurting the next day. i need them at sanji’s restaurant, teaching the kids about food and liquor pairings— they’re a little terrified of zoro until he squints and pulls his specs out to read the labels, after which they’re running around calling him old man and grandpa roronoa. zoro fumes because for fuck’s sake, he’s forty, not ninety. he’s not old. he brings a bottle of wine three inches away from his face and sanji does nothing to stop the kids at all.

just— zoro with reading glasses. sanji with long hair. doing mundane, boring things that make them happy because they never expected to live this long anyway. zoro’s down to two earrings and sanji has one. their rings are woven straw pulled from luffy’s hat. they have a little motored dinghy out back that franky made for the times they need to go haul their captain’s ass out of trouble (as usual), but none of the crew are ever very far from each other. they stay at sanji’s restaurant in the all blue and occasionally fend off people from their past looking for revenge. or money. or to eat them out of the house and home, in luffy’s case, which then leads to zoro den den-ing the rest of the lot and sighing that they might as well come over for a cookout.

they’ve all gotten older; a little banged up and scruffed around the edges, but alive and well. nami’s making bank as a mapmaker who caters to the wealthy/insurance agent/financial advisor— zoro scoffs and calls her a swindling witch, to which she smiles at him all sweet before stomping solidly on his foot with her red-bottom heel. out of their conjoining workshops, franky and usopp have started a wildly successful demo-smithing company that specialises in custom explosives and bespoke carpentry. robin owns and maintains the most extensive archive of books any of them have ever heard of, and it’s pretty much lauded as one of the greatest libraries of all time; brook does gigs in jazz lounges and bistro bars, jinbei’s a diplomat who’s well-respected for campaigning for equal rights, and chopper runs his own medical practice. luffy, as usual, is doing whatever he wants, which is a little bit of everything. y’know, taking down corrupt governments and all that.

sanji feeds them like he’s always done and zoro brings out the good alcohol to pass around.

life’s good.

[b1xi]

𝙃𝙖𝙡𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣

Glenn Rhee x reader

Word count:2890

Warning: nothing

An update after a long time haha, I was busy with my other stories but now I'll take the time to finish this one ;)

It feels almost unreal to enjoy the comfort of a good bed in the midst of all this. The mattress, soft and warm, stands in stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded you just hours ago. It seems even less believable to have finally found a safe place—or at least one that feels like it.

Guilt creeps in as you think of Alice, asleep in the adjoining room. You feel selfish for having left her alone, but you knew you needed a few minutes to yourself—to breathe, to exist without the constant weight of responsibility.

She’ll be fine, you tell yourself silently. You surrounded her with pillows, carefully arranged so she can’t roll over and fall. The door between the two rooms doesn’t close completely—you’ll hear if someone comes in or leaves, you’ll hear her if she cries.

You sigh and turn on the mattress, one hand tucked under your cheek, as the thought creeps in uninvited:

I wonder if Glenn has already found a room.

He’s probably still wandering around out there, maybe a little—or a lot—drunk. The thought brings a faint smile to your lips. You picture him with unsteady steps, dragging his feet through the dimly lit hallways, his shoulders slightly hunched from exhaustion or the weight of whatever he’s had to drink. His usually tense features now softened by alcohol, tinged with a subtle flush across his cheekbones… It’s a strangely endearing image. Funny, even.

You can almost hear the low murmur of his voice—that tone that’s equal parts ironic and protective, the one you know so well. It’s surprising how much comfort the simple memory of someone you trust can bring.

Maybe you should go out and see where you really are, walk the halls slowly and get a better sense of this new refuge. Or maybe just look for a glass of wine for yourself—if there’s any left. The exhaustion is still there, yes, like a lingering shadow in your muscles, but sleep won’t come. And now that silence reigns, a subtle curiosity to explore begins to settle in.

You sit up slowly, letting the blankets slide down your legs. The air in the room is cool, but not uncomfortable. You walk to the door at a steady pace, allowing your steps to adjust to the solid floor beneath you. When you open it, a faint creak sounds, but there’s no movement on the other side. The hallway feels suspended in a limbo between inhabited and abandoned, as if it breathes at a different rhythm than your own.

A corridor stretches out before you, dimly lit by a lone bulb at the far end. No voices. No rush. Just that strange urge to move, to see with your own eyes that, for once, there’s no danger waiting beyond the door.

And maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll find a half-finished bottle… or even Glenn, swaying in the dark with his crooked smile and a glass in hand.

After wandering through a few hallways and opening a couple of doors that led nowhere useful, you find what looks like a small break room. The space is modest, clearly functional: a row of lockers lines one wall, worn but still standing. Across from them, a low cabinet holds a messy stack of mugs, and in the center, a rectangular table with several chairs awkwardly placed around it. One of them still has a lab coat hanging from the back—forgotten, as if its owner might walk in at any moment.

On a countertop against the wall rest an old microwave and a coffee maker that looks like it’s been used recently. The air smells of dust and stale coffee, and for a moment, the image feels strangely familiar.

It looks so much like the hospital break room.

The memory slides in as naturally as you once walked the halls of the emergency department. You were still an intern back then, caught between adrenaline and exhaustion, learning to survive on very little sleep and far too much responsibility. You slept in chairs, ate whatever you could find in vending machines, and celebrated every hot cup of coffee like a personal victory.

And then, without any real warning, things began to change.

At first, it was patients with vague symptoms: high fevers, confusion, inexplicable arrhythmias. Some spoke in delirium; others screamed with a rage they couldn’t seem to control. The usual protocols didn’t work. Nurses whispered among themselves, doctors locked themselves away in meetings that lasted longer each time. Every day brought more ambulances, every night filled more gurneys.

You remembered one night in particular. They had asked you to watch over a man in isolation—one of the first cases to show signs of extreme aggression. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t speak. He only growled, with an empty stare, as if he no longer recognized his own humanity. When they tried to sedate him, he lunged at a nurse, and it took four people to restrain him. You never saw him again, and no one ever explained what happened afterward.

The virus spread quickly, relentlessly. But at the time, you didn’t know that. No one did. You were just another intern, trying not to fall apart, unaware that the world had already begun to collapse.

The hallways emptied quickly. The hospital became a place of quiet, almost clandestine transit. Orders changed daily; protocols became useless. The doctors you once admired began to leave—some out of fear, others because they knew too much.

You never got an official explanation. Only rumors. A virus, they said. Something new, something violent. Something that shouldn’t exist.

And now, here you are. Standing in a break room almost identical to that one, in a strange building, many days—or weeks—later. With the world crumbling behind you, and only the memory of that hospital as your starting point.

You wonder how many others saw what you saw… and if any of them are still alive.

In his arms, curled against his chest, was Alice. Her small body trembled silently, cheeks damp, arms clinging tightly to Glenn’s shirt.

"I was looking for you," he said, his voice low, heavy with relief.

You stepped closer immediately, but Glenn didn’t hand Alice over right away. His eyes met yours for a second longer than usual.

"I was walking through the halls," he explained softly, his tone carefully measured so as not to startle the girl. "And I heard her crying."

The sentence was simple, but it struck you in the chest with the weight of a guilt you hadn’t realized you still carried. Your breath slowed as you instinctively reached out, yearning to cradle her even before you could think of what to say.

You extended your arms gently, and Glenn, without another word, placed Alice in them with the same tenderness he’d held her with. The child’s small body settled against yours as if she’d been waiting for that very moment. She clung tightly to your neck, her tiny face buried in your shoulder.

You stroked her back slowly, whispering words you didn’t remember thinking, only saying—with the instinctive cadence of a mother trying to soothe fear with a love far greater.

You smiled at him with gratitude—a soft, sincere smile, the kind that said more than any words could at that moment.

"Thank you, Glenn," you murmured, barely a whisper, but he nodded as if no more was needed.

Without having to say it, the two of you began walking down the hallway toward the room. Your steps were slow, in sync with his, and he kept a hand behind you in an automatic gesture of protection. Alice had fallen asleep again, lulled by the steady rhythm of your breathing as she remained curled up against your chest.

"Did you take a look around the place?" Glenn asked quietly, as though afraid to disturb the fragile calm of the night.

You nodded, without looking at him.

"A little," you said. "I was in what looked like a break room. There was a lab coat hanging there, an old coffee maker… it reminded me of work. Back at the hospital."

There was a brief pause, as if the memory had reached him too.

"Must’ve been rough," he said finally.

"Yeah… it was," you murmured, eyes fixed ahead. "Seeing patients come in without knowing what was wrong. Watching them get worse, and not being able to do anything. Watching them… change." You swallowed, adjusting Alice’s weight in your arms. "At first, we thought it was some kind of neurological disease. Or maybe a rabies outbreak. But no… it was nothing like that."

Glenn didn’t respond right away—he just let your words drift between your footsteps.

"And this place?" he asked then, turning his head slightly. "Does it feel the same?"

"Not exactly," you admitted, pausing for a moment in front of the room’s door. "But there’s something about this place that doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t know if it’s the silence, or the way the walls seem to listen…" You glanced over your shoulder, back down the hallway, as if something might emerge from the darkness. "But I don’t feel completely safe here. Like something’s… off."

Glenn frowned slightly, scanning the surroundings more carefully, as if your words had triggered a subtle alarm.

"If anything happens," he said firmly, "just knock on the wall. My room’s right next to yours."

You nodded silently.

"Good night, Glenn."

He gave you one last look before walking down the hallway, his steps muffled by the worn carpet. You closed the door gently, Alice’s weight still warm in your arms. And though the unease remained, pulsing somewhere deep inside, for a moment you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as alone as you thought.

"Shhh, come on, Alice…" you whispered gently, leaning over the bed as you tried to soothe the little girl’s furious movements.

"Please, Alice," you pleaded in a murmur, as if she could understand the exhaustion in your voice.

You held her ankle delicately while reaching for a damp cloth with your other hand. Her whimpers didn’t stop—soft but constant growls and erratic squirming threatened to knock you off balance at the edge of the bed. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm, and continued wiping her with slow, careful movements. You’d done this many times, but it never got easier.

You never thought you’d end up like this: cradling a life so small as if it were your own. Caring for her with an urgency that came from the deepest part of you, like an instinct you never imagined you had. You weren’t raised for this. You didn’t prepare to be a mother, never even dreamed of it. You weren’t sure you could even call yourself one—not in the traditional sense of the word. But there you were, protecting this little girl as if her every breath dictated the rhythm of your own. As if losing her would mean losing yourself too.

You wondered, as you ran the cloth over her delicate skin one last time, when exactly you had started to see her this way. When had the need to protect her become more important than your own safety? Maybe it was that first night, when you found her in the middle of the chaos. Or maybe it was more recent—when she cried for you in the silence of an unfamiliar place, and you were the only one who could calm her.

Whenever it happened, the certainty was undeniable: you were no longer alone. Not completely. And every decision you made—every step, every risk, every shelter—now had to be made with her in mind. Her needs. Her life.

You secured the clean diaper firmly, noticing how Alice finally began to give in, exhausted from crying. With patience, you dressed her in a fresh outfit: a t-shirt that was too big, but warm. Then you wrapped her in a blanket, making sure her little arms were well covered.

You walked toward the kitchen, guided by the soft murmur of voices and the faint smell of something cooking. Some were already seated around the round table in the center of the space, sharing a moment of apparent normalcy amid so much uncertainty. T-Dog was by the stove, moving scrambled eggs with patient motions, while Glenn sat in one of the chairs, his head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed from the evident hangover of the previous night.

"Want some?" T-Dog offered, raising the spatula in a welcoming gesture as he served a generous portion onto a steaming plate.

"Later," you replied with a faint smile. "I’ll make Alice’s breakfast first."

You passed by the table and placed a hand on Glenn’s shoulder. He looked up at you, and though his face was pale and a bit weary, he gave you a grin that tried to be a smile.

"Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed," T-Dog joked, turning just enough to approach and gently pinch one of Alice's chubby cheeks, who was resting against your hip.

The little one looked at him with a furrowed brow, scrunching her nose as if unsure whether she should be offended or amused.

"She’s got my character," you commented, letting out a soft laugh as you adjusted her better on your hip.

T-Dog burst out laughing.

"That explains a lot."

"How are you feeling?" you asked quietly, leaning in a bit so only Glenn could hear you.

"Like a truck ran me over," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace. "But at least I found a decent room to spend the night... and I don’t have to apologize for falling asleep in clothes."

"A miracle," you teased affectionately, giving him a light tap on the shoulder before turning toward the makeshift pantry in a corner.

It wasn’t long before the others began to arrive, one by one, filling the empty seats around the round table. The soft murmur of voices, the clinking of plates and utensils, and the warm aroma of scrambled eggs created an unexpectedly domestic atmosphere. As if, for a moment, the world were another.

You settled into one of the free chairs and placed Alice gently on your lap. The little one, still a bit grumpy from the diaper change and the abrupt wake-up, didn’t protest too much when you brought the bottle to her lips. She drank eagerly, her eyelids half-lowered, while your hand caressed her back with a slow, comforting rhythm.

Some of the women from the group came closer, heading toward the table or the coffee pot. One of them, Carol, gave you a soft smile before leaning in to brush her fingers lightly over one of Alice's little hands.

"Good morning, beautiful," she murmured softly before continuing on her way.

Another woman gave the baby a playful grimace, but Alice barely glanced away from her bottle, too focused on her breakfast to return the gesture.

The normality in that small corner felt fragile, almost fictional, but necessary. As if everyone understood, without saying it aloud, that holding on to those everyday gestures—a caress, a joke, a shared breakfast—was the only way to keep moving forward without losing themselves completely in the chaos.

[simmila]

CURIOSITIES - Pt.1

Hello there again! Introducing the first part of "Curiosities", a cc pack inspired by sims that love rarities, collectibles, and excesively cluttered shelves. This first release is an introduction to what's to come for the next few weeks/months, which will include: -* A Paleontology pack (Because adult sims can love Dinosaurs and prehistoric animals just as much as kids do!). -* A Crystals pack. -* Archeology pack. -* And a Insects and Bones pack Ethically sourced, of course! Each pack will come with functional electronics and furniture, so you can complete your ideal ecclectic home with more than just clutter/deco items. But for today, you can find a variety of items to decorate your living-room area.

THIS PACK INCLUDES A TOTAL OF 27 OBJECTS:

-* Arm Chair + Loveseat + Sofa -- (20 swatches each) -* Ceiling Fan -- (5 Swatches) -* End Table -- (13 Swatches) -* Storage -- (8 Swatches) -* Rectangular & Circular Coffee Tables -- (24 Swatches each) -* Floor Lamp + Table Lamp -- (20 Swatches) -* Flowers on a Glass -- (10 swatches) -* Stackable Books -- (6 Swatches) -* Framed Insects Clutter -- (8 + 2 Spider Swatches) -* Wall Framed Insects (18 + 6 Spider Swatches) -* Wall Butterfly Collection -- (12 Swatches) -* Amethyst Geode -- (8 Swatches) -* Cut Geode -- (8 Swatches) -* Crystal -- (12 Swatches) -* Bigger Cystal -- (13 Swatches) -* Sea Horse Lamp (Taxidermy) -- (4 Swatches) -* Dinosaur Skull (Carnotaurus) -- (4 Swatches) -* Ammonite Fossil -- (5 Swatches) -* Unspecified Bone -- (5 Swatches) -* Cow Jaw Bone -- (5 Swatches) -* Faux Animal Hide Rug -- (6 Swatches) -* Hourglass -- (8 Swatches) -* Trinket Box -- (8 Swatches) --!! If you dislike spiders, there is an option that doesn't come with the those swatches, please be careful and download the correct one !! --

---! This pack is now Free on my Patreon (x)!---

With love, Simmila.

[valkierrie]

𝚂𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝙰 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚆𝚊𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙳𝚒𝚗𝚎

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): Noel smut, an' swearin', that's about it.

Plot: After a long day at work, Y/N is given a very pleasurable stress-reliever by her boyfriend.

Word count: 2.0K

A/N: Hope the person who requested it likes it; it's been a long time comin' and I'm sorry for the long wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another dreaded sunny day, only because of where I had to be. Instead of being where I was wanted and happy, I was stuck behind a small, lousy desk with my sleazy boss barking commands at me as if I were a lap dog. 

“Y/L!” He yelled, for what was the 13th time this afternoon. There was no need to yell, he knew it. I could still hear him over the hordes of phone calls being made throughout the many cubicles. Mine wasn’t even far from him office. 

With a sigh and internal groan, I pushed my chair back, scrapping it against the marble floor. I adjusted the pencil skirt I wore, which had ridden up slightly during the short interval that I was sat. Mr. Jones should’ve had a special place in hell for him for making us wear these, ‘uniforms.’ Tacky, black pencil skirts and long white shirts that were heroes in the winter and a pain in fuckin’ the winter. 

I laid gentle knocks on his wooden, opened door. Mr. Jones sat behind his large desk on a comfortable office chair, a privilege he selfishly kept for himself. His gaze fell onto me as I stepped into the space. 

“You called for me, sir.” 

“Y/L,” he called my last name, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed as glared at me as with a sense of superiority. “I asked for a coffee fifteen minutes ago, where is it?” 

My brows furrowed. “Sir, I wasn’t told you requested a coffee. Moreover, your assistant’s right out there.” I wasn’t sure why this was being brought to my attention, but I wasn’t surprised, it wasn’t the first time Mr. Jones was making me do something above my pay grade. 

“I know she’s out there; I’m telling you to grab me a coffee, is there a problem with that?” 

The question was rhetorical, it was obvious. I hadn’t missed the smugness it was laced in; he knew the power he had over me and was beckoning me to make a move so he’d get his sick gratification from reminding me.  

There was no use in arguing—what difference does it make? 

“Black. Two sugars, love—oh, and a dash of white chocolate creamer.” He instructed, his elbows rested on the table, his fingers laced together as he laid his chin on them, tilting his head ever-so sightly with a taunting look. 

I left Mr. Jones’ office, the need to keep my job keeping me from flipping him off on my way out his door. I made my way to the coffee room, which took three flights of stairs and a lot of heavy breathing.  

I wasn’t sure why the coffee room wasn’t set in a lower floor—or on the same floor as the cubicles, but no. Any and all logic leaves the moment anyone steps foot in this building. That’s not to say that everyone here’s stupid. They just don’t get the opportunity to use their brains with people like Jones in charge. 

I stepped into the coffee room, pushing the glass door open. The room wasn’t completely devoid of people like it normally was during non-break moments. A few workers stood near the large windows, talking amongst themselves, whilse one merely sat in the rectangular table that was set in middle of the room. 

I took two small strides towards the coffee maker. I did the due diligence of making a cup of coffee, holding back the urge to spit it as I pumped the white chocolate creamer into the coffee. I made my way downstairs and back to Mr. Jones’ office. 

I placed the cup on his desk, a tight smile on my face. “Here you go, sir.” 

Mr. Jones picked up the cup, taking a sip. I was ready to leave, certain that my job was done. However, before I could leave the office, Mr. Jones stopped me.  

“L/N, stay back.” 

I took a deep breath, exhaling deeply. “Sir?” 

Mr. Jones’ facial expression was one of bitterness, and he attempted to get the taste of the coffee out of his mouth. “What did you put in this?” 

“Two sugars and white chocolate creamer.” 

“Tastes like shit,” he set the cup down, sliding it towards me as if it had caused great offense. “Throw this out and get me another cup. Carmel creamer this time.” 

My jaw clenched tightly, despite that, I did what I was told. 

Back to the coffee room I went, squeezing the cup tightly. I threw the cup out and prepared another one, being sure to pump caramel.  

When I returned to Mr. Jones’ office, I placed the cup on his table, quickly attempting to make it out.  

“Hold it, L/N.” He raised a finger in the air, as if it held importance.  

Mr. Jones took a small sip of his coffee before placing it down and shaking his head. “What is this?” 

My eyebrows knit in confusion, crossing my arms. “What you asked for?” 

“Still shit.” 

“It would help if you didn’t have shit taste.” I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath. 

“What was that?”  

“Nothing, sir.” 

Mr. Jones sighed, as if he had done something anything meaningful. “This coffee just ruined my day.” 

“Must’ve been a real shit day for you already, then, uh?”  

Mr. Jones gave me a look, he opened his mouth to say something, but must have decided not to. “I’m not in the mood for coffee anymore. Get me a drink from that place down the street.” 

He could not be serious. I shouldn’t have been surprised; he was like a toddler—a large toddler in a designer suit. 

“But sir—” 

Mr. Jones held his hand up. “Did I stutter? Go get me a drink.” He placed crumpled note on his desk. “Make it quick.” He snapped his fingers, his other hand throwing the coffee cup in the garbage. 

My eye twitched, my jaw set. It took all I had within me to not just jump over his desk and throttled him. I took the money and left the office muttering, “Tosser.” 

I once more, did what I was told, which wasn’t my job. The rest of the day felt numb; Orders after orders. 

When I finally got back to the flat, I felt at peace. 

Not just because of where I was, but who was waiting for me.  

Noel was perched on the floor, slouching, his back to our large, grey, sofa. A black acoustic guitar was being strummed about by him like there was nowhere better to be, it’s sounds echoing about in the place. 

The strums were interrupted when Noel’s eyes settled onto me, a small smile crept on to his face, lazy, but warm. His genuine smiles were one of those things that—although were rare—made you feel special when you were on the receiving end of them. Although today was shitty as hell, coming back to that, almost made it worth it.  

Almost. 

“Alright?” 

I nodded, attempting to give him my best smile, thought I was certain it didn’t quite reach my eyes. I shrugged off my flats, leaving them beside the doormat.  

My stocking coated, patted over to where Noel sat, I settled on the sofa, close to him.  

“Hi,” I greeted softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.  

Noel looked up at me, his blue eyes staring at me with curiosity. “You alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You know work.” 

“That bloke still givin’ you trouble?”  

Of course, Noel had been made aware of Mr. Jones’ behaviour. He was the one I was talking out my neck to about him. 

“Same old,” I shrugged, “still a knob.” 

“Dunno why ya put up that knob, I’d tell ‘im to get stuffed.” Noel sighed, setting his guitar on a stand to the side. “You’ve got twice the brains than the tosser.” 

“Thanks,” I chuckled, “but in a building with more suits than a boutique, that doesn’t really matter.” 

“Lots of suits, not enough fuckin’ brains to make up fer it if you’re not fit to be giving order. Lad’s got a useless degree an’ now he thinks he’s God or summat.” 

The irony wasn’t missed, still that placed a smile on my face—a genuine one. He could tell all he wanted that he had no way with words except with pen and paper, but whenever words—minimal as they may be—left his lips, they flooded my senses. I could almost feel myself becoming defenceless, his sentences building palaces in my mind and the most gorgeous of cathedrals. 

“Speakin’ of fit...” I smirked, moving down to the floor beside him. “You’re looking particularly good in that shirt.”  

Noel chuckled, a tint of pink slowly rising on his neck and the tips of his ears. “Shut up.” 

“I mean it.” My eyes trailed down his torso appreciatively. 

Noel turned his head away, but with a pull of his chin using my fingers, I set his gaze right back me. 

Noel wore a tight-fitting white shirt, a rare occurrence that was very much appreciated for every second my eyes lingered on it. “Work’s shit, but seeing you like this...” I bit my lip, smirking, “just makes me feel better.” 

Noel pulled me close, his lips pressed against my own, slow and without a need to hurry—like there was all the time in the world.  

A soft sigh of relaxation escaped my lips, almost involuntarily. My hands gripped his shoulders, as passion and feverous overtook the kiss. 

“Reckon you’ve had a shite day, then. Don’t worry I’ve got a few tricks up me sleeves.” Noel took control, nudging me back slowly, his body pressing over mine deliberately. “You in this gettup, it’s doin’ things to me.” 

“Oh, yeah?” I teased. 

Noel didn’t respond, instead, his attached to my neck, pushing past the wrinkled collar. His hands slowly made work of the buttons that stood proudly against my chest, barricading them. 

He slowly kissed above my bra-cupped breasts; the feeling was truly something otherworldly. 

He went lower and lower, peppering my skin with kisses, until he reached my lower stomach. He stopped above the waistband of my skirt. 

His hands went up my thighs, slowly pushing up my skirt. He kissed up my thighs, biting the stockings and yanking them down. 

His fingers hooked my panty lines, his thumb stroking the small bow that stood proudly above it. The cotton material was soaked—I was certain of it. I felt the undergarment being slowly tugged down, until it was well passed my feet and out of the way.  

Noel’s lips reunited with my thighs—my upper thighs this time, slowly inching up. He was almost teasing me with how excruciating slow he was going.  

Then, finally, his lips met my bundle of nerves. The contact was brief, yet it was enough to omit a light shutter from my mouth. His tongue met my folds, swirling around. My hands raked through his dark hair. Noel groaned when I softly tugged at his hair, the vibration made me gasp. 

I bit my lower lip, my legs wrapping around Noel’s shoulders as my hips bucked forward, desperate for more. Noel’s nose crudely brushed against my clit, sending a wave of heat with a tsunami-like force within me. A soft squeak escaped my lips as the pressure was building up. 

“Ah—mph—yeah, right there.” I whined.  

Noel changed his angle, his pace increasing along with it. My grip on his hair tightened. It was truly too much. Just thinking about it—Noel in between my legs, like a starved man on a mission—was tipping me over the edge.  

His tongue thrusted in and out, while his nose made work on my clit. It took a few more thrusts for that rush of euphoria to burst in and for the orgasm to rip through.  

I screamed as I came in Noel’s mouth, the intensity making my legs shake. Noel kept going at it, slowly easing me out of my pleasure until I softened beneath him.  

I took a few seconds of me trying to regain control on my breathing before Noel rose back up. Nothing needed to be said—absolutely nothing at all. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him close until our lips touched. I could taste remnants of myself that still remained. I felt connected to him, not just in the physical sense, but in every sense that the word connected meant.  

“Better?” He asked. 

“Much better.” I smiled. 

[meowhara]

࿐.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒆

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ miguel o’hara x fem siren!reader

cw : blood and gore (not much but still)

synopsys : miguel's residence was a unique one, though nobody knew the existence of a deadly being inhabiting beneath it

It was always the same question whenever anyone visited his house. They’re always wondering why it was built like that. Some parts of his house where the tiles should be, were replaced by thick glasses. Clear enough to see the deep blue water underneath. His house was practically built over a gigantic man made body of water. It wasn’t an empty body of water either, there was life thriving underneath. The variety of fishes no matter what sizes or kind live there with coral reefs and underwater plants for the aquatic creatures to live in. Making a whole complete living underwater ecosystem.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” Miguel huffed, his back facing the man that considered him a friend just because they met back in college.

“You. Look at this place.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” He popped open a bottle of fine alcohol and poured a glass for himself, then leaned on the kitchen’s counter before taking a sip.

“No… Not really.” The man reverts his gaze to the wide window behind Miguel. The marine life beyond that window was just stunning. For somebody like Miguel, having this kind of lifestyle wouldn’t be anyone’s first guess.

Miguel rolled his eyes from his reply, walking off from the counter with his drink before walking upstairs. “Would you mind leaving? I’m busy.” He scowled.

“Why? Are you hiding something?”

Miguel’s eyes twitched, isn’t he just polite?

He set himself down on a couch in the middle of the room. The living room was a unique one. There’s a spot where the tiles are supposed to be, left absent and empty. Leaving a literal two rectangular pool connected to each other’s ends, with a wide angle where an “L” shaped marine blue sofa that stretches for at least three meters long on both of its sides. A coffee table made out of thin marble with an oval shape in the center which was also in blue, decorated with gold lining.

The pool, oddly, is a wide one. It was made so that a whole human could slip through it, rather than for decorational purposes. Nobody really pointed it out in the past though, it seems to be a normal thing for anyone to have in their home if they had the money for it. Most people would drown from how deep the pool is if they're not careful. The bottom of the pool was out of the question from how deep it was intentionally made.

The ceiling was high above with water flowing down, forming a thin wall made out of water. Flowing down onto the same pool in the middle of the room. Tall windows on one end of the house, showcasing the breathtaking beauty of Nueva York, especially at night.

His eyes focused on the ill-mannered man he barely knows. Watching each one of his moves carefully.

“Don’t you have a Girlfriend?”

“Broke up.” He answered quickly as the man stood before him after he finished strolling around uninvitedly.

“How did you get your hands on these types of creatures anyway? I’ve never even seen some of the fishes you have swimming around underneath these tiles.” He tapped his feet onto the transparent material underneath his feet. The fishes swam away from the loud thumping noises of his feet.

“I have my own way.” He spoke before taking another sip.

“Illegal?”

“No.” After a long pause, he continues, “Would you mind doing me a favor?” Miguel added.

“What favor?”

“Taking a few steps away?”

“What? Why?”

He shrugged, “Personal space.”

“Geez.” Unsuspectingly, he took a few steps back until his feet were almost touching the edge of the floating platform.

A low whistle escapes Miguel’s mouth seconds before a creature with high speed emerges from underneath the water. Slamming the unsuspecting man into the ground, knocking air out of his lungs. He felt its sharp fangs digging into his flesh with the creature’s weight pushing him forcefully onto the ground. A creature with a human-like body and a massive fin instead of legs hisses their sharp fangs at him, their hair long with water dripping down. Its eyes are as dangerous as the dark mysterious sea, ready to devour him at any second. The man’s eyes widened in sheer panic as he tried to push whatever it was away.

A smile plastered across the host’s face. Calmly sipping all the remaining wine into his system with his back relaxing against his seat. The man screamed, fighting for his life. He even begged for Miguel to save him. But he was too busy watching your beautiful form ripping flesh out of your prey’s body with your mouth. Watching his pet feasting on her favorite meal of the day. His screams died down eventually. The scene was a complete mess, chunks of meat everywhere with a mixture of blood and water splattered across the floor.

Miguel set the empty glass in his hand down before standing up and closing the distance between the both of you slowly. When you saw him approaching you and your meal, you hissed at him.

“Easy there, cupcake.” He scoffed, “I’m not going to steal him away.”

He stood there as you possessively dragged the remaining of your meal back into the pool. Drowning it with you. “That brat.” The word came out from his mouth followed by a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“Lyla, clean this shit up for me.” He commanded the programmed woman.

“You're spoiling her Miguel.” She complained, her hollow body flickering in the dim lit room.

“I'm not. My baby got what she deserves.”

This has been going on for a pretty long time. People disappeared after entering his home, especially the uninvited ones. Although, there are some exceptions. There is someone that loves crashing into his place.

“How many times did I tell you to stop coming here?” His arms crossed over his chest as he scolded the only person that would leave his abode unharmed.

“It's not my fault you made this place very interesting.”

“That was not a reason for you to keep coming here every time I went to work.”

“Aww, don't brothers share?” Gabriel teased.

“I hate you.” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“I won't be coming here ever again.”

Miguel raised his eyebrow, unamused by his little brother's promise.

“I won't be coming here ever again, if you let me have a party here.”

“No.” He didn't even think before the answer left his mouth.

“Then I'll pester you until the end of my life.”

“Go on then. I would rather you bother me rather than inviting people here.”

“Come on, my friends would love this place.”

Miguel's eyes were not focused on him after he saw a glimpse of your eyes inside the pool from where he's standing. He saw the hunger in your eyes upon looking at his brother, a tasty meal for your kind. He knew this would happen that's why he never invited anyone over except for your feeding time every once in a while.

But there's no way he would let you feast on his own family, he shook his head with a serious look on his face. He knew that you would listen to him either way, so he sighed as he watched you disappeared before his eyes.

“If you still want to live, leave.” Miguel spoke with a firm tone in his voice.

“But—”

“I said no to your stupid party and that's final. Leave before I told Lyla to never let you in here ever again.”

“You would ban me from coming here just because of this?”

“Gabriel.” He warned, insisted on letting him stay and telling him the reason why was never the best move to pull no matter what the situation is. Miguel watches as he leaves, listening to his brother swearing under his breath before the door shut by itself. The sound of small waves of water followed by ripples of water made Miguel turn his body to look at your head peeking out of the pool with a frown evident on your face. Breaking his heart from how sad you look after not getting what you wanted, he hates disappointing you.

Your eyes were fixed on the door, hoping your walking food would come back. “I know baby, I know. I'm sorry, okay? But you can't eat him.” He lowers himself to touch your face, gently caressing your cheek. You keep your head fixed on the door without hissing at Miguel. Human language is a foreign one to your ears, you can't understand anything, just a few basic words. Miguel was fully aware of this so he repeated himself. The certain word will always taste bitter to his mouth when it comes to pleasing you. “No baby, you can't eat him.”

Your frown worsens from the word ‘no’. You're not sure what it means, all you understand is that every time the word escapes his mouth, he won't let you get what you desire. “I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.”

After that, he fed you even more men to satisfy your hunger. Their bodies sunk into the abyss of water where the monster he fell in love with abode.

[yeoobiii]

⋆｡°✩ 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜

꩜ boyfriend!changmin x gn!reader

꩜ established relationship

꩜ you receive a package of clothes you ordered the other day and Changmin insists you show him everything you got. Little did he know you had a little surprise for him as well

or: You ask your boyfriend to try on a mini skirt for you because you love his thighs

wc: 2.6k

warnings: slightly suggestive

a/n: there's not much to say, I think Changmin would look irrisitable in a mini skirt and that's it, that's the plot.

It was Saturday morning. Or was it Friday? Your mind felt groggy as you opened your eyes, your room flooded by the golden rays of the morning hour. Still half asleep, you reached across the bed with your arm, a bit confused when you’re greeted with nothing but wrinkly sheets and an unoccupied pillow.

You groaned to yourself, it’s probably not even 10am and all your sleepy mind was craving were some cuddles and kisses but your boyfriend seemed to have dissolved himself into thin air.

Not ready to get up and go look for him, you tossed and turned a few more times in your bed until you faintly registered people talking outside of your room. You perked up slightly, squinting at your door as you heard your front door shut; next thing you heard were footsteps and they were getting closer and closer until eventually the door to your bedroom opened.

Changmin revealed himself to you, his black hair still disheveled from sleep, his oversized sleep shirt slipping down on one of his shoulders. You had to hold back the urge to coo at how cozy he looked. Eventually, you noticed the big cardboard boy he carried.

“The clothes you ordered a few days ago just arrived.” He explained, voice still a bit horse from sleep.

You sat up, your mind more and more present as the seconds go by, the fogginess of dreamland slowly fading.

“You went to go get it?”

“You didn’t wake up from the doorbell ringing so I went to check.”

Changmin moved over to sit down beside you after he placed the box at the foot of the bed.

“Thanks, baby” you give him a soft kiss to the cheek as a token of your appreciation and you both eye the package together.

“Are you gonna show me what you got, or what?” Changmin requested as he smiled at you excitedly. His favorite part about you getting new clothes is when you’d try them all on for him and you’d decide together which pieces to keep and which ones to send back. There was just something about being the sole audience member to your very own little fashion show that he enjoyed a lot.

“Let’s have breakfast first.” You suggested as you comb your hand through his hair lazily and even though Changmin seems to be a bit impatient, judging by the slight pout that’s gracing his features, he eventually agreed and followed you out into the kitchen.

30 minutes later he was sitting on the couch in the living room, a fresh, steaming hot coffee sitting in front of him on the coffee table. He hasn’t changed out of his pajamas yet, the only thing added to his look of an oversized shirt and gray sweatpants were a pair of black rectangular glasses placed on the bridge of his nose.

As he made himself comfortable on the couch, you went back into your room, going through the box of clothes and deciding which items to try on first.

Whenever you do these kinds of things, you make sure to take your time to actually put together an outfit, not only to see if the clothes fit into your already existing wardrobe but also because it was always really endearing how Changmin would hype you up and point out all the things he loved about your outfit or give you suggestions on how you could elevate your fit even further.

After you decided on a pair of washed out, gray-blue denim jeans, which accentuate your ass perfectly, if you might say so yourself, you found a vest in the same order that fit the jeans perfectly. You rounded up the outfit with a white shirt to wear under the woven orange brown vest, added some jewelry as well and didn’t waste any time to show it all off to your boyfriend.

Changmin heard the door to your bedroom open and his head instantly snapped into your direction. His eyes were already on you, having scanned your body up and down multiple times by the time you walked down the corridor and were standing in front of him.

You do a little spin for him, the vest flowing in the air as it is a bit oversized on you. You also hit a few poses in order to show him all the angles.

“Woah” his mouth was slightly agape, his eyes shimmering. The jewelry you picked accentuated the whole outfit perfectly and he’d have loved to take you out then and there, showing you off to everyone who may lay their eyes on the both of you.

“The color suits you so well, baby!” He complimented, eyes big as he’s still taking in your look “I’ve been telling you, you should wear more colors in general, it kind of makes you look more vibrant over all.”

And that’s precisely why you enjoyed doing these things with Changmin so much. Your boyfriend was really into fashion in general and you never questioned his taste in clothes before, that’s how well dressed he usually is. Automatically, you value his opinion a lot when it comes to the clothes you picked out for yourself and getting praise like that from him makes you flustered in all the best ways possible.

“Also, your ass in these jeans looks phenomenal” he added, gaze lingering on the way the jeans hugged your waist and hips.

“I know, right?” You joined in on his enthusiasm.

“I actually think I’m gonna keep both of the items, what do you think?”

Your boyfriend checks you out one last time in the current fit before giving his approval; not that you’d need him to approve your choice in clothes, he knows that.

“Definitely, the whole look is one big yay if you ask me.”

Before you go and change into the next outfit, you take a few steps towards Changmin, grab his jaw and give him a quick, lighthearted kiss, to which he smiles at you satisfied.

As you decide which items to try on next, your eyes land on a specific piece of clothing and instantly you were reminded of the idea you had in mind when you first decided to order the item.

In your hand you were holding not only one but two mini skirts, one of them gray and the other one black. As you browse further through your box of goodies, you find the black waist corset that was originally part of the vision and you smile to yourself excitedly.

You put on the gray skirt combined with a white, flowy dress shirt and a fitting waist chain that you found in your jewelry collection. The matching black skirt you clasp in one hand behind your back as you step out of your room again.

Changmin didn’t waste a single second to admire your second outfit.

“Oh, a mini skirt? I love it. And the dress shirt is so dreamy.” He gushes over you the instant he laid eyes on you. You didn’t miss how his gaze lingered for a moment on your exposed thighs.

And you had to admit to yourself, you were in love with the whole outfit and how it looked on you; your vision basically coming to life. But there was a second part to the whole idea you’d hoped would be a beautiful addition to your already stunning look.

“Thank you, Minnie” You beamed at him. There was something so intoxicating about how dedicated Changmin was to these little fashion shows; having all his undivided attention on you made your insides do a flip.

“Okay so, I had this idea…” you started to explain, while heat rose to your cheeks.

“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind?” Changmin seemed instantly intrigued by your teasing, curious what was on your mind.

“Okay so, when I was ordering this” you pointed towards the skirt you were wearing “I couldn’t help but imagine how it would look if we’d be matching.”

From behind your back, you reveal the black skirt to him.

“And I was wondering if you’d be down to try this on with me?” You ask shyly.

It’s not like Changmin has never worn a skirt before, but from what you’ve seen they are usually on the longer side, never shorter than knee length and while the looks Changmin created with these skirts where immaculate, you couldn’t help but wondering what he’d look like in a mini skirt, with his lean muscular dancer thighs exposed. The image hasn’t left your head since it first occurred to you, so you figured you had to shoot your shot.

“You want us to wear matching mini skirts?” Changmin inquired about the obvious, raising an intrigued eyebrow at you.

There was a cocky smirk starting to form on his lips as he watched how you got progressively more flustered at the idea of him wearing the skirt. He could see it was something you’d really like him to try. Even though he has never been opposed to the idea of wearing mini skirts in the first place, he could never possibly deny you a request like that.

“I just think it’d look really good on you– on us both, I mean!” You went to explain yourself as Changmin slowly got up from the couch, stepping closer to you and eventually taking the skirt from your hands.

“It is a really cute skirt” he agreed as he looked at the piece of clothing properly, his tone teasing.

He is a bit surprised to see how the thought of all of this was affecting you, though. If he’d have known that him wearing a mini skirt would leave you this flustered, he’d have done so ages ago.

“So, you’ll wear it? For me?” You request, eyes big as you wait for his answer.

“How could I possibly say no, if you ask me like that, darling” he smirks at you, placing a kiss on your forehead before making his way to your bedroom to change. It’s not like he wouldn’t change right then and there in front of you, but something within him wanted to show off the same way you did with your outfits earlier, make himself look presentable and see what he can find to combine with the skirt to see your reaction.

“Changmin!” You call out to him before he steps into your bedroom.

“Hmm?” He perks up

“I’ve got something else you might want to wear with the skirt, I laid it out on the bed for you. Only if you feel like it of course.”

“Look at you spoiling me today. I’ll check it out, thank you, baby” and with that he disappeared from your sight.

This time it was your turn to sit on the couch, your fingers fidgeting as you were waiting for your boyfriend to finish changing.

About five minutes later you heard the door opening and out stepped Changmin, wearing the black mini skirt combined with the black waist corset you’ve laid out for him earlier, a knitted white vest tucked loosely into the corset, also leaving his arms and parts of his shoulders exposed. You didn’t fail to notice how he had put on a pair of dangling earrings as well to complete the look.

As he stood in front of you, your mouth went dry. You scanned his body up and down, starting at the knee high socks he has put on, traveling further up to his thighs where your eyes got stuck for a moment. You loved his thighs so much, the skin tan and the outlines of his lean muscles visibly even when he was not flexing them. Next thing your eyes catched was how perfectly the corset seemed to hug his waist, leaving nothing to the imagination. 

As you travel further up, your eyes fixate on the V-cut of the vest and his partially exposed, delicate and sensitive collarbones.

This outfit seemed to highlight all your favorite parts about your boyfriend’s physique in a manner that made him look like a tall tease on two legs.

Your gaze traveled all the way up until you reached the smug smile he was wearing at leaving you speechless like that.

“You like it?” He asked as if it couldn’t be any more obvious by the way you were drooling over him.

“Yes, very much so. Babe, you look– just everything about this look, I’m–“

The self satisfaction at seeing you so flustered and all of that just because he put on a mini skirt and dressed up for you was evident on his face.

Slowly, he takes a step towards where you were sitting on the couch.

“You know, you seem quite affected. Do you need me to get you a glass of water?” He teased, chuckling at his own remark. He knew he was hot.

There have been countless times where Changmin looked at his lover and was left speechless at their beauty and frankly also at how irresistible they looked whenever the both of you dressed up. Something he appreciated a lot about the relationship the two of you shared though was that you never failed to make him feel the same way. The way you were looking at him right now, he felt beautiful, he felt desired, he felt loved. It was an unmeasurable ego boost and he was surprised again and again how good you made him feel about himself.

He took another few steps towards you, until your knees bumped together.

“You just look… really good. You look pretty, Minnie” you compliment him, knowing the effect it has on him.

It didn’t take Changmin two seconds and he was straddling your lap. As if on instinct, your hands found purchase on his thighs as he was crossing his arms behind your neck.

“I have a feeling, I should wear mini skirts more often, yeah?” He whispers against your cheek in-between soft kisses he places along your cheekbone.

“I’m serious, you look so pretty like this, baby” you keep telling him as you were truly obsessed with everything about this.

Your hands slowly traveled up his thighs, centimeter by centimeter sneaking their way under his skirt, making Changmin hiss under his breath in the process.

He could drown in the attention you were giving him; in the way your touch was so soft yet so wicked, the thought unable to leave his mind that it was him that made you feel this way, made you want to touch him, made you want to caress him, made you desire him.

“And you like it when I look pretty, don’t you?” He said before his kisses travel down to your jaw and neck. One kiss at the time the tension in the air rises and your skin starts to itch, yearning for his touches, for the soft grace of his lips all over your body.

“Yes, so pretty, just for me.” You validate him, slightly tilting your head to give him better access, while your hands were still busy exploring your boyfriend’s thighs.

And you were taking your time with them. Making sure to pay attention to every little curve of muscle you could get our fingers on, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin.

If you’d have known your silly little idea would have let to this, you’d have begged your boyfriend to wear matching mini skirts way sooner.

I'm actually thinking of continuing this and making a slightly longer explicit version, but idk yet.

I hope you enjoyed nonetheless! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[cumulo-stratus]

hi sweet max!

I’m here to drop in a request for Aaron x bau!reader, where reader’s just noticing all the little things Aaron does for them in their day to make it better and easier and how THOUGHTFUL HE IS, like maybe he buys their favourite drinks to stock the fridge on the jet and in the office, making sure that their keyboard at their desk is always charged bc he’s there so late at night and he knows they’d forget. maybe he picks them up in the mornings to make sure they get to work on time. Just him trying his hardest to help them out in teeny tiny ways that make a big difference? sorry if this is long or boring I can try something else but yeah! He’s just so cute and thoughtful. Also masc or gn reader is fine, whichever you prefer!! <3

The Little Things

Request- yes/no

Pairing- Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Summary- you notice all the little things Aaron does for you everyday (could be read as romantic or platonic)

warnings- like one use of y/n, fear of flying, mentions of eating/not eating

A/N- Rooommmee!!!! Thank you for this absolutely lovely request, I hade SO much fun writing this, and I may have gotten a little bit carried away😅! But anyways he would SO do that- he's a gentleman fs!! Love u Rome 🫶🫶

wc- 2k

Despite the bright, morning light shining through the large rectangular windows, you still yawned for what must’ve been the fifth time in just as many minutes. In your defense the team had wrapped up a case pretty late the night before. Which meant by the time you were in bed and asleep, it was only a couple hours until your alarm went off to go back to work again the next morning. 

Spencer had arrived around the same time as you—you both took public transit to work— so he pushed open one of the large glass doors marking the entrance of the BAU. Both you and Reid offered each other warm, but tired smiles as he let you go ahead of him, holding the door. 

coincidentally, you both start making your way to the small kitchenette in the corner of the large bullpen. since you hadn’t had any coffee yet, you B-lined straight for the old, barely functioning coffee maker. Gideon had refused to get a new one when Garcia mentioned getting a keurig, stating that all the new ones these days were too fancy- a coffee maker did not need a screen. So that's how you ended up with a coffee pot with stains and knicks all over it from constant use. But what you noticed when you approached it wasn't the coffee maker itself. But what was sitting next to it. 

your snoopy mug!

you couldn't help but break out into a grin at the sight of your favorite mug, it was white with an image of the little white dog, sitting on top of his little house in his signature aviator goggles, hat, and a red scarf. Except the bright red scarf trailed out behind him and morphed into the handle of the mug.

Reid noticed your excitement as he poured his own mug of coffee. The pot was about ¾ full, Hotch and Morgan having already got to it. “Nice mug” Reid commented with a smile as he stirred what must’ve been at least 2 tablespoons of sugar. You thought he was smiling because it was a cute mug—which it was—but Spencer was mostly smiling because he had noticed hotch watching from the window of his office. 

Aarons face had one of his rare smiles that actually reached his eyes. He couldn’t help but blush as he watched you fawn over the mug to Reid. A couple minutes later, after Reid had left for his desk, you made eye contact with Aaron, smiling. Then, if he hadn’t gotten the point already, you took a sip of the hot coffee- which you had forgotten was still hot and scrunched your face in pain. It had burned your tongue, causing you to stick your tongue out in pain. Aaron laughed at the silent scene he watched unfold, but you didn't notice as you had already shook it off and walked to your desk. 

Only minutes after you had settled into your desk, JJ stood on the raised walkway above the bullpen, calling for everyone to meet in the round table room. They had a case. You a bit reluctantly, heaved yourself up from your chair, the weight of sleep still wearing off. Derek chuckled, and gave your arm a playful shove. As you walked by Spencer's desk, Morgan mussed with his hair to get his attention, as he was so absorbed in his book that he hadn’t heard JJ announce the case. 

“Come on pretty boy, we got a case-“ Morgan didn’t finish his sentence before you had sped ahead to catch up with Aaron as he made his way to the round table room. “Thanks for the cereal bar by the way, I forgot breakfast on the way out again.” You spoke casually, barely even making eye contact with him, as this was a normal occurrence. You often arrive at work to find a cereal bar, or pastry on your desk with a little note on it. They were usually Aaron reminding you how important it was to eat. 

“you need to eat breakfast you know y/n, it’ll affect your abilities in cases if you're not careful you know” you just rolled your eyes at Aarons comment, he was often very protective in that way. Although it was a bit annoying sometimes, you mostly found it endearing. It showed that he cared. 

Instead of responding to Aaron’s comment, you just took a bite of your cereal bar as you sat down. JJ started going over the case, 3 women in Wisconsin were missing and presumed dead after days of searching. 

”wheels up” hotch called to the team, and everyone almost immediately dispersed to get themselves ready to leave. 

—

As everyone filed onto the plane and took their seats, you followed Aaron, as you and he often bounced ideas of each other well. And for one other reason. but no one else, not even Emily, your best friend (only second to Aaron), knew about it except for you two. 

You had a fear of flying, take off and landing in particular always freaked you out. You knew it wasn't a good phobia to have, considering how much flying you had to do for your job, but you couldn’t help it. That’s where Aaron came in, you would always sit next to him at the tables, and he would always offer you his hand under the table. He never said anything about it, and no one ever noticed. but every flight a minute or so before takeoff and landing he would rest his hand palm up on your thigh in a silent offering of comfort. and every flight for a minute or so after take off and landing he would keep your hand in his, letting you play with his fingers knowing it often helped you ground yourself and refocus. 

That day he offered a small smile along with his hand when no one else was looking. Morgan and Reid were arguing, JJ was scolding them, Rossi was reading a book, and Emily was getting herself a cup of tea. You decided to get yourself something too, after take off of course when the plane was safely en route to wisconsin.

When you approached the tiny kitchenette of the jet the first thing that came to mind was something snarky, like cheetos. JJ always kept them stocked. But then you noticed your favorite as you scanned the small cupboard, cheddar pringle’s! They were cheesy, crunchy and salty- aka the perfect chip. You immediately grabbed them and tore off the lid, excited to eat the crunchy chips. You had only had coffee and a cereal bar to eat so far that day. Aaron watched you walk back to your seat with a contented smile on your face and a small bounce to your step.

When you arrived at your seat you didn't hesitate to plop down next to Aaron and take a big bite of chips. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit at your obsession with the salty snack and decided to comment, knowing he had put them there last case, noticing they didn't have any. 

“oh, looks like you found your favorite, how nice-“ his smile was almost sly and you noticed. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots that he had restocked them, he often did. And they were often your favorites, your favorite energy drink in the fridge, your favorite protein bars in the cupboard, and your favorite snacks on the jet. 

—

After a long day of profiling in Wisconsin, the team had ordered take out and decided to all sit together around the large table in the conference room that had been provided by the local police department. 

You sat with Aaron to your left, and Derek to your right. THere were 2 trays of food in the middle and various smaller dishes surrounding it. Most of the team was still discussing the case as they served themselves from the various dishes. 

You were the last person to serve yourself, as you had been too absorbed in a conversation with Aaron about where he got his many, very, nice suits. You had learned that Aaron Hotchner gets all of his suits tailored. 

After lots of discussion, and some slightly subpar asian food, the team was ready to get back to work, it was only 9 o’clock, and they were all pretty much workaholics. So reid went back to his many colored markers and his geo-profile. For whatever reason, you hadn’t been able to sleep very well the night before, and due to that you were practically falling asleep standing up. You had moved from sitting into a standing position in order to keep yourself awake a little more. 

It wasn't working. And Hotch noticed this. Aaron used his legs to push up and out of his office chair away from the table to where you were standing about a foot away. He tapped your shoulder to get your attention before speaking. Your head snapped towards him, surprised, as if you hadn’t even noticed him approaching in your trance-like state.

”y/n, you should go back to the hotel, you're no use if you're not clear headed. The team will benefit from you much more if you just get some rest and come tomorrow morning”. You almost immediately tried to protest leaving, but a stern look from Aaron put any protests to rest. Even when you really wanted to protest the idea of him driving you to the hotel, since in his words “you're in no condition to drive, I don't need an agent in a car crash and 3 dead women”. Eventually you had accepted it, as you were too tired to care by the time you and Aaron were on the road to the hotel. 

Aaron left the radio on, playing quietly in the background so the silence wouldnt be awkward. But, number one, you were already half asleep by the time he started driving, and number two, the silence was never awkward with Aaron, you felt comfortable with him.

When you arrived at the hotel, hotch shook your shoulder lightly and you jumped awake saying, “Im awake! I'm here! I'm ready..” before trailing off and yawning. Hotch chuckled as he walked around the car to open your door for you, inviting you to step out in front of him. He walked with you to the elevator and pushed the button for you, always a gentleman. 

When you finally got into your room after struggling with the key for a minute, you flopped face down on your bed with a groan as Aaron watched from the doorway. When he noticed the lamp on he immediately started crossing the room to turn it off, so you could sleep. 

After the lamp was turned off, and Aaron was sure you were okay, and fast asleep, he left for his room in order to change his shirt as he had spilled soy sauce on it at dinner. After making his way to his room down the hall and fumbling with his own key, Aaron made it into his own room to pull out a new shirt. After the long process of taking off his tie and jacket, switching shirts, and putting his tie and jacket back on, he turned off the lamp on the desk near the door. Aaron shut the door behind him quietly so as to not disturb anyone at 10:00 at night.

At first he continued past your room, but then two steps later he changed his mind, turning on his heels back down the hall. He wanted to make sure you were alright one last time before he went back to the police precinct. He had made sure to get a copy of everyone’s room key when they checked in, in case of emergencies. And it wasn’t exactly an emergency, but if you didn't tell, Aaron wouldn't. 

When the door clicked open quietly, light from the hallway bled into the dark room. In front of him lay your sound asleep body, still in its work clothes, passed out face down on the hotel bed. Aaron couldn't help but smile as he approached you, bending down to your level. When his face was level with yours he left a small kiss on your cheek, before retreating back into the well lit hallway and into the night. 

The End