#task lamp

[glitter-studs]

Traditional Home Office Philadelphia Inspiration for a large, traditional built-in desk with no fireplace and a light wood floor in a studio apartment.

[very-crofty]

Freestanding - Transitional Home Office Inspiration for a large transitional freestanding desk medium tone wood floor, beige floor and wallpaper study room remodel with gray walls and no fireplace

[sir-heichou-smith]

141 and their awkward but meaningful experience(s) with wild animals

Gaz:

-It's exactly 1800 hours when he spots the shabby safehouse after they complete the mission that went to utter shit, leaving him separated from the rest of the 141. His back and left arm are sore. Getting shot at and falling out of a second story window doesn't compliment his bone structure, as it turns out.

-He clears the perimeter to make sure he hasn't been tailed while he waits to rendezvous with the others.

-As he surveys the inside of the cabin, he doesn't see the bird's nest perched up in the rafters, but he feels it drop square onto his head when he breaks the lock on one of the doors and shoves it open.

-The little bird that rolls onto the floor chirps desperately and flutters its wings, lopsided and favoring its left side.

-After the minor heart attack and an admittedly embarrassing noise that soap would never let him live down if he'd heard it, he feels bad for the poor thing, picking it up and sticking it in a makeshift nest of his outer layers while he tends to his own wounds.

-"Poor little guy, sorry I fucked up your home. You're all alone too, huh." Gaz makes it up to the bird by wrapping its injured wing in a similar fashion to his own sling, in hopes that it'll help in some way. He even finds a bug in the windowsill to feed it.

-He's so distracted by his new friend that he almost doesn't notice the three sets of footsteps getting closer to his temporary safe haven.

-"The feck do ye got there, mate?" He's relieved to hear the familiar Scottish lilt from the main entrance, their captain and lieutenant right behind him.

-"It's my best buddy. He's your new replacement, Tav." Laughing as he dodges the MRE thrown in his direction, he settles the baby bird in next to him while they take watch in shifts for the hours long wait to exfil.

Price:

-For once the 141 was able to take a much needed break. In between missions, the captain invited the rest of his team on a camping trip for the weekend. Not many knew, but instead of a house, Price owned a beautiful log cabin just north of Hereford with a few acres of land and a body of water for hunting and fishing respectively.

-The next morning, Price and Ghost left at the asscrack of dawn to part take in the former, hoping to score dinner for them all from the comfort of his backyard.

-"See anything up your way, Simon?" "Negative, sir." The pair continues to wait in silence as the sun slowly starts to creep over the horizon. He's just about to call it when he hears crunching leaves just to his right.

- Price looks as far as he can without turning his head, and spots their dinner, just out of the corner of his eye and a few paces away at that. A beautiful 12 point buck that has no fear or spacial awareness as it seems. It turns its head to look directly at him too, as if daring him to do something.

-The deer inches forward ever so slowly to him, seeming more curious than anything. He can see Ghost not 10 meters on his opposite side, not doing anything to help the situation, just desperately trying to hold it in. Slowly, as a trained and patient death machine of a man can be, he pulls out his cell phone to take a picture.

-Then he feels it. The light sniffs, and then the feeling of a slimy tongue on the side of his forehead and hat. The damn thing is tasting him as if he were a berry on a bush.

-At the turn of Price's head, he meets its eyes. As if it just now figured out it's been caught in the act and regains control of itself, the buck whips around and bounds away.

-The photo in their group chat, from yours truly, has the other men in shambles. "You're lucky you're my favorite lieutenant. Otherwise I'd give you extra duty for at least a week." Price thinks it's worth the hassle though, as he rarely gets to hear that deep grumble of a laugh from his most stoic soldier. Take out doesn't sound so bad after all.

Soap:

-"C'mon lt, a few drinks won't kill ye, first round's on me." A flash of pearly whites and a playful wink thrown is all it takes for the man to cave.

-The two men walk to a local pub frequented by soldiers and civilians alike. Not too busy but not as quiet as Ghost would prefer. They meet up with Price and Gaz, Soap greets them with a smile and Ghost simply nods, already anticipating the night to be over.

-Soon enough the first round of drinks becomes the second, then the third, then a pint, and two, and a few more after that. Price bids the three of them goodnight, claiming something about having paperwork to finish up for tomorrow.

-"Aw cap yer no fun, Gaz here's the only one who knows how to give a lad good company." At that, Soap turns his head with a cheese grin to lock eyes with his fellow seargent. "Don't rope me into this, Tav, we all know you'd drink us all under the table even if we dared you not to. Plus, the old man's right. I've got training tomorrow with the rookies too, I'll catch you later mate."

-"Looks like it's you n me, lt. I knew you'd never leave me alone." Soap goes to get up and order another set of drinks for them, but ends up stumbling and holding the edge of the table for a bit too long before Ghost then stands up. "Alright, seargent, you've had enough it looks like. Let's head back before I have to throw you over my shoulder."

-Soap gives a sheepish grin and scratches the back of his neck. "Aye, lt. Let's get outta here." The walk back to base goes by without a hitch. Until Soap hears something that sounds like a cry coming from an alleyway just off post.

-"Ya hear that Ghost? Where's it comin from?" He's begins to look for the source of the sound as the larger man attempts to drag him towards the direction of the base. "Who knows, Johnny. It's fucking baltic out here an' youre worried about god knows wha- STAY out of that dumpster!"

-Soap doesn't listen as he begins to try and look underneath and around it to see where he's hearing the sounds from. A few seconds later Ghost hears, "Aw lt it's a wee kitten! We cannae just leave 'em out here. Gimme yer coat, he's cold."

-"Johnny what the bloody fuck do you think you're doing with tha-" "IT'S A KITTEN AND I'M TAKIN' EM TO MY ROOM SO I WON'T GET IN TROUBLE NOW HAND ME YER JACKET." Ghost rolls his eyes and sheds his outer layer, leaving him in his black crew neck and balaclava. He knows it's best to just give him the damn hoodie since it's the only way he'll be able to herd his seargent back to his room safely.

-Just before Ghost hands over his coat, Johnny comes out from the darkened alley with what he claims is a kitten. However, he yanks the hand holding his precious coat back once he sees what the other man is holding in his hands.

-"Johnny what the FOCK that is NOT a cat you bloody fuckin- put it DOWN NOW."

-The man gives his best big blue puppy eyes even though he doesn't realize what he's holding isn't a cat at all, but a baby raccoon he found digging around in the trash. "Can we keep him lt? Please he'll be good and we can call him Floof or Bringer of Death or whatever you wanna name him!"

-"Oh for fuck sake you idiot, put the damn thing back in the trash before you get rabies and then I'll have to do so much paperwork because of your dumbass. I swear to you I'll-."

-As Ghost carries on, Soap puts the little trash panda back where he found it, (albeit begrudgingly), and they walk home just a little bit faster. If only to warm each other up when they get there.

Ghost:

-Ghost gets sent on a solo op to the desert in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere. He's on a stake out mission, meant to gather intel from afar and report back to Watcher periodically over the span of several days.

-As the hours pass by in the blistering heat, Ghost is a sentinel, unmoving and unwavering and unseen. The man has been glued to his rifle for the past 72 hours, and there isn't a sight of hair nor hide of anything worth noticing or reporting since he landed.

-It's approximately 12 hours before he needs to pack up and head to the exfil site that he sees movement. "Bravo 0-7 to Watcher." "Watcher here 0-7, send traffic." "Got movement heading towards the compound. HVT confirmed, multiple armored vehicles, what looks to be a package being guarded for delivery." "Good work, Bravo. Keep an eye out for any reinforcements or sudden changes until further notice. Watcher out."

-It's only after he clicks off his comms that he feels movement coming from his pant leg. As calmly and quietly as he can while flat on his stomach, he wiggles out of his boot and removes the offender. A small, brown lizard doing it's damndest to hang on to his sock.

-He flicks it to the side, shakes his head in silence, and doesn't think about the incident until after he rendezvous with the bird.

-On the tarmac and sore to hell and back from being a statue for several days, his seargent greets him before he even steps out of the belly of the plane.

-"Lt! It's good to have you back." Ghost just nods his way, not unkindly--the exhaustion setting in quick now that he's returned. Soap sends a bright smile his way, and follows the older man all the way to the armory to turn in his gear, and then all the way to the captain's office for debrief, and then to his door to finally shower and fall into bed for the next 10 hours until he's needed again.

-Ghost doesn't have the mind to look either direction before pulling his sergeant into the room behind him, locking the door once it's closed. He dips his head to the other man's shoulder and wraps his arms around his back in a much needed embrace.

-"Let's get you washed up and in bed, mo ghraidh." Soap takes the lieutenant by the hand and leads him to the bathroom to begin shedding him of his many layers.

-It's when he gets to his cargos that he notices it. "Uh, lt?" "Yeah, Johnny?" "Whatcha got in there?" "Huh? In where?" Johnny gently pats the right side of his hip, where his deepest pocket lays from the side of his hip to the middle of his thigh.

-Simon reaches into his pocket and freezes. "You've gotta be shittin me." He pulls out from his pocket a small, wiggly brown lizard that followed him home in the safety of his pocket. All they could do was look at each other and laugh.

[pairs-studio]

[the-whispers-of-death]

Vampireking!reader out on the balcony of his castle, watching the sun rise. The sun almost hitting his skin and turning him into dust...

Vampireking!reader feeling Stone wrap his arms around his waist and whispers softly to come back inside where the windows are covered with thick black curtains

Vampireking!reader going back inside and climbing back into bed with Kali and Stone and crying in their arms because he so badly misses the sun on his skin

Thank you that angst, anon. Excuse me while I go cry.

[menasors]

Some more for Breakdown (I'm not sure of who otherwise than him you'd describe as a favorite character of yours?)

how about:

1. Do you project onto this character?

22. Do you think you will always love this character?

23. Has this character permanently altered or impacted your psyche in a way you won’t forget?

33. Are you “blinded by love” for this character or do you accept any flaws they may have?

34. Does this character inspire you with little things in your daily life?

YAYAY! I don't think I have other favourite characters like him, honestly. I have some favourite characters in certain media, but Breakdown's my favourite character out of every character ever methinks.

1. Do you project onto this character?

Noo..... Why would you think that...

Almost everything I write or draw of him is just me projecting onto him, honestly. I keep his personality and character traits but just kinda throw shit at him that I do or have gone through because I already see so much of myself in him. Honestly kinda fun.

22. Do you think you will always love this character?

I like to think so! Even if my hyperfixation on him ends up going away, he's meant so much to me these past few years and helped me get through so much, he'll always have a special place in my heart and trinket shelf.

23. Has this character permanently altered or impacted your psyche in a way you won’t forget?

Oh definitely. I don't know how to describe it but he definitely has. He's honestly helped me cope with so much stuff in so many different ways. I get anxious bringing my Breakdown backpack places, but it still brings me so much comfort because he makes me so happy.

33. Are you “blinded by love” for this character or do you accept any flaws they may have?

I think my favourite thing about him is the flaws. To ignore flaws is to ignore character.

A major part of many characters, but notably Breakdown and the Stunticons, are their flaws. It's what makes them unique and their own characters. If Breakdown was flawless, there'd be nothing interesting about him. He'd have nothing being the cause of his violence or engine power. He'd have none of the paranoia or anxiety that makes him so unique. He'd just be a car with a superpower.

34. Does this character inspire you with little things in your daily life?

Absolutely! There's a lot of things he inspires or helps me with, especially ones I feel quite embarrassed about with how stupid they feel in my mind, even though I know I'd never judge someone else for doing the same thing.

My backpack being themed on him inspires me to make more little crafts to go into the windows, and his design and character are so interesting to me, they hardly fail to inspire my writing or drawing.

My old toothbrush was blue and orange because those colours remind me of him, and otherwise my toothbrush would rarely catch my eye and thus I'd forget to. A friend of mine made me a motivational poster with him on it that I look at daily because he's on it. A lot of this feels silly to write out but he's a major reason why I have energy sometimes.

[connormoving]

like i always knew clash of heroes might and magic wasnt a huge game but i thought maybe it had some fans No. more posts for mabel x evil morty when i search clash of heroes than any post relating to the game

[hoziersong]

showering in low light in the middle of the afternoon is an unmatched experience

[nativeband]

Mid-sized transitional freestanding desk medium tone wood floor and brown floor home office photo with blue walls and no fireplace

CVHSP 2018

[samaylogs]

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[bundy-keating-1997]

#homedecorideasdiy

[medicalequipmentabimed]

LED Medical Examination Lamp

An LED medical examination lamp is a specialized lighting fixture used in healthcare facilities for illuminating examination areas during medical procedures, patient assessments, and diagnostic examinations. Adjustable Height of Balance Arm: The height of the whole lamp is 800 to 1750 cm

[nappingmoon]

modern au where your husband nanami is a literature professor and he sits you on his lap while he reads essays and prepares lecture material. he gets so used to the weight of you on his thigh, the warmth of your body against his, that eventually, he finds that he cannot focus without you there.

nanami is a little sheepish when he enters the living room, hemming a little bit in a way that’s very uncharacteristic of your lover. your eyes stray from the show playing on the television, now curiously tracking his small movements. you pause the contents on the tv before greeting him. “hi baby, you okay? how’s grading going?”

nanami’s hand reaches up to adjust his glasses before he releases a little sigh. “not well, my love.” his voice is quiet, the deep timber a comforting sound. he walks into the kitchen as he continues, “I’ve been working on reading these papers, but I find my mind straying far too much.” he finishes his sentence while pouring water into the kettle, placing it then on the stove.

“is that so?” you ask, leaning over the arm of the chair, enjoying, as always, the sight of your lover doing mundane tasks— the domesticity of it never ceasing to affect you, even after years of marriage. “where’s your mind been going?” despite the question, you have an idea and the smile on your face betrays it.

nanami hesitates as retrieves two cups from the cupboard; the beautiful, delicate china a wedding gift that has become the staple for holding your evening teas. “you, darling. though it is becoming apparent that you already knew that, tease.” he grumps at the end without malice.

“I assumed, but I always love to hear it.” you giggle in return. “want me to come keep you company?”

he’s nearly done pouring your teas, steeping the loose leaves in your favorite tea holders. “yes, please. if you’d like, you can watch your show in the room. I just prefer you do it next to me.”

“that’s alright, I was getting bored of it anyways. plus, i’d rather watch that quirk in your eyebrow when you find that your student has used ‘perchance’ incorrectly again.”

“minx.” he chides. “keep making fun of me and i’ll forget to put in your sugar.”

“I yield! I yield,” you laugh, raising your hands high in defeat. “it’s far too bitter without the sugar, I don’t know how you make do.”

the small spoon clinks as he finishes stirring in your honey and sugar, and he lays it down in the sink before picking up the cups, each sitting in their own decorated porcelain plates. you rise from the couch, quickly pressing the ‘off’ button on the remote before padding over to your husband.

you gently nudge your way under his arm, wary of the tea he’s carrying, and nuzzle yourself into him. you walk in tandem to your room approaching the warm glow of his desk lamp. “I don’t need any more sugar; you’re enough for me, sweetness.”

a/n: you can’t just say perchance

[gloomwitchwrites]

I'm in a roll....

The 141 in grey sweatpants. 🥵

You're in a roll? Me too. A brioche roll. Or maybe a Hawaiian roll. Or rolled inside one of Price's many cigars. Kidding (not really). I knew what you meant.

And grey sweatpants...yes please! I am salivating over here. Literally drooling. And it's only grey sweatpants. No shirts. No shoes. Just sweatpants and muscle. (my god I need to go touch grass).

These are...spicy. How could they not be? It's our favorite men in nothing but grey sweatpants.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): established relationship, suggestive themes, swearing, invitations for sex, dirty thoughts, sexual situations, married life, fade to black

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“It’s bedtime. Bath. Pajamas. Teeth.”

“But Dad! Lucy and I—”

“Bed.” You grin into your glass as John ushers the children out of the living room. “Come on you two. I want to kiss your mother.”

“Ew. Gross!” the kids screech in unison.

The trio disappears down the hallway. You hear water running and the laughter of your children. John eventually emerges thirty minutes later. He runs his hand over the top of his head, sighing heavily.

When he enters the living room and notices you, he grins mischievously. His body is on full display. Broad chest with a lovely dusting of dark hair that trails downward to disappear beneath the band of his grey sweatpants. John is all thick muscle. A wall of strength. You’ve always loved that about him. How he seems to take up so much space or the way he crushes you with his body when he goes in for a snuggle.

John plops down on the sofa beside you. The moment his ass hits the cushion, John grabs for you. You giggle, playfully pushing at your husband as his weight tips you back, pinning you to the sofa.

“The kids,” you protest with a whisper.

“They’re sleeping,” he replies just as softly, keeping you pressed beneath him.

John goes in for a kiss. It is sweet. Slow. Deep. Completely indulgent. There is so much of him. And his scent is everywhere. It fills your lungs. Makes you weak.

Your lips part and John slips his tongue inside. You start to soften, to lean into his kisses. Each is salt-laced passion. A tease for later. He might have you pinned against the couch, and his tongue down your throat, but John will move this behind a locked door.

As John goes in for another kiss, the sound of a door unlatching comes from the hall. John freezes and you go still beneath him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters.

Pushing up to a more seated position, John addresses the offender with a raised voice. “You best be in bed.”

There’s a gentle squeak, and then a door closing.

John sinks back down, resting his forehead against yours. He sighs heavily, and you give him a quick kiss. He returns it, and then snakes an arm under your back. He hauls you up and into his lap. You straddle him, hands pressed against his firm chest.

Through the sweatpants, you can feel his hardness pressing against your thigh. John’s hands roam downward to cup your buttocks, squeezing.

“Ready to take this elsewhere?” he asks, grinding his hips upward.

You have to stifle a moan.

“Please, John.”

With a light slap to your ass, he lifts you off his lap and onto your feet. The ground is solid. Steady. But then John’s hands return, and then you’re away, being guided down the hall to your bedroom.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You snuggle into the couch and crack open your paperback book.

Everything is in order. You have a glass of wine, a bowl of snacks, the tableside lamp on, and a cozy blanket. It’s late, but it’s officially the weekend. There will be plenty of time to relax.

“Reading out here?”

You glance up, and find Kyle in the entrance of the hallway, leaning against the wall. He’s shirtless. Without shoes. Just him, his freshly showered skin, and a pair of grey sweatpants. Kyle absently scratches at his chiseled stomach, head slightly tilted as he waits for your answer.

You can’t help but focus in on every line of muscle.

“Babe,” he prompts, laughing.

“Sorry?” you reply, blinking.

Kyle laughs again, the sound sweet. He strides forward, coming to a stop beside the sofa. He taps the side of his mouth. “Got some drool.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you giggle, checking with a quick wipe with the back of your hand.

Kyle’s smile is infectious. You can’t help but match it.

“Can I join you?” he asks, already lifting the blanket.

“You’re not going out with the boys?”

Kyle shakes his head. With one hand he lifts the blanket, and with the other he grabs your legs and lifts. He slides in, and drapes your legs over his lap before returning the blanket to drape over your body. Keeping one hand under the blanket, Kyle rests his hand on your inner thigh. It stirs heat in your core.

“Tomorrow,” he yawns. “Simon has a sick kid.”

“Bummer.”

Kyle shrugs, draping his over arm over the back of the couch. His hand on your thigh is a brand, and it’s only made worse when he starts massaging.

“Is it a spicy one?” asks Kyle, nodding toward your book.

Yes.

“Maybe,” you say slowly.

Kyle smirks, and then the book is out of your hand.

“Kyle!” You reach for it, but he twists, blocking your forward momentum.

He examines the pages in front of him. Heat rushes into your cheeks. As he reads, his eyes widen.

Kyle’s mouth drops open.

“What?” you prompt. You try to snag the book but he blocks you.

He glances at you. “Are you aware of where he’s putting that gun?”

“It’s fictional.”

“When you ask me to recreate things—”

“Kyle—”

“—is this what you’re talking about?” His gaze goes from you to the book and then to you again. “I’m down for a lot of things, love, but I’m not sure I’m down for that.”

Pushing off from the couch, you snatch the book out of Kyle’s hands. He surrenders it easily, a smile on his perfect face. The blanket is a crumbled mess beside him, but that’s not what you’re focused on.

The grey sweatpants have shifted, exposing more of the deep v of his pelvis. But it’s not just that. Kyle is hard. That is very clear.

He leans against the back of the couch, throwing both arms out to rest over the top. Flexing his hips, Kyle puts himself on display.

“I’ve got something else I can put inside you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

A delighted shriek comes from the kitchen.

Johnny emerges, completely unbothered even with the two children in his arms. He has the oldest child, who just turned five, sideways and tucked under one arm. The boy has a wicked smile of his face even as he wiggles, trying to free himself from his father’s grasp. It’s fruitless.

The other child, a boy of three, keeps shrieking with delight even as Johnny lifts him into the air by his ankle. He is upside down, arms flailing, his brown hair hanging below him.

Johnny doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t even break a sweat. He carries the two of them like it’s nothing.

He’s almost completely naked except for a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. They show off the deep v of his pelvis, and the dusting of dark hair that spreads over his chest and descends downward. You’ve touched that chest so many times. You know it as well as you know yourself.

Johnny’s gaze is on the television, watching the football match. The kids still shriek and playfully claw at him. But he remains unbothered.

Sitting there on the sofa, you consider that a third kid might not be so bad. You’d give him a small army if he asked.

Johnny glances away from the television, and when his gaze lands on you, it is entirely knowing. Heat curls in your belly, and his smile widens.

“Found these gremlins digging in the pantry,” he says, indicating the kids by hoisting the three-year old higher into the air and squeezing the other tighter against him.

Both kids giggle manically.

“After brushing their teeth.” Johnny tuts. “What’s to be done?”

Both children continue to giggle, not answering their father.

“Sounds like it’s time for bed,” you muse.

The children groan.

“But I’m not tired,” moans the five-year old.

“Too bad,” laughs Johnny. “Come on.”

He doesn’t put them down. He carries them like that all the way to their bedroom. Even from your spot on the sofa, you can hear their manic giggling. After a while, it quiets down, and Johnny emerges from the hall.

Instead of sitting down on the couch next to you, he grabs the remote and shuts off the television.

“Not interested in the game?” you ask.

“Nope. Want something else.”

His sultry smile tells you enough.

Slowly, he approaches, coming to a stop in front of you. He offers his hand, and you take it. With little effort, Johnny brings you to your feet, and hauls you close. Your free hand immediately rises, pressing against his chiseled stomach.

“What is it that you want?” you murmur, already knowing the answer.

His hardness presses against your belly, his voice going low and gravelly as he speaks. “I’d like to spend some time between those gorgeous thighs.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever I very well please.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This is agony. A terrible joke.

Simon is right there. Sweaty. Shirtless. In nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants.

He’s completely in the zone. Heavy metal blares through the stereo’s speakers, drowning out the sound of his gloved fists striking the punching bag. Morning light pours in from the open window, giving Simon an ethereal glow.

You watch from the doorway, chewing on your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to pounce on him. Simon is all muscle, and not in a gym rat way. He is thick everywhere. You want to lick the sweat from his skin, to drop to your knees before him, and tug those grey sweatpants down.

You know what you’d find. And it sounds delicious.

But he is in the zone. And you won’t disturb him.

Pushing down the naughty thoughts, you start to turn away, to return to the kitchen and find something to eat for breakfast.

The music abruptly cuts off.

“See something you like, love?”

Simon’s raspy voice draws you back to the room. With one hand on the doorframe, you meet his gaze, and promptly melt into the floor. He has a cocky grin on his face, and his shoulders heave slightly from exhaustion.

You lick your lips. “Always,” you reply, fingers digging into the wood.

Simon’s gaze scans you. You feel exposed, like he can see through your clothes. It’s knowing. Amused.

“What is it?” you prompt, staring just as hard as he is.

Simon removes one glove and then the other. He tosses them to the side, never taking his eyes off you.

“Come here,” he says.

You don’t move.

Simon arches a single eyebrow. Instead of repeating himself, he gestures with one finger, indicating that he wants you to come to him.

Heat rushes from your cheeks down to your toes. Slowly, you peel yourself away from the door, heading for him. Simon’s natural swagger is alluring, and those sweatpants sit so low.

Just one tug. That’s all it would take. And you’d be able to take him in your mouth.

As you approach, Simon reaches out, grabbing your waist, tugging you close to him. You instinctually hook your finger in the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

Simon smirks.

You inhale deeply, savoring the manly musk of him.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Not for breakfast,” you sigh.

“For something else then?”

You nod.

Simon leans in but doesn’t kiss you. He holds back slightly, lips curved into a hint of a smile. “Want to hear what I have in mind?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

Simon presses his thumb on your bottom lip. “I can fill that mouth.” His thumb drops away from your lips, and trails over your chin before brushing over your stomach. “And belly.”

His gaze stays on you. “What do you think of that, love?”

[crescendence]

Miami Freestanding Home Office Image of a home office with a mid-sized tuscan freestanding desk, a beige floor, porcelain tiles, and no fireplace.

[connormoving]

i am going to go to bed nowwww yay :] tmrw ill get to see my family and im excited