#Grey marble table lamp

[inkedtae]

the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART II

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

⬅︎ PART I

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.6k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ this is a continuation of the original post as the overall word count exceeds the character limit on tumblr posts. this is not an official part 2, but rather the second half of the one shot.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Your vision blurs, head spins. Movements slow, you sit yourself up. The zip-ties, previously binding your wrists and ankles, have been removed. So have your platform ankle boots, fish-netted feet brushing against the fur of your coat. Willing your sight back, you screw your eyes tight, blinking until your vision finally clears to take in the room.

A masterpiece of modern elegance, the room is a blend of minimalist design that indulges comfort. It is expansive, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows to offer a panoramic view of the Crimson Heights skyline below. You shuffle yourself off the comfortable bed, eager to get a closer look. The red lights of the city twinkle back at you and cast a soft, ambient glow throughout the space. You’ve never seen the city from such a height, swallowing thickly.

In the reflection of the glass, beyond your haphazard image of dried tears and ruined lipstick, the bed you have only just climbed out of summons your attention.

Draped in the finest linens with a dark charcoal-grey duvet and plush pillows arranged neatly, it must be king-sized in order to fit  the extensive space of the room. The headboard is a stunning work of art in itself—made of dark walnut wood, with soft leather inlays that give the room a sleek, masculine impression. The bed sits on a low, streamlined platform, reinforcing the room's minimal yet luxurious aesthetic. And, on either side of the bed, are matching nightstands, both topped with geometric lamps that are made of brushed steel and frosted glass.

Your eyes fall to the polished, dark hardwood floors. A rich, handwoven wool rug in deep, muted tones lays over it, warming the room and offering texture underfoot. You catch the gleam of the recessed lighting overhead, installed in the high, coffered ceilings. You lift your gaze and take in each panel. An awed sigh leaves you at the sight of the meticulously crafted slots, indirect LED lighting embedded into the coves to cast a sophisticated, layered illumination.

Against one wall stands a sprawling built-in wardrobe. The seamless doors are made from smoked glass and brushed steel accents. And, to the left of the bed, a small seating area invites relaxation, consisting of a sleek leather armchair and a low-profile marble coffee table. A few books rest upon it, alongside a single crystal whiskey tumbler, hinting at quiet, contemplative moments probably spent here.

You wander further around the room, spotting a door that leads to the master ensuite bathroom in the corner. It’s visible through frosted glass sliding doors. You debate on going in, curious to see what breathtaking architecture it will offer.

But then the walls captivate your attention, or rather the art that hangs from them. Large intricate pieces, each one probably chosen for its muted palette and contemporary feel, enhance the understated luxury that defines the room. The only splash of colour comes from a vase of white orchids resting on a sleek dresser, their delicate petals standing out against the otherwise neutral tones.

You resist reaching a hand out and tracing rigid lines of dried paint.

“I don’t give a shit,” you hear Chris growl on the other side of the black door.

You stiffen.

This is his room, you realise. The heart-wrenching events of the night return to you in a fast wave, flooding you with the same shame and anger that plagued you in the van.

As quietly as you can, you rush back to the bed for your coat and dig through the pockets for your switchblade. However, both are empty of your belongings, not even your lipstick remains. If you really are left without a weapon, you know what you must do.

Scooping up your coat and boots, you make your way to the door. It was one thing to be caught tangled in a bright dressing room with witnesses. It’s another to be cornered alone in his room. If he has a view of the city this marvellous, he must be tightly connected to within Stray Kids. You cannot, will not, subject yet another gang to your reckless behaviour. It will be best for everyone if you just leave. Besides, Vinny is probably worried sick about you, having witnessed you kidnapped.

“Call him,” Chris orders, his loud voice a bit clearer as you open the door. “Tell him she’s safe.”

You look up and down the long corridor. It is just as exquisite as the bedroom. Grey walls, remarkable artwork that looks to be of Korean origins. The hardwood floors extend beyond the room too, covered by a narrow carpet of lavish Persian design.

The left side leads to a number of rooms, one of which has the door wide open. Warm light seeps into the hallway with the natural grace of the sun, momentarily disrupted by shifting shadows. You don’t need to hear his voice again to know Chris is in there, the oversized silhouette of his frame confirmation enough.

You feel a grin involuntarily spreading on your lips.

“Good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says behind you.

Turning, you meet an unfamiliar face. Features nearly feline, the indigo haired man stands on the other end of the hall, compromising your path to the exit. He crosses his arms over his chest, dragging his gaze over your frame, attention lingering on the coat and boots clutched to your chest.

“And we were worried you’d try to run,” he jokes, though his face is void of friendly notions.

That stern dryness of his tone, sharpness of his voice triggers a memory.

“Shut up,” he had hissed before informing you that Vinny was alive.

“That’s what you do, right?” he asks. “You’re a runner.”

You narrow your gaze. “You say that like it’s some secret.”

He flashes a knowing smirk, as if well aware of your secrets. What is more astonishing, however, is the way that suggestive grin resembles Chris’s. It lacks his charisma and cynicism, and that flicker of darkness, dimming whatever light might have snuck through with indications of loss and trauma. So while the one before you is a good copy, it is not perfect. Those onyx eyes gleam of playful interest, twinkling with subtle notions of hostility instead.

You wonder if he learned it from—

Chris says your name.

The speed in which you turn to answer his call is downright disgraceful. Shame heats your chest, spreading up to your cheeks. Your instincts scream at you to avoid his gaze, to focus on anything other than that teasing smile he’s trying to bite back, but you find yourself helpless, unable to tear yourself away.

He must have showered, the smears of lipstick and splattered blood gone. His hair is pushed back, displaying his forehead. And his handsome face is on the way to recovery. Though his bruises still look tender, the cut on his brow is all clean and bandaged. Leaning against the doorframe, he wears a black shirt, that still emphasises the large muscles of his biceps, and a pair of matching sweats. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to look just as good clothed as they do half-naked.

“Come’ere,” he beckons before tonguing his cheek. The twinkle in his gaze is enough indication that he knows you’ve been checking him out.

I need to go, you know you should say.

Your body has a mind of its own though, diminishing your voice, shackling your sanity and nudging you towards him. Completely compelled by the pull of his charm, you obey, only stopping once you’re pressed against his buff chest again and cranking your neck back to maintain his enamoured gaze.

“Let me get these out of your way,” he smiles, voice a mere notch above a whisper.

No, thank you. I have to go.

His fingers brush yours, prickling goosebumps along your arms.

You release your tight grip. He hands your things to the man you met in the hallway. Barrier of your belongings removed, you fully lean into him.

Grin widening, Chris cups your cheek and rubs his thumb against your chin. “You know, I resent the fact that you think I’m dramatic,” he mumbles, inches away from your lips. “I just like making statements.”

“And what statement were you planning on making by abducting me?”

His eyes darken, swirling with sinister intent. As if remembering he had an agenda beyond seducing you, Chris’s soft caress on your chin becomes a tight grip. He forces your lips onto a pucker, using his new hold to guide you into the room and shove you into the nearest chair.

You softly grunt upon the impact. Chris clenches his jaw to suppress a smirk. You know that you’re fighting your desire based on the fact that you do not deserve to have it fulfilled, being the treacherous person you are. But why is Chris suddenly shoving down his sexual urges? He didn’t have any qualms about using them to lure the truth out of you before.

The magnificent state of the office disrupts your thoughts. It maintains that same elegant, minimalistic aesthetic of his bedroom. Tall windows that offer views of the pier, gleaming hardwood floors decorated with luxurious, handwoven carpets of varying muted shades, all working together to become the backbone of comfort and professionalism within the room.

In front of you, Chris leans on the large, polished walnut desk. You notice a sleek laptop, and a few notepads and pens, all of which are neatly arranged. An ergonomic leather chair looms over the desk and you find that you are thankful he is not sitting on it, knowing you’d be incapable of enduring his scrutiny from such a position of power without wrestling the overwhelming urge to touch yourself.

In one corner, a small lounge area features a plush velvet sofa in a deep navy hue, flanked by a glass-top coffee table. A handful of his friends, including Seungmin and the icy-haired man from the dressing room, occupy the space. The other side, by the wall of windows, linger the remaining few, including the man who took the position of his coach in the recent match and the one you met in the hall.

The artwork in the office does not resemble that of his room, or even the corridor. It is more abstract, sometimes broken up by black and white photos of himself in the ring. He barely breaks a sweat in each photo, clenching hard around his mouth guard as he glares at his opponent. A championship belt is framed and pinned behind his desk too, under a collection of trophies and gold medals.

You wonder how many people have been invited here, blessed to witness the wonders held within these walls.

“I need to know everything,” Chris says, pulling your attention away from the layout of the room.

You furrow your brows. “I told you everything.”

Chris crosses his arms over his chest. “Word for word,” he clarifies, voice void of the softness it once cradled.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Disappointment lances around your heart, ensnaring your high-hopes like barbed wire. You thought he was making a statement of affectation or, at the very least, interest. You thought that his body was reacting to yours as well, that he felt your pain within a shared kiss, understood your damage within an exchanged breath. You thought that maybe he just wanted to see you again and didn’t know how, his efforts extreme but he is a Stray Kid after all.

You now understand the forced meeting for what it really is— an interrogation.

Told you so, a little voice in your head gloats. If you put up a fight and ran when I told you to, you wouldn't feel this way.

Sucking on the insides of your cheeks, brows knitted and eyes reverting to the floor, you shake your head and humorlessly laugh at your desperate short-sightedness. You’re no better than Aiden in the ring, flailing yourself around for a chance to be accepted somewhere, anywhere.

Perhaps this is for the best. You were going to ruin his life at some point anyway, possessing the damned knack of cursing him with your existence as you had done with the others that have come before him, friends and lovers alike.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you begin your tale, thinking back to everything you overhear in the alleyway. You give him a detailed description of Mickey, his features and breaking voice as Andy threatened his life. In greater detail, you describe what Andy looks like, from his messy crew cut to the nasty scar on his forearm. You describe his voice and his manner of speaking, the jittery bounce in his step as he lets his impulsive thoughts win and presses a knife to Mickey’s throat.

Chris nods along. Every so often, one of his friends shifts their weight or adjusts their position in their seats. You notice a few of them captivated by the floor whenever you mention Mickey and you can’t stop yourself from wondering who he was to them before he was outed as a traitor. Was he merely Chris’s coach, or really part of his inner circle?

“And you?” Chris asks when you finish.

You shrug. “What about me?”

“What makes you a traitor?”

You didn’t think such a question would summon tears, not after how much time has lapsed since you last called Vince, Danni and Andrea your friends. Yet, your eyes water. Jaw clenched, you narrow your gaze at him. Insults perch on the tip of your tongue, prepared to fire upon your frustrated command, but your despair holds your vicious voice hostage.

Blinking, you look down at the expensive hardwood floors. Breathing deep, you muster enough courage to quietly answer, “Delusions.”

“I need details,” Chris clarifies. You can hear the annoyance drenched in each grunted word.

You look over your shoulder at his friends. Tense, they stare with carefully neutral features.

“It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

“The answer is no.”

Chris reaches behind him. He pulls out a black handgun, the letters SKZ scratched on the side of the barrel and aims it at you. “I think you should reconsider,” he says, chambering a bullet.

You cannot help smiling at the sound of the cocked gun, like a toy in his huge hand. You relax back in your seat, and tilt your head. Gesturing his hand upward, you advise, “Higher if you’re aiming for my head. You’ll only shatter my collarbone from this angle.”

Features flinching with confusion, Chris looks between you and his gun. He quirks his head to the side as he schools his expression once more, poking his tongue against his cheek.

“Are you stupid or suicidal?”

“A lot of people would argue both.”

The slightest impression of a smirk flickers on the corner of his lips. It's quite endearing, really—the way he tries so hard to stay focused, yet can't help but be distracted by your charms. You smirk for him instead, once miserable eyes now filled with playful defiance.

He takes a step closer, then another and another, until the cool barrel presses against the centre of your forehead. You try not to moan from the kiss of cold steel upon your skin, the proximity of his lips hovering over yours.

“Reconsider,” he orders in a whisper.

Sultry eyes, half-lidded and drowning in lust, you shake your head. Originally, shame shackled your truth. You didn’t want him nor his friends to lose respect for you, unsure if they even possess any for you at all. But now, all you want is to see how far he will go with his trigger, with you.

Chris moves the gun to your right temple, dragging the cold tip of the gun against your warm skin.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

He peers down at you with a lust-ridden gaze that mirrors yours and leans on the arms of your chair. He slides the gun down your cheek, along your jawline then finally pushes it firmly under your chin.

Your eyes roll, head tilting back.

“How about now?” he whispers. His voice is deep, heavy with lust as he breaths over your face.

Voice as breathless and even weaker than his, you practically whine, “No.”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Seungmin mumble, “This is what I was telling you.”

“Shut up,” someone else replies in a quiet hiss. “I’m watching something.”

“It’s fine. Minho’s recording,” the one with the deepest voice reassures.

Chris pushes himself off the arm of the chair, uncocking his gun and removing it from your head.

You can’t help the dissatisfied sigh that escapes you at the loss of contact.

Turning to his friends, Chris demands, “Get out.”

“You’re ruining my footage,” Minho, the one you met in the hall, scolds, looking at Chris through his camera phone.

Chris merely points to the door. They sigh, grumbling protests as they shuffle out of the room. He shuts the door behind them and makes his way back to you.

“Listen,” he starts, wiping his nose with his wrist. He leans back against his desk again, meeting your gaze.

You press your thighs together at the sight of him all spread out along the edge of the grand desk.

He continues, snapping you out of your horny thoughts, “I want to fuck you senseless. I want you to take that little top off again and shove your tits in my face.”

Swallowing thickly, you sink into your chair, flushing at the confession.

“But before I ravish you,” he says, unable to fight off a smile, “I need to know what you did that made one of the most powerful families in Crimson Heights, levy such a steep price on your head.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s stupid, Chris,” you try to argue. “And childish.”

Gaze supplying tender understanding, Chris ever so sweetly encourages you to share with a gentle nod of his head. “Tell me everything,” he repeats, this time as a plea rather than demand.

Licking your lips, you confess, “And I don’t regret it. Before I tell you what happened, I need you to understand that I would do it again.”

At this, the compassion in his gaze wavers. Nonetheless, he sets the gun down and waits for you to begin.

You draw in a shaky breath, and upon the exhale, you explain, “Vince was flirting with me. I didn’t know it at the time, but at a certain point, it became obvious. He started to touch me more, and would find reasons to get me alone. We both lost someone ‘cause of overdoses and I guess it was a topic of bonding? I thought it was just as friends. He clearly had a different idea.”

Chris furrows his brows. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

A tight lipped smile momentarily tugs on the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Danni,” you confirm. “That’s how I met him. She was like my best friend. We accidentally met while knocking over the same liquor store. She wanted the booze and I wanted the cash. It worked out perfectly.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself at the memory. Chris allows a small smile to break through his assertive expression in response.

“Anyway, one night we were supposed to meet up by the pier. But, Danni wanted to stay in for the night, which she of course told us after we already got there, and she was Andrea’s ride so neither showed up. Vince and I got to talking about the people we lost— his was more recent than mine. I thought he just needed some more support. He looked devastated at the time.

But then he reached for my thigh. I didn’t push it off right away because I couldn’t believe he was touching me like that. And I guess he took that as a sign that I liked it. He moved his hand further up my leg and leaned in.” You pause to swallow your disgust, the memory panging your heart with anxiety.

Chris sharply exhales. “Please tell me you pushed him into the sea,” he says, tone laced with anger.

“I wish,” you dryly chuckle. “No, I went to shove his hand away, but Danni showed up after all, after Andrea begged her for the ride. She saw my hand over Vince’s and how close both were to my crotch and just lost her shit. I tried to explain but she hit me and I figured running home would be easier. And they followed me. They banged on my door all night, flip flopping between wanting to just talk to kill me. I waited until they were gone to run to Vinny’s.”

“So, she thought you were trying to fuck her boyfriend?” Chris asks, laughing at the obscurity. “Half the port is being gambled away because of some horny piece of shit and his stupid girlfriend?”

You can’t help smirking, yourself, the stupidity not at all lost on you. “No, that is just some context for why I��” You trail off, crossing one leg over another and taking another deep breath.

Chris raises a brow, only to hiss in pain.

“Careful,” you warn, earning a slight smile, before resuming your story.

“They went around the city slandering me. It got bad enough that certain gangs wouldn’t let me in their territory, worried I’d be more trouble than I was worth. At one point, I was confined to my apartment— Vinny suggested that laying low might help minimise the accusations. Everyday I spent alone, I would think about that night at the pier. I would wonder what Vince told them on their way to my apartment to make them so vile and murderous towards me. I knew both girls for nearly five years, and it killed me to know that in all that time, they really thought I was capable of such disgusting behaviour.

I was seething alone for almost three months, replaying that day over and over. I thought about what I would have said if I stayed and fought back. I thought about kicking Vince right in his tiny balls and punching Danni in the face until all her teeth fell out. I came up with a new way to torment them every single day I was locked away.”

“What was your favourite?” Chris asks, the allure of a fond smile settling on his lips.

You carefully meet his gaze and answer, “Bullets. I thought about lining them up and shooting their brains out. I wanted to see them with half their face still intact, the rest splattered all across the pier.”

Chris shares your tranquil smile, falling silent to let you continue.

“At a certain point, I wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe I finally found clarity— I don’t know,” you shake your head, sitting up in your seat. “I knew that Vince’s father owned a fleet of boats on the pier. ”

Realisation instantly sparkles in his big, brown eyes.

“I snuck out and studied the crew’s shift rotation for two weeks. I found out that by Christmas Eve, there would be a skeleton crew and no one would be on the boats. They were only planning on securing the perimeter. So I set my plan in motion. I syphoned some gas, stole a pack of matches and set them all on fire. I shouted my name as the crew rushed to put it all out. I wanted them to know it was me, the person they exiled, who burned them to the ground. I needed them to know it.

The weight of what I had just done didn’t hit me until I got home and realised I couldn’t stay there. So I packed up some essentials, and ran to Vinny’s instead. Turns out there was an astronomical amount of coke on those boats. The bounty was placed within the hour.”

Chris sucks in a breath as you finish. “I see,” he hums, reaching for his gun again. “Stand up.”

You eye the firearm. “Are you going to use that?”

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

Jaw tight, you uncross your legs and stand. You look up at his towering 6’9 frame from your 5’8 position. Hands moving on their own accord, you grip onto his shirt, right by his hips, and press yourself firmly against him.

His clothed erection pokes at your stomach. You wonder how long he has been throbbing for you. Which part of your story made him this hard? The shared rage against Vince’s sliminess? The festering resentment? The violence? The retribution? You noticed his posture remained still, expression plain, but his eyes gleamed with something like pride.

“You’re so pretty when you’re following orders,” he murmurs, luring your attention. Before you can answer, he fiercely jams the barrel of the gun against your cheek .

You cannot stop a loud, whiny moan from tearing through your throat. The moment that cool tip digs into your skin, your arousal pools, eyes roll back. Your grip on his hips tightens and toes curl into the soft carpet beneath you.

“No, no,” he tuts, applying more pressure. “Open your eyes.”

You obey.

Chris peers down at you over the bridge of his nose, desires casting shadows in those brown eyes at your compliance. He grinds the barrel further into your skin, tilting slightly to watch your face contort under its cold pressure.

You lean into it, maintaining his lust-lost gaze.

“Take off your shorts.”

Looping your thumbs into the waistband, you make a show of wiggling your hips to push off the tiny short-shorts. You kick them aside once they fall to the floor.

Chris first smirks at the swish of your hips, but then tongues his cheek in sexual frustration at the sight of your panty-less crotch.

“Laundry day,” you shrug, feigning innocence as you peer at him under your lashes.

“My new favourite day,” he smiles before cupping you.

Your hips grind into his hand, legs slightly spreading for his wide fingers. Knowing he wants you to maintain eye contact, you do your best not to roll them back at the light, slow friction. 

Voice already trembling, you moan, “Fuck.”

He puts some force into his languid ministrations as he opens his mouth and arches his brows, hinting at you to mirror his actions. The condescension of his expression makes your hips buckle, clit throbbing for more stimulation.

God, he’s so perfect.

If you continue, if you let him bed you, ravish you as he previously put it, you’ll eventually regret it. You’ll wish you left when you had the chance, or at least thought you did. You know you can’t stay here. Your heart already bursts with infatuation, wetness collecting at his meticulous attention. If you stay, you will end up hurt and disappointed, all alone again with nothing but a knock-off fur coat and switchblade to console you once everything is said and done. Or worse— he will be the one hurt, dying or dead, plagued by the curse of your reckless existence.

Right now, Chirs exudes success, reputation built on the brute force of his powerful fists and swift footwork. He has friends who respect him enough that he doesn’t need to repeat himself when he speaks. He has the support of the most nefarious gang in Crimson Heights, prepared to defend him, stand for him.

You can’t ruin that. In fact, you refuse to do so.

So why are you standing on your toes, leaning into his broad chest for stability and rolling your hips into his calloused hand? Why can’t you tell him to stop, instead echoing his movements as he silently requested?

The moment you part your lips, Chris slides the barrel into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the cool metal, the taste of gun powder bitter on your tongue, you loudly moan and eyes rolling back.

He tsks, pulling your head back down using his grip on the gun. “Eyes on me,” he reminds through gritted teeth.

Oh? Is it a performance he’s after?

You recall his words— I like to make a statement— and wonder if he is waiting for you to do the same thing.

Hollowing your cheeks, you pretend to suck on the barrel, careful not to swallow more fumes of explosive powder than humanly capable. You bob your head back and forward, enchanting him with your most innocently lustful eyes.

A certain darkness diminishes the sweet tenderness that often glimmers in his gaze, even when he is sinfully intrigued by your shameless desire. Once a chocolate brown, swirling with smug delight, now a deep umber, whirling with lethal ecstasy. He feels it— the power of a mighty gun, the weight of life and death confined within sleek, curved edges of a silver bullet.

Fear and pleasure collide in your gut, becoming a force of thrilling anxiety.

What if the safety isn’t on? What if he fires?

Your mind laps around the questions, hips desperately jutting into his palm, as you trebly whine around the gun.

Chris removes his arousal-glistening hand from your crotch to wrap it around your neck. You shiver at the slimy sensation of your excitement against your skin. He pulls out the gun with more force than necessary at the squeaky whine you sound upon the lost contact. Your hips, still desperate to chase a release, fidget against him, much to his sinister amusement.

Pointing the gun to your temple, he shuffles and shifts your position so your back faces the desk instead. Then he shoves you against it by the grip on your neck.

You stumble back with a breathless yelp, the tail of your spine ramming against the expensive wood. Upon the impact, body buzzing with signals of pain and pleasure alike, you choke out a gratified giggle.

The clatter of objects on the desk falling from the force of his shove, the sound of your stricken surprise, flashes fear in his gaze. But then the melody of your laughter tumbles and tunnels his vision with carnal hunger. A vicious smile stretches on his supple lips, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his mouth, like a famished predator upon trapping its prey.

You lift yourself up onto his desk as he approaches, immediately spreading your legs as a way of welcome. He appreciates the gesture, sliding the barrel of the gun along your breasts and stomach, then down between your drenched folds. Chest to chest, lips on lips, you exchange hissing breaths and curses. You grip onto your shoulders as he wraps his free arm around your waist, hugging you firmly against him. He’s caged you in, his body too large to move around now, even if you wanted to (or so you tell yourself, while feverently rolling your hip in tandem with his wrist.)

Terror knots in your gut, right where your climax builds. You wonder if his finger is still on the trigger. If he gets too excited, if he loses his concentration, if he ever so slightly shifts his finge—

“Kinky, little whore,” he croaks, picking up the pace. He then mimics the pitches of your waver voice and mocks your pouty expression, cooing, “You like that, yeah? You like my gun rubbing against your wet cunt, baby girl? Hmm?”

The patronising tone is reason enough to tremble, nails piercing skin as your scratch along his strong shoulders. His filthy words and ravenous gaze, however, have you releasing your scarring grasp to pull off your shirt and arch your back.

An approving growl resonates from his chest, attention now trailing down to your bouncing breasts.

“Lean back.”

Heat floods your face, your neck, your chest. You place your hands behind you and do as you’re told while his arms slither from around your waist to grip onto your hip, firmly sinking his fingers into your supple curves. Heart rapturing from the amorous attention, you fight off a smile. And the darkness that once brewed in your lungs, twisting around your ribcage as you rue your existence, dwindles with every salacious stare.

Other men have been passionate, but hasty. Eager to chase their own highs, they merely used you as a means to a satisfying end. Their hands would only roam if they required a better grip on your hips and eyes mostly screwed shut while they thrusted to an unsteady pace. It was mediocre at best, often having to think of your own turn ons to not fake an orgasm.

Chris deliberately studies your features, instead. He sips on your bare body like he might die if he does not memorise every roll, curve and fold. More than that, he revels at the sight. He croaks throaty moans and hisses when your hips stutter against the gun, the stimulation momentarily confounding your senses.

Your insecurities wane, allowing confidence to flourish in their stead. Even your self-loathing cowers under the judgement of his wanton gaze. You suddenly cannot remember why you needed to leave before. You can’t understand how a thought like that could enter your mind. Never do you want to leave him.

“I feel you clenching,” he notes, voice raw with authority. “Do you want me to fill it up for you?”

Your breath hitches, body quivers. Gaze flitting down to his erection, brutally evident in his black sweats, you moan, “Fuck, yes!”

He smirks and you already know he won’t give himself up that easily.

“Beg.”

Voice tangled in deplorable desperation, you keenly plead, “Please, please, please fuck me! Pl-ease,” you take a moment to swallow thickly, hoping to compose yourself enough to continue. “I don’t th-think I can cum without you.”

His smirk widens at that.

You pick your next words carefully, voice wavering. “Only you could r-really make me fe-feel it in the m-mo-morning.”

Jaw flexed, he softly growls.

“P-pretty ple-ase?” you add with a pout.

He tongues his cheek, hiding a smile, but does not reach for his waistband.

You part your lips to beg more, prepared to offer your soul if that’s what it would take to feel him inside you. Instead, an ear-piercing shriek escapes.

“Oh, god!”

Your voice breaks, peaking at a near whistle from the abrupt sensation of the barrel pushing against your tight, needy walls. Jaw slack, you look down and watch as your core engulfs the gun, clenching tightly around the arousal slick metal. Even after being shoved against your clit for so long, it still feels cold.

Chris chuckles darkly as you breathlessly mewl, the sight of the gun disappearing in you all too erotic. “Is this what you wanted?” he taunts, raising a cocky brow. He hums in mocking agreement with your hurried nods.

Between the thrusting gun and his belittling behaviour, you’re not sure you possess the capabilities to endure him for much longer.

“Ch-chris,” you attempt to warn, risking a glance back down at that barrel ramming into you.

His finger is on the trigger, force powerful enough that even the slightest pressure could set the firearm off.

Your toes curl, nails claw against the rich wood of the desk. The continuous friction, steady, speedy and strong, encourages the coiling of electrified excitement deep in your gut.

So, so cl—

A devastated cry tears through your throat as the sudden loss of contact. Your eyes snap open (you don’t even remember screwing them shut), and you glare at him.

“You fucking asshole!” You seethe, pushing yourself up from your leaned back position. You obeyed every order, leaned into every touch and embraced every vicious word only to have your orgasm ruined.

Chris dismisses your icy eyes, slowly dragging his tongue over the barrel of the handgun. His eyes radiate sexual satisfaction as he savours your taste.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckles, offering you the tip of the gun, “Did you want to clean it up for me?”

You are not a violent person— not unintentionally anyway. So why do you wind your hand back and whip it against his cheek?

Chris moans upon impact, twisting his head with the slap, as if embracing it.

You gasp, hopping off the desk and clamping a hand over your mouth only to remove it seconds later to apologise.

“Chris, I’m—”

He advances towards you with a fierce groan. Seizing you by the waist, he forces you against him and latches onto your lips. His hands slide down to grip onto your rear, kneading fistfuls of your plump cheeks. Both hands suddenly release your ass to smack back down against it and squeeze.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck as your guilt disappears.

His tongue puts up more of a fight this time, but is nowhere as aggressive as the rest of his actions, half-heartedly wrestling yours simply to delight in the wet and warm sensation. He yields to your rhythm eventually, muttering against your lips, “Do it again.”

You rip yourself away in pure confusion, brows knotted. “What?” you heave, as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Hit me again,” he demands, voice rough and raspy.

Your gaze bounces around his healing wounds, remorse resurfacing.

Chris must have read the guilt on your face, endearingly tilting his head at your hesitation. “I’m a big boy,” he smirks. “I can take it.”

That breathy, throat voice and haughty tone seems to be enough of a trigger because you smack him again before you have a chance to second-guess yourself.

He moves with the hit again, groaning as he grinds his erection against your stomach. Sucking in a breath with a sharp hiss, Chris tosses the gun to the floor. You brace yourself for the firing round, shoulders shooting to your ears. However, the gun does not go off. You narrow your gaze to find the clip missing, wondering when the fuck he slipped it out and how he managed to do it so silently.

The shuffle of fabric redirects your attention back to Chris. You’ve been so absorbed by the fear of triggering the gun, you hadn’t realised he untangled himself from you to take his clothes off.

His torso is as glorious as you remember, buff, broad and boasting with robust strength. Then he pushes off his sweats and your jaw slackens. Your gaze first lingers around the three-lettered tattoo of his gang on his left hip. SKZ – the ‘K’ coloured red. Then, as he shoves the pants down, his cock monopolises your attention. You knew he would be wide, the impression of him alone previously leaving you shaken. But you did not expect him to be as long, easily measuring at around eight and a half inches.

Your bottom lip whimpers and a hand comes up to steady it as you gawk. Saliva dampens your fingers. You lick your lips, wipe your chin and tentatively sneak a glance at his face, hoping he didn’t catch you shamelessly drooling.

That smirk widens as your eyes meet. “I need to be inside you,” he pants before closing the distance between you with a tug of your body into his.

You can’t agree more, biting back your own smile as you cup his face. “I need to ride you,” you reply just as affectionately.

Dripping with dominance, you thought he would ignore your request and bend you over the desk. Instead, he back pedals towards the chair you originally sat on, and commandeers it.

The sight of his muscular thighs has you biting your lip. You seat yourself upon him, just like you did in the dressing room. You know you can just lift your hips, align his length and begin bouncing. However, as you gaze down at his staggering size, pre-cum oozing from the tip, the urge to spit on it overrides your thoughts. You gather saliva and splatter it over him, earning a croaky groan.

You moan through a bitten lip in reply.

Wrapping a hand around him, you gasp at the fact that your fingers are unable to meet. Your core dampens.

Chris spits down on his length too, rubbing your thighs as you jerk and twist your wrist.

“You’re really big,” you shyly comment, maintaining a sluggish pace.

Just as sincere a smile hovers over his lips before he presses them against yours again.

Emotion bursts through your chest, desire unable to remain restrained. In hurried movements, you release your hold on his cock and lift your hips to finally accept the fullness he offers.

Chris helps you, aligning himself for you to easily sink down. He wraps both beefy arms around your waist as you gasp into his mouth. The kiss momentarily breaks, noses smushing together amidst blissful hissing.

You rest your arms on his shoulders to hug his head close, fingers tangled in his hair. You tug on the ends as he pushes between your tight walls. You move slowly, thankful for his steady grasp on you, inching further downward only to rise back up a bit and do it again. Inch by inch, you find a way to accommodate his girth, all the while whining his name.

“Just let go,” he whispers. His hold on your waist tightens, referring to the concentrated control you’ve adopted. “I’ve got you, baby.”

His delicate tone unravels your composure. You relax into his touch and find that he really does have a good grasp on you. He maintains your slow movements, acknowledging that you still need time to adjust. You wonder if it was the lack of speed itself, the crumpling pleasure etching your features, or how you’re tensing oh-so tightly around him that tips him off. And as he lifts and lowers you upon him, groaning between shared breaths, you realise that it really doesn’t matter what the reason was.

Clarity settles— Chris tunnels his vision when it comes to you. Within a night, he has noted your sexual boldness, recklessness, and affinity for guns. He knows you like to be harshly handled, tightening his grip only to roughly release it. He lets you strike him back, knowing you like to act out and does not only encourage it, but embraces it. He observes your features, searching for particular indications of pleasure to focus on or circle back to when he thinks you can take it again. Beyond that, he provides a space for vulnerability that does not centre around pity but rather a shared rage.

As you look at him now, hissing moans through gritted teeth and quivering lips, you cannot help but allow his words to splinter your previous philosophy. Perhaps it is not your existence that is cursed, but rather the world. Perhaps Crimson Heights is the beckon for misfortune— a city of survivors and casualties. You do not cause death; you simply outrun it. And when catastrophe rumbles the foundation of your life, claiming your family or friends, you do not need to feel guilty. Life ebbs and flows, grips and lets go— just as Chris does when he unwraps his arms around your waist, to grip onto your hips.

“That’s my slutty little girl,” he praises before grazing your chin with his teeth. “Arch your— Yes! Lean into me.”

A frail whine is all you can muster as he becomes more daring with the pace, speeding up.

Breasts glued to his chest, your back arches the way he instructs and you feel the hammering of his heart against yours. You cup his face. Your thumb brushes over the bruises on his cheek.

“Y-you know ex-actly what I n-need,” you whimper, internally cringing at your lust laced stutter.

A prideful smile plays on his lips. His grip tightens with newfound confidence as he uses your encouragement to experiment with the possible indication of fully submerging himself into you.

The moment your cheeks smack against the muscles of his thighs, an ear-piercing scream rips from your throat, heavy with delirious delight. So deep, so fucking full, he reaches far to stretch you wide. You doubt that you’d be able to tighten around anything other than his length again, hole now completely adjusted for his cock only.

“Like that?” he questions, voice still swirling with mockery. “Is that what you needed?”

You quickly nod, unable to find your voice.

Chris lifts and drops your hips with renewed force, ordering, “Speak.”

“I like that!” You confirm. “I love that!”

Grunting and growling in satisfaction, Chris decides that your hips do not give him the best leverage as he grasps on your rear instead. His fingers sink into your voluptuous cheeks, surely marking your skin, as he guides the rolls and rises of your thrusts.

You squeal, throwing your head back at the waves of excitement lapping over you. “Yes, yes, yes,” you pant before looking back at him. “Is this how you like it?” you ask, gaining confidence with every shudder sigh he expels. “Does this drive you c-crazy?”

Chris breathes a chuckle, mumbling, “You most definitely do,” before pressing his lips to yours.

Euphoria envelopes you, coursing through your veins and rattling your bones. You immediately submit to his rhythm, already content with the warmth of his lips on yours and taste of his tongue. Satisfaction swells, throbbing your clit upon the build of your climax. As emotion shines through the cracks of your armour, delirious delight flourishes.

You break the kiss with a breathless giggle, allowing the pleasure to travel from your core though your limbs. The base of your spine, centre of your chest, tips of your fingers, toes and ears, your nerves dash and dance with a degree of joy you did not believe you were capable of ever feeling. You cannot help your laughter between breathless moans.

Chris, voice croaky and deep with lust, joins you. He playfully nips at the skin under your jaw then peppers the light sting with kisses, laughing all the while.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he revels in whisper.

Your giggles waver upon the sincere emotion flooding his eyes.

You clench. “Chri—”

“You feel so perfect around me,” he groans, cutting you off. “It’s like your body was made for me.”

Whimpering, all playful humour darkening within your bones into desperate ecstasy, you can’ help but squeeze tighter, the knots of your high becoming more and more undeniable.

Your voice rises in pitch as you moan,“Use me however you want.”

His hips snap up to meet yours with a dark, loud groan.

You jolt from the force, body shaking. Panting whines tumble from your lips as your grasp on his hair tightens. Over and over, he sinks you down on him as he rams himself into you, meeting you halfway. Your breasts bounce against him, only encouraging his aggressive speed as he shoves his face between the valley.

The brutality of the force, the pace is unbearable. Toes curling, core gripping, you stutter through your next intake of air. All at once, a wave of satisfaction crashes over you. Muscles tense, you stiffen with a shrill cry of his name and gush, gush, gush your release. Your eyes roll back, jaw slack as he wraps his arms around you to keep you upright.

As he did in the dressing room, Chris peers up at you from between your full breasts. He offers a pleased smile before leaning back against the chair. Now, with you laying on top of him as your orgasm ripples through you all— dazed and drooling, Chris grinds your hips down into his. His own muscles flex, skin flushing. Through gritted teeth, a deep moan emits from the base of his throat.

His cock twitches. His release shoots, warm and erratic, filling you so well, you already feel it smearing around your folds.

Face buried in the crook of his neck, you whine his name quietly at the sensation. “Fuck, yes,” you moan, circling your hips around his. “Fill me up just l-like that!”

You swear you feel another shot of his cum, the wet sloshes of arousal slick with every grind of hip on hip.

After watching Chris endure seven rounds of boxing, with his composure still intact and sweat barely breaking, you should have known better than to think that he was done with you. He doesn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. Still heaving, he stands.

You wrap yourself around him, holding on tight. Has he forgotten that he is still deep inside you or does he not care, simply eager to continue using you? You moan from the new angle all the same as he walks you back into his room.

“You don’t need a break, do you?” he asks after kicking the door shut behind him. He grips onto your waist and rips you off his torso with a forceful shove. “Hmm? No break?” he teases.

A cross between a grunt and whine fills the room as you land on his bed with a little bounce. Before you can reply, he yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. You yelp your pleased surprise, unable to fight back a giggle as he turns you over on your stomach. He pulls your hips up to roughly guide you into a downward dog position. Knees on the bed’s edge, face smushed into the soft duvet, your backside is now perfectly exposed for him.

His tongue slips between your folds, lapping the mess of your mixed climaxes with a deep-chested growl. The vibrations resonate upon every overwhelmed nerve ending around your core. You cannot deny the wiggle of your hips and strained mewls of distress from the overstimulation.

“Stay still,” Chris orders, voice muffled. His hot breath, the tenor of his voice all directed towards your overused hole, only further your squirms.

You want more of him, need more, but the unrelenting stimulation of his lapping tongue, slurping and groaning, makes you tremble. You find yourself attempting to crawl away from his mouth only to be harshly pulled back.

Chris wraps his arms under and around your thighs, locking you in place.

“Just where do you think you’re going, darling?”

You whine incoherently.

He mocks you, pitching his voice and mimicking your unstable syllables.

Your desire pools at your core all over again, eyes water. “Too much,” you whimper into your fist, overwhelmed by the all too desperate yearning to stop yet still continue. “Its—”

Chris groans, cutting you off. “We taste so good, baby,” he murmurs against your heat. “This might be the closest I get to heaven.” He then pulls himself away long enough to look at you over the full curve of your cheeks. “Wanna try?” he asks with a smug smirk, face glistening from the smear of your combined orgasms.

You flush, nodding.

He dives back in to slurp on your sex. Then he grabs a fistful of your hair and gently, despite the rough grasp, pulls your back towards his chest. You tilt your head back for him, parting your lips. He smiles at how quickly you’ve caught onto his intentions and spits the cum into your mouth.

Your pussy quivers upon the bittersweet taste, eyes fluttering shut. You moan your delight upon swallowing.

Chris takes the advantage of your proximity, stealing another quick kiss before using the grip on your hair to shove you back onto the mattress. He adjusts the position of your hips again but does not dive down between your folds this time. Instead, he grabs fistfuls of your cheeks and spreads them apart.

You hear the throaty gathering of salvia and then the splatter of spit before feeling the warmth of it upon your tightest hole. Heat scorches your skin with humiliation from his laughter when you clench.

You part your lips to say his name, ask what he’s doing when his tongue reappears, circling your hole. A breathless gasp sounds instead.

Chris transfers more of your wetness to your tensing hole, scooping the cum with his finger and rubbing it against you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes as you whimper and wiggle in his grasp. “Relax, babygirl. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You lean back into him upon his soothing tone. You’ve never touched yourself there, never let anyone else do the same, certain they would only hurt you. From the way Chris takes his time however, you can tell he knows what he’s doing.

“You have the cutest fucking asshole,” he chuckles before spitting over it again.

Gratification tickles the darkness looming in your chest, allowing you to giggle in response and push yourself back against his finger.

“I mean it,” he says, misunderstanding your acceptance for teasing protest. His fingers then glide between your folds, down to your clit. He twirls the pad of his middle finger around the bundle of nerves, then spreads the folds as if to take a better look at your cum-leaking hole.“You have the prettiest pussy too,” he groans before his tongue dives, reaching farther inside than you expected.

Pride blossoms, boastfully overpowering all your emotions and triggering a loud, moan of approval. “Please don’t stop,” you beg while attempting to writhe out of his grasp.

Chris pulls himself away long enough to laugh at your conflicting movements. He quietly hums, content with himself, as he smacks each cheek halfheartedly, like you made a joke and he’s nudging you because of the wit and humour. You can’t help joining him, wiggling your hips in his hands with every slap.

There have been times where you felt at ease, perhaps even happy under setting suns and sneaky nights on the roof with your foster siblings. Watching a fusion of magenta and maroon cascade in the sky, as the sun disappears behind the Crimson Heights horizon, has been the image you conjure on cold, lonely nights between nightmares and distant gunshots. But being here with Chris, bent over and exposed from angles no one else has ever witnessed, absolute contentment engulfs you. Like a warm, tender hug, his patient presence nurtures your soul and caresses your darkness. And it feels natural as if the universe conspired to ensure that you do have at least one moment of true happiness amongst the death and betrayal.

He brushes your hair from your face, pulling you from your thoughts. You shyly meet his gaze to which he smirks. His hand then trails from the naps of your neck to the base of your spine, drawing you away from the memory of your trauma.

“Stay with me, yeah,” he coos.

You nod.

Is it your sudden silence? Is that what indicated that you’ve let your mind wander off? Though, you do remember moaning between giggles. Maybe you had a distant look in your eyes. Maybe you stopped responding to his touch. Does it even matter? Because whatever it was, whatever you did, he saw it.

He sees you.

Chris kisses each cheek before spreading them again. You feel his tongue on your heat, swirling once, twice then dragging up. You moan loudly, pushing yourself further into him. But his tongue does not return to your needy pussy. Instead, he circles the edge of your tightest hole.

You clench, whimpering.

He licks, chuckling.

His hands rub your cheeks, silently soothing your tense muscles. You try to lean into his calm, but the feeling of his warm tongue twirling around the rim of your hole is much too stimulating to ignore.

“More please,” you find yourself whining, fisting the sheets beneath you. “I-I need more.”

Chris presses a wet kiss upon your puckering hole before replying, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You draw in a long breath and release it.

He gives it another kiss, spit on it then orders, “Again. Take your time with it, baby.”

The pet name prickles your skin with goosebumps, face flushed as you inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

You can’t see him with his face between your cheeks, but you swear he’s smirking as he praises, “Good girl.”

A giggle was meant to be your only reply. Instead, his tongue pushes through your hole and you moan in a voice so unlike yourself, so innocent and weak.

“Daddy!”

Chris growls, tightening his grip on your rear with one hand, while the other harshly rubs your dripping core. Slobbering, slurping, he bobs his head, in and out, up and down, shoving his tongue between your tense walls. His fingers are relentless, playing with your clit in quick, forceful waves only to abandon the bundle of nerves all together. He pushes them into your pussy instead. Three long fingers draw in and out of you to the rhythm of his tongue.

Moans meek and breathy, you writhe under his onslaught of pleasure. That pet name is on the tip of your tongue again, but you refrain from using it, clenching your teeth instead. You’ve never called anyone that and have even judged the people you know who have said shit like that during sex.

It feels so right when thinking about Chris, when feeling his tongue attempt to breach through your tight hole. If anyone was to embody that mindset of a Daddy, it would be Christopher Bahng. Chris with his tall, towering frame. Chris with his commanding voice. Chris with his charismatic confidence.

“Daddy,” you whine again despite your futile attempts.

He hums in question, tone oh-so condescending. Your nerves burn from the wetness of his tongue, the pace of his harsh fingers. You thrash into the sheets, further smothering your face in the soft duvet and screaming out your pleasure.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Your voice is muffled, hips ramming back against him with every plea.

Chris merely moans in reply, as if delighted by the sinful taste of you. He continues his dual stimulation, insatiable tongue bouncing in and out of your untested hole. His fingers curl, over and over and over right where you need him most.

Turning your head to the side, cheek pressed against the mattress again, you gasp for air and cry out your new favourite name, “Daddy! Fuck, yes, yes, yes!”

His breath staggers as you hear him chuckle, but you don’t care. He can laugh himself hoarse if he wants. You just need him to continue, your orgasm building all over again. Toes curling, eyes rolling, you quake and claw at the sheets, desperate to get a hold of yourself.

However, Chris, upon feeling you clench particularly tightly around his fingers, pulls himself away.

A sexually frustrated sob tumbles out of you at the all too sudden loss of contact. Your orgasm falters at the lack of stimulation. Once again, he has dangled you over the edge. Fury surges through you, propping yourself up on your elbows and glaring over your shoulder at him.

“Why do— Ah!”

Chris grips onto your hips, pushes himself back into your core. He rams his hips into yours, holding enough force to knock you off your elbows, cutting you off.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of you,” he groans, voice husky and deep.

You whimper in response, all words actively being fucked out of you. No one can even stand you, yet he ploughs into you, eager and deliberate, and still craves more of you. That realisation alone could coax another bone-bending orgasm out of you.

Apart from the first, initial thrust, you do not feel his hips smack against yours again. Instead, Chris restraints himself, offering moderate, yet fast thrusts. He still reaches deep, still stretches you out oh so deliciously, but you can tell he’s holding back.

And it ignites your veins with anger. You refuse to have him spoil yet another orgasm rattle you into calling him ‘daddy,’ only to then half-heartedly fuck you.

“Please fuck me,” you beg before echoing a version of his previous words. “I’m a big girl, Daddy. I can take it.”

Chris growls lowly under his breath. “You’ll get hurt,” he warns.

You cannot fight back your smile. “Good.”

The impact of his thrust upon your reassurance is so powerful, the bed shifts forward. You hiccup his name and hiss at the sting of skin on skin. Vigorous momentum grows with every mighty thrust of his hips. You feel your entire body jiggle, shaking with the squeaking bed.

“You have no idea,” he begins, breathlessly growling, “how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

He has no idea how many times you’ve been told the opposite.

“Show me how beautiful you think I am.”

His cock twitches. You swear you feel it quiver deep inside you.

A gasp so erotic, so pornographic escapes you at the sudden sensation. Clenching, you’re eager to feel it again, to feel him release his warm, thick arousal, especially so soon. You’re already giddy with pride, preparing to tease and mock him for becoming undone upon a few simple words.

Instead, Chris pulls himself out with a croaky groan. He’s heaving, breathes staggering as he swallows thickly. “Move up to the pillows, baby. Lay back for me.”

You slowly push yourself up, sitting down on your ankles. Just as breathless, you peer at him over your shoulder. His hair is tousled, face glistening with your excitement as he slowly jerks himself to the sight of you so messy and dirty.

“Was it something I said?” you ask in your most innocent voice.

Chris tightens his jaw.

A shiver dances along your spine at his silence. You give him one last once over, shamelessly letting your gaze linger around his erection, before leisurely crawling towards the pillows. Your legs already ache. You feel it most around your thighs and hips, bones stiffen and muscles tight from the exposing angle.

The fluffy pillows and duvet melt around your sweaty skin, engulfing you in a cocoon of comfort. Your eyes flutter shut, embracing the chill of the cool silks. The sheets in your tiny apartment are scratchy and rough, and prior to laying here, you had thought it was the most comfortable fabric a thrift store could sell, which is why you stole them.

The bed dips. You open your eyes to watch as Chris crawls over you, spreading your legs to welcome him. His face hovers over yours. You cup his cheeks, grazing your thumb over his lips.

He lowly groans. His nose brushes yours as he leans down for a kiss. You think it was meant to be quick, just a tiny peck before he buries himself in you again. But the taste of your lips proves to be intoxicating, or perhaps he felt the spark you did when your lips touched. He indulges in another kiss, then another. Even one longer than the last, Chris eventually integrates his tongue and forces you to taste yourself.

Heaven, hell, the worlds collide. Purely sinful, his tongue subjects you to his pace, swirling around yours slowly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants you to savour the bittersweet taste of your orgasms and holes.

Your lips part with a wet smack, breasts heaving. Chris pushes himself back to sit on his ankles. He lets his attention trail down your curves, ogling your rolls and fullness. He pants like a dog, mouth agape and saliva leaking from the corners at the mere sight of you.

People tend to either discard or objectify you. One look at your figure and you are either invisible, disgusting, or a drunken mistake that awakens a shameful desire for fuller frames. Your mother told you it would happen when she noted your curves for the first time. She told you that you’d be nothing in a bigger body, that no one will want to be seen with you. A part of you always wondered if that’s why she opted for heroin, knowing she too had curves and rolls at one point in her life. 

It doesn’t really matter because the sentiment snared your consciousness. You noticed how many people ignored your presence the moment you walked into a room or the sudden distaste of those who did happen to acknowledge you. Every wrinkled nose, every avoided gaze only reinforced your mother’s philosophy.

And here Chris sits, bare and breathless, leering over your naked body. Ravenous, lascivious, he devours every full inch of you, eyes drowning in lust. You suddenly cannot recall the words your mother once spat, the dejected feelings that bruised your pride when you walked into a room. All you know now is Chris— obsessive, gluttonous, shameless Chris and his insatiable appetite for everything that you are.

He blinks repeatedly, as if pulling himself out of his thoughts. You bite your lip and wonder what you must look like, staring back at him. You know your liner is smudged and lipstick smeared. You know your hair is a tangled mess around you. You know your skin gleams of sweat, hot to the touch from the exhilaration of submitting to him. You know your core is a mess of spit and cum.

Chris reaches behind you. The sweaty scent of leather, sandalwood and amber secretes from the pits of his arms hovering inches away from your nose. You inhale deeply through your nose and wet your lips. Chris’s attention flickers down at the sound of your heavy sighs. You flush under the subject of that knowing smirk.

“Lift your hips for me?” He asks, voice deep and delicate.

You do as you’re told and he slides one of his plush pillows under you. The new angle provides better support to your lower back. You shift yourself further into his comfortable mattress with a pleased sigh.

“Better, yeah?” Teasing amusement twinkles in his eyes, brows quirked as he tries to fight off a prideful smile.

You suppress your own, and nod. “Are you going to fuck me now?” you ask, exaggerating the breathlessness of your feminine voice.

His eyes darken.

Perhaps, you proudly think to yourself as he takes your bait, if he is desperate enough, he’ll finally let me cum.

Chris traces the span of your shoulders, down to the fullness of your breasts and the curves of your waist. He drags his hands over your stomach and trails his eyes to your pelvis. He traces the lines along your heat only to redirect his callous fingers to your thigh before he can reach the place you need him most.

You clench, hips instinctively rolling forward. You mentally curse at your desperateness, your ploy to rile him up into a lustful rage crumbling as your body betrays you.

He barely even smirks, as if expecting your body to react to his touch like that. “I was fucking you,” he corrects, taking his hard, throbbing cock into his big hand.

You watch as he thumbs his tip and the space between his brows creases. Swallowing a moan, you wiggle in place and bite your lip. Your nerves impatiently buzz through your veins, and you resist the urge to arch your back to their desperate will.

He continues to slowly jerk himself as he watches you stiffen only to squirm seconds later. “Now,” he starts, leaning over you. He aligns himself, tonguing his cheek. Tip teasing your clenching core, he whispers, “I am going to ruin you.”

The weight of the crude promise resonates deep in your gut, gathering your arousal at the entrance of your needy heat. You grip onto his shoulders, features already crumpled in desperate pleasure, and dig your nails into his smooth, pale skin.

You gasp a whine as he emits a throaty groan, pushing in, in, in. You begin to understand the purpose of the pillow beyond simply comfort. The leverage of your hips provides a new angle to explore, his length shoving its way to your most sensitive spot. And he does not even allot time to adjust as he first did in his office, moving quickly to bottom himself out in you. His weighty balls rest against your rear, burning your face with the thought of sucking them. You finally give into your body, too needy to continue to police its movements, and arch your back into his chest.

Chris, hands on either side of your head, grabs your wrists and pins them above you. He growls as his thrusts take off. The force of his hips continuously shifts the bed forward. The headboard slaps against the wall, the pounding of wood on plaster so loud, it almost drowns out your squealing moans. Even the mattress whines, springs shrieking under the rhythmic bounce of your colliding bodies. Perhaps the closest rival to the noise of the bed, however, is the sharp slap of skin on skin. Your rear and thighs tremble from the powerful smacks, sensitive skin stinging all too exquisitely.

Pain highlights pleasure. In addition to the sting of his skin on yours, the tight grip of his strong hands around your wrists, aches from joint to bone. Tears gather in your eyes, the friction of his pulsating erection against your wet, tense walls all the more sweeter in light of the consistent pain.

A series of hissing profanities leave his full lips and you open your eyes to find he is drunk on the sight of your erotic features. Your tears slide down along your temples as a sob hiccups through your throat, clashing with the moans you shamelessly release.

His vicious dominance falters. Letting go of your wrists, Chris leans himself down on his elbows and affectionately nestles his nose against yours. You like the softness of his touches, the tenderness of his most mundane gestures, like the brush of nose on nose or the exchange of heavy breaths.

However, you were promised ruin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you question, voice harsh even with breaking into a whine near the end.

Chris furrows his brows. Something about your tone triggers even more might behind his thrusts. It takes everything in you to not arrogantly laugh at how quickly he  shifts from ferocity to concern to anger.

You push against his shoulders. Chris yields to your silent request, flexing his jaw and knitting his brows in quiet confusion. His hips do not hesitate once, though. They continue to forcefully shake your body, breasts and rolls bouncing with the bed.

Once Chris is leaning on his hands again, you strike him across the face.

“Mmm, fuck,” he groans, voice hushed and husky. Dark fury engulfs his features as he snaps his attention back on you.

You slap him again, and again, and again until your hand radiates heat, nerves stinging from the impact. His cheek is a bright red, jaw tight as he looks down at you.

You lift your other hand to smack him only to have him seize both your hands with one hand. You yelp at the swift motion and attempt to break free. You figure it wouldn’t be too hard, considering he is only using one hand to pin both of yours, but find that one hand is all he needs. Your wrists barely budge from their place over your head.

“My turn,” he purrs, red-stained face bright with amusement.

You clench your jaw, steeling yourself for the impact of his hand against your face, only to feel it upon your right breast. You curve yourself further into him with a loud, whiny gasp. Your nipple stings, coaxing tears as he does it again and again. He gives the left one the same amount of attention, smacking against the heavy curves over and over.

Core tightening with want around his cock and breasts burning with a feverish ache, you wail, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Your voice breaks, sobs of incessant pleasure overwhelming you. He’s so, so big and so, so ruthless. You barely catch your breath with every thrust, let alone every slap of your breast or pinch of your nipple. He clamps your taut nub between his thumb and the edge of forefinger to squeeze and twist. You fall into a state of devilish delight, embracing the pain like a warm hug.

Chris, perhaps growing tired or just wanting to be closer, releases his grip on your shoulders and gives your chest a break. He falls back on his elbows and catches your lips in his. He swallows your sobs, your uncontrollable moans as he ram-ram-rams into you. The strength behind his thrust is ever so prominent, even his heavy balls smack against your rear, the pain watering your mouth.

“You wanna cum, baby?” he mutters against your lips in hushed tones. The depth of his voice slithers along your spine.

You keenly nod, tears splitting freely from your eyes. “Yes, yes, yes!” you whine between tumbling sobs. “P-please?”

He rests some of his weight on you, stunting your breathing. You now wheeze through moans and pants.

“Please what?”

His voice is a cacophony of primal growls and feral snarls, resonating against your chest right down to the marrow of your bones.

A whine of a syllable begins and falters under the combined weight of his frame and relentless hips. His dominance may demand your reply, but still shackles your voice, your very consciousness with every brutal thrust.

“Use your fucking words, you little slut or I swear to God, you won’t cum for the rest of the night!”

His threat sends a tremor through your entire being. But that voice, that croaky, hissing voice of pure power, curls your toes and rolls your eyes back. You clench tightly, forcing your orgasm back.

“Dad-dy!” You scream, voice breaking mid-way through into hysterical sobs, body overpowered by pain and pleasure alike.

A gratifying groan grumbles from the depths of his gut and you cannot hold yourself back any longer. Your muscles stiffen, legs lifting high to the ceiling with pointed toes and nails scratching at his biceps. Your jaw clenches, bouncing body trembling as a ripple of your release rushes over you.

Chris falls over you, his full weight now crushing you as he too tenses all over. The suffocation only heightens your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy now swelling into typhoons of rapturous bliss. Your mind spins, vision dims and sound muffles as you finally release around him.

Your lungs fight for air, the restriction becoming all too fatal. You swat at his biceps, attempting to gasp for air as you catch distant throaty groans between deliberate, harsh thrusts.

It takes him a handful of seconds, but Chris eventually realises his mistake, rushing to hold himself up on his elbows again.

You gasp upon the first breath of air, heaving as you eagerly consume mouthfuls of oxygen.

Chris mutters quiet apologies, voice nearly wavering as he tucks his face in the crook of your neck and peppers the soft skin with tender kisses. He’s careful about dispersing his weight on you, even as his muscles tremble from the struggle of holding himself up. He shifts his balance to his knees as his thrusts decrease in speed and power eventually stopping all together.

You let your eyes flutter shut, your mind floats as your orgasm continues to cascade over your consciousness. Your limbs fall limp onto the mattress, full chest heaving with heavy pants and whines. It’s not until Chris pulls himself out that you finally feel your combined cum leak out of you again and you realise he came too, probably when he lost his balance and fell on top of you.

You feel the bed dip beside you, but cannot hear anything beyond the rush of blood in your ears. If you try hard enough, you might be able to catch the muffled squeak of the mattress, or the creak of the wooden frame. However, transcending into a state of pure euphoric bliss, all thoughts swirling around a phantom boxer and his towering build, you cannot dwell on the sounds of the fading world around you.

Rough hands delicately caress your face. A trail of kisses start on your lips. Full, plush lips move down your neck, collarbone, valley of your breasts, stomach, left thigh down to the knee, then back up to the right thigh down to the knee. They take their time with every press against your sweat-slick skin, each one just as wet and tender as the last.

There is another shift beside you and strong arms pull you into their embrace. You allow them to cradle you into a buff chest. The distant pound of a hammering heart beats to the same fast pace as yours. Those strong hands brush your hair back as they pet your head.

You’re not sure how long you laid there or when you made it into the bath, sitting between two muscular thighs as those calloused, yet gentle hands lathered shampoo into your hair.

The warm water grounds you back into the present. You squint your eyes open to a dark wood slatted ceiling, finding that your head is tilted back as a detachable shower head washes the shampoo out of your hair. You take a moment to inhale deeply, letting the notes of vanilla sandalwood remind you of where you are.

The water shuts off, the steel shower head returns to its place on your right, and you right your head to take a look around the bathroom. Spacious, the room radiates sophistication and calmness. Walls clad in dark grey and black, polished chrome fixtures, and a deep, freestanding bathtub, room enough for two, you cannot help but feel a sense of luxurious serenity. The lights are hidden behind the crevices of the room, warm and soft in their illumination. You wonder if he purposely designed the room to reel himself back to reality after a match.

Chris clears his throat, the sound soft and subtle as if he is worried he might scare you.

The possible implication furrows your brows. You peek at him over your shoulder before twisting your torso to face him.

“Are you…” he trails off, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Alright?”

You’re not sure how to decipher his hesitation or the oddly shameful look in his eyes.

“Of course,” you reply.

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Are you hurt?”

The question finally registers the faded red of his cheeks where you slapped him and the pink lines along his biceps. You swallow thickly as remorse tightens your chest.

“Are you?”

A ghost of a smirk hovers over his lips. He leans forward to comb some conditioner through your hair.

“I’ve never been better.”

“What…happened?”

You chew on the inside of your cheeks. You know what led up to this moment, but cannot fully place what happened between your orgasm and the bath. Your past sexual endeavours usually remain in one position and location. Chris has moved you between three rooms now, his office, bedroom, and bathroom, and tested your endurance in multiple positions in a single night.

Did you pass out? Were you sleeping?

“Have you heard of subspace?” Chris continues upon the furrow of your brows. “After sex, when some people in more submissive positions orgasm, they might get put into a certain euphoric headspace. You might not feel pain or even be in your body. Some people completely pass out,” he explains before reaching for the shower head again. Tapping the bottom of your chin with a single finger, he gestures for you to tilt your head back again. “Others,” he continues as he watches your hair, “are conscious but unresponsive.”

“Like I was?”you ask, eyes fluttering shut to prevent the sting of soap.

He hums in confirmation. “Do you remember anything?”

You shrug. “You were kissing me,” you pause, swallowing thickly, “and then I remember feeling you hug me.”

“Do you remember saying anything?”

Your eyes shoot open. Moving your head away from the spray, you meet his gaze again.

He bites back a sheepish grin.

“If you’re messing with me,” you begin, gritting your teeth. “I’ll—”

“Save your cute threats,” he teases, cutting you off. He rinses the last of the conditioner out of your hair, adding, “I’ll tell you what you said.”

You nervously gnaw on your lip waiting for him to continue. When he turns off the shower head and puts it back in its spot, you think he would finally say something. Instead, he pumps some body soap into a washcloth and lathers it up.

“Well?”

“I never said I would tell you now,” he chuckles.

You splash water at his chest, oh so tempted to scoop more directed at his face but decide against it when you catch that dark, daring gleam in his eyes.

“You’re an asshol—,” you mutter, cutting yourself off before a moan slips as the cloth scrubs against your skin.

Chris smirks, features unamused as if he’s used to this sort of reaction. How many other women has he washed in here after a particularly rigorous night?

The question fosters a flame of envy, and sears through the flesh of your heart.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. You try to ignore the way he dips between the valley of your chest, then circles under to rub and squeeze the soap around your breasts. Your body betrays you again, however, back arching into his touch.

Chris furrows his brows. “I fucked you senseless and you expect me not to take care of you?”

You blink, baffled by not only his tone, but his words. Your cheeks burn at the realisation that he did indeed thrust every last one of your senses out of you. What’s more peculiar is that, even after all that, he didn’t kill you. He didn’t cram you into a cab and send you on your way, high on your orgasm and unable to fight back.

“I lied to you,” you dryly chuckle. “I told you I was commissioned.”

His smirk widens, hinting that he might still believe that after what just happened in his office and bedroom.

You roll your eyes. “I- You’re a Stray Kid,” you try again. “Isn’t killing what you do?”

Chris scrubs down your shoulders and back, then your arm, lifting it up as he replies, “Yes.”

A shaky breath escapes you as he drags the soapy cloth across the pit of your arm.

“You saved my life,” he adds, moving onto your other arm. “I had a rat in my gang and you helped identify it.”

Your spine stiffens.

His gang?

Chris flashes you a cautious look under his brows, tonguing his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “You’re the leader of Stray Kids?”

Chris nods, submerging the cloth under the warm bath water to drag it along your thighs.

Does he want to have sex again? Is that why he’s keeping you alive? You don’t really mind, you just need to know because his hands are dangerously close to the apex of your thighs and he is telling you information you do not need to know and, in fact, have no right to know. It’s the kind of information that can possibly remove the bounty on your head.

“You once told me information you didn’t need to,” Chris explains as he gently cleans the previous mess he made between your legs.

Curling in your lips, you suppress a moan.

“You didn’t need to tell me your name, but you did. So I’m telling you something I don’t need to as an act of good faith.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I tend to get religious on top of the right woman.”

You press your legs together, squishing his hand.

He laughs, scorching your chest and cheeks with embarrassment.

You push his hand away from your core with an annoyed huff. You don’t have time for this. Though you are not in pain, your body is still exhausted. You just want to get back in his comfortable sheets and finally sleep this enough night off, if not go to your own bed.

“Do you want to go again?” you suddenly ask. “Is that what all this is about?”

Chris quirks a brow. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

A submissive, desperate part of you whines at his belittling tone and implication. If you wanted to, you most definitely could endure another round. However, you catch its outrage before it can make itself known beyond the knotting of your brows.

“So what then?” you ask.

Chis wrings out the cloth and tosses it aside. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone. You saved my life. I’m going to save yours,” he states matter-a-factly. “You are now under Stray Kids protection. You will have round-the-clock surveillance and train to learn to defend yourself properly against threats should your security fail.”

You blink.

Protection?

You remember thinking of Chris as your protector when he was touching you, but even then, riddled with lust, you knew it was only a fantasy. You are not worthy of protection. You are barely worthy of friendship. You almost lost Vinny. How can he really think you are worth saving?

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Right,” he nods, tone descending in depth as his gaze sharpens. “Because I will be protecting you against the bounty.”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“It’s my life.”

Chris casts you a look of sarcastic confusion. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re eager to end it,” he practically sneers.

You tuck your chin into your chest, averting his stern glare. “You don’t know what you are getting yourself into,” you mutter as a means of warning.

I’m damaged. I’m broken. I am not a life saver.

“A life for a life— That is the rule of the city,” Chris reaffirms. “You saved mine. I am saving yours.”

You fall silent. Keeping your attention locked on the black, marble floors, you let him wash all the soap off. You are not going to argue with the leader of Stray Kids, not tonight anyway, not as exhaustion is slowly claiming you, one limb at a time. 

Fuck it— If he wants to fulfill this delusional debt of his then that is his problem. You warned him. You tried to fight this. When he eventually realises that you are more trouble than you are worth, you will gladly laugh and tell him you told him so.

“My bed or the spare’s?” he suddenly asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you want to sleep in my bed or the one in the spare bedroom?”

“Um,” you start as Chris grabs a towel. “Am I allowed to go home?”

“Of course,” he nods, “ I can get Seungmin and Felix to take you.”

You wonder which one is Felix before tentatively meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to sleep in your bed?”

Chris suppresses a little smile with a bite of his lip. His eyes do not gleam with their causal mischief or amusement, rather a hint of adoration— if you squint. “I would sleep better if you did,” he confesses, voice dropping an octave.

And so you find yourself in one of his shirts, the fabric barely brushing over the full curve of your rear, under layers of soft, silk sheets. Behind you, Chris wraps a strong arm around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. You can feel the beat of his heart against your back, feel how it echoes the race of your own.

You want him, want this so badly you can feel the aching desire deep within your bones. But the fear of shattering his world, of absorbing him and everything that matters to him into your vortex of ruin, shackles you in place.The red lights of Crimson Heights illuminate the room. As you watch the city, his steady breath fans against the nape of your neck. Mind exhausted, body slowly aching, you allow yourself to lean into him just this once and shut your eyes.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[justimajin]

House of the Haunted

Genre: Fluff & Comedy

↳ 3.5k / Supernatural AU (inspired from Hotel Transylvania)

[Includes: Vampire! Yoongi, Werewolf! Jungkook, Ghost! Namjoon, Demon! Jimin, Angel! Hoseok, Warlock! Taehyung, Faerie! Seokjin, Human! Reader]

Summary: It's Halloween and the Council of the Haunted have convened together for a very important and highly classified discussion - there's a *whispers* human on the premises.

A/N: I was originally going to post this for Halloween, but it unfortunately got a bit delayed. It's just meant to be a fun story for spooks and laughs. Happy (Belated) Halloween! 🎃

The front door creaks open. 

The mansion is nothing short of grand, lined with expansive black marble floors and dark wooden walls. There are ebony crystals hanging down from the dimly lit chandelier, connected right above the old spiral staircase that’s decorated with small oil lamps. The wind ever so whistles against the grey murky windows, echoing through the emptiness of the haunting infrastructure. 

Amongst the different doors next to the staircase, only one is brightly lit. 

A tall man dressed in lavish purple robes shuffles forward, his eyes darting around. There’s a sudden change in the air, akin to a low draft he feels against his back that his keen senses pick up on right away. 

“Taehyung.” A voice whispers into the night and he swivels, robes cascading around him as he does. “You came.” 

His lips pull up into a cheeky smile, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

The transparent man before him gyrates around, his feet floating an inch off the ground.

“Follow me.” 

Taehyung obliges, trailing after him. 

“You know, Seokjin will be very pleased to see you too.” 

Taehyung deeply chuckles, fingertips absent-mindly playing with the mist that radiates out of them. “I’m sure he will be.” 

He’s led into a large dining room, the very one that is brightly lit. In the middle of it sits a long outstretched table that’s entirely covered with a black tablecloth and with candlelight decor. There are seven wooden chairs lining the table and accompanying, seven golden chalices. 

It’s a room he’s become very familiar with over the course of the last couple of months. Namely, ever since one fateful day when he was granted a hand-crafted invitation with intricate writing and symbols. At the time, he truthfully wasn’t quite sure to expect, or rather, who to expect. 

His answer came without another thought and it took the form of an old, but peculiarly cheery Faerie man – the very one seated at the head of the table and examining a chalice before him. 

“Warlock Kim Taehyung has arrived.” The voice booms into the room, making Seokjin look up. 

The Faerie man rises to his feet, addressing the transparent man. 

“Thank you, Namjoon.” He nods in confirmation, before wafting back into the breeze and exiting the room. 

Seokjin spins around with a big grin, “Taehyung!” 

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Taehyung remarks, giving the man a swift hug. “Though, your way of sending invites has gotten really interesting.” 

He twirls his fingers and a piece of paper emerges, landing in his hands. He envelopes it, eyes focused on the written words. “A call for all supernatural beings to meet, for the Council of the Haunted to convene once more for urgent matters–”

Taehyung snickers, “You write like you’re a hundred years old already.”

“I was trying to be formal!” Seokjin protests, irises glimmering with specks of pink. 

Taehyung raises a playful brow, “A Faerie trying to be courteous? Now that’s funny.” 

Seokjin shakes his head with a sigh, “Sit down, will you? I’m going to have more guests to tend to.” 

Taehyung non-chantently hums, eyeing the wine in the centre of the table with intrigue. The former Faerie hears more footsteps, and he hurriedly leaves the room altogether. 

Making his way to the front door, Seokjin is met with the sight of Namjoon surrounded by others. 

“Well, well, who do we have here?” He piques, mischievousness brimming in his voice.

Two men appear before him – contrasting like day and night. 

One of them has swept violet hair and dark ebony wings sticking out from his back. A dark red beam within his orbs and there’s a soft smile lingering on his lips. The other has a mop of brown hair and a pair of white wings. He holds a deep scowl, arms crossed and his blue eyes stern. 

“Demon Park Jimin and Angel Jung Hoseok have arrived.” Namjoon announces from behind, appearing a bit frazzled from the duo’s sudden appearance. 

“The Council of the Haunted, huh?” Hoseok remarks, “You haven’t called us here in ages.” 

Jimin peers around, “The decor is really nice, did you remodel the place?” 

Seokjin merely laughs, immediately engulfing the two into a hug. “It’s been a while, you two!” 

Hoseok grumbles and Jimin giggles. “Come on in! Taehyung’s already here.” 

He steps to the side, gesturing the two men forward. They enter the grand dining room with Namjoon’s assistance, taking spots at opposite sides of the table. 

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon. “That makes three – who are we missing now?” 

“The vampire and werewolf.” Namjoon utters, grimacing a bit. “I was informed today was a full moon.” 

“Of course it is.” Seokjin sighs, glancing at his present guests. “We’ll have to wait a bit longer.” 

Taehyung raises his chalice of wine with a grin. “M’kay with me.” 

“Wait, I have to sit here longer?” Hoseok recoils, “With him?” 

Jimin sweetly smiles. “How interesting. I share the same sentiments.” 

The Faerie narrows his eyes, “Taehyung, that wine is supposed to be for everybody.” He turns to his ghostly friend, whispering underneath his breath. “Namjoon, can you make sure those two don’t cause a brawl on my dining table?” 

He immediately nods, effortlessly floating over to the table. Seokjin turns around with a huff, planting his hands against his waist. 

At this point, anyone who will arrive will be considered late. He should have considered this, knowing that some of his members simply had the tendency to be forgetful and– 

“Greetings.” 

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at the low voice behind him, wide pink orbs coming into contact with a red-eyed man with midnight hair and long incisors sticking outside of his teeth. 

“Oh gosh–” Seokjin presses a hand against his heart, attempting to calm himself. “It’s just you, Yoongi.” He huffs, “For a moment, you had me scared there.” 

The vampire looks at him impassibly, “Sorry about that.” 

Seokjin shakes it off, “Don’t worry about it.” He stares at him intently, tilting his head to the side in amusement. “I didn’t think you would come. What changed your mind?” 

Yoongi seems to hesitate for a split-second, before mumbling the words. 

“You said there would be others here….I was curious.”

The corners of Seokjin’s mouth upturn and he watches as the vampire silently trails over to the dining table, carefully taking a seat amongst the table. He was really interesting – that was for sure. 

Suddenly, a howl breaks through and echoes into the walls of his home. He swivels around, just in time to catch the faintest blur of caramel brown fur. 

There’s an enormous wolf launching itself against him, practically pouncing onto the poor defenceless Faerie man before he has the chance to say anything. 

“Okay, okay, I get it!” He scolds, pushing him away. “Jungkook, get off of me!” 

The caramel brown wolf whines loudly, as if in utter protest. Seokjin deeply sighs, petting his head rather awkwardly. 

“There! You happy now?” 

The wolf seems to let out a pleased howl, before its paw hits against the marbled floor. Within a couple of seconds, its bones begin to crack and a young man with crinkled golden eyes and a huge bunny smile stares back at him. 

“Hi hyung!” He chuckles and Seokjin grins lop-sidley, “Thanks for inviting me.” 

“Thanks for coming, JK.” Seokjin turns to Namjoon, leading Jungkook in. “Everyone’s here!” 

Jungkook brightens up, “Namjoon! It’s so nice seeing you again.”

The ghost man stares back at him wide-eyed as Jungkook loudly cackles, throwing his head back. Seokjin ends up pushing at his shoulders to get him to sit down in one of the chairs. 

“Haha, veryy original.” He sarcastically retorts, moving to take his seat at the head of the table. Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook get seated on his right side, while Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi remain on the other. 

He ushers for everyone to raise their chalices. 

Seokjin clears his voice. “We have all gathered here today for a very important matter to discuss.”

Jungkook raises his hand, “Have you finally decided to remodel the meeting room to look less worse?” 

He scoffs, “No.” 

“Are you considering taking a step down and letting someone with purer intentions take over?” Hoseok remarks. 

Seokjin sighs, “No.” 

“Is this about the time I accidentally turned one of your workers into a goblin?” Taehyung ponders. 

“What? No.” 

“Is this when I forgot to turn your goblin back into your worker?” 

“Tae, no–” 

“Is this when the goblin wrecked havoc on–” 

“Okay, then!” Seokjin loudly coughs underneath his breath, a bright smile plastering on his features. There’s a sudden build up of pressure into the room, as if a hazy wave had crossed over everyone’s mind. 

His irises tinge with pink and the room is taken aback with a command, all members in his group visibly relaxing more than before. 

“This is so cool.” Jimin whispers, specks of pink dwindling in his own eyes. 

“Stop trying to toy with us and get to the point.” Hoseok barks, shaking his head with a huff. 

Seokjin grins wickedly, “Now that I finally do have your attention, there is something urgent to discuss.” Taehyung raises his hand again, but Seokjin glares at him, causing him to lower it, “This matter is of utmost importance and I believe it will affect all of us sooner or later.” 

Six sets of rounded eyes stare back at him. 

He drops the ball, “I have discovered….a human in my home.” 

A sharp, collective gasp echoes through the room. 

Jimin and Hoseok glance at each other wide-eyed while Taehyung presses a hand against his chest. Jungkook stares back at Seokjin with doe eyes as Namjoon shrinks back and Yoongi takes a sip out of his chalice filled with wine. 

“You should have started with that!” Taehyung protests. 

“Well, maybe you all hadn’t been – Oh, I don’t know – interrupting me constantly, then I would have!” Seokjin exclaims. 

“How could you let a human in here?!” Hoseok hisses, aware only the supernatural kind were granted permission. 

“This is why I have gathered all of you here.” Seokjin speaks a bit softer, “I would like some opinions about the matter and to frankly, form my own.” 

Namjoon floats forward, “We had discovered her a while ago wandering outside around the mansion. She seemed lost, as if she had nowhere to go.” 

“And?” Hoseok raises a brow, “You thought letting her in here was a good idea?” 

“I don’t think it's too bad.” Jimin objects, “They were just trying to help.” 

“Help a human? Out of all people?!” 

Taehyung bites his bottom lip, “What if...the human tries to kill us?” 

“I wouldn’t take it that far.” Jimin reasons, “Humans aren’t too dangerous.” 

Jungkook leans back in his chair, gold eyes flickering as if recalling a fond memory. “My girlfriend used to be human and tried killing me once.” 

Hoseok deeply frowns, “That’s not something to be proud of, JK.” 

He huffs, “We lived happily ever after, thank you very much.” 

“Someone’s a hopeless romantic.” Taehyung chuckles underneath his breath and Jungkook sends him a glare. 

“Well, I for one, don’t trust it.” Hoseok states, crossing his arms. “Humans should be monitored because of how fickle they can be.” 

Jimin snorts as he sips his wine, “That’s a lot coming from you.” 

Hoseok venomously glowers at him. 

“You got something to say, demon?” 

Jimin smiles wistfully. “I don’t know, it just seems like a lot coming from an angel that’s been notoriously involved with a female demon.” 

Namjoon lets out an audible gasp. Jungkook’s doe eyes increase in size and Yoongi spins his head around. Taehyung leans forward with gleaming eyes and Seokjin leans back, taking a sip of his wine.

Hoseok blushes, flustered from all the sudden attention. “T-Then what about you, huh? Why don’t you tell everyone how fond you are of humans?!” 

Taehyung revolves his head around, staring at Jimin with amusement now. Seokjin sips more of his wine, intrigued by the direction of the conversation. 

“What can I say?” He cheekily smiles. “Humans are very kind and loving. I have no regrets.” 

“Why you–” 

“H-Hyung!” Jungkook looks at Yoongi in desperation. The poor werewolf is caught sitting next to the bickering angel and demon, their interactions almost making him feel like they very well arguing over his own two shoulders. “W-What do you think about all this?”

Yoongi leans forward, clearing his throat. “Humans can be very violent and destructive, if swayed in the wrong direction. However, they can be compassionate. It’s something can take decades, even years to be able to find the right one–” 

“Not all of us wait for our significant others to be reincarnated, hyung.” Taehyung comments with a smile.

“T-That’s beautiful, hyung.” Jungkook whispers while sniffling. 

Taehyung looks at Jimin with a grin, mouthing ‘hopeless romantic’. The demon loudly giggles, causing Jungkook to scoff. 

“Hey, it is! Do you know how long it takes to find the one you love?” He proclaims, “They could literally be your best friend and you wouldn’t even realize it!” 

“Okay, JK’s started to project. Anyone else?” Seokjin looks around the table, growing bored with the conversation. 

His dancing pink eyes land on Taehyung. “How about you?” 

“What about me?” Taehyung gulps the last of his wine. 

“You have a human partner, no?” 

Taehyung smiles amused. “Do I? Who knows?” 

“Oh, stop being so secretive and mysterious.” Hoseok rolls his eyes. 

“I’m a warlock, angel.” Taehyung snaps his fingers, mist sparkling around that Hoseok waves off with a disgusted look. “I don’t let out my secrets so easily.” 

“Okay, so Taehyung’s still as hard-headed as ever.” Seokjin glances over at Namjoon, an unamused hand planted against his face. “Any progress?” 

“Two members have vouched for the human and two are against,” He looks up with a frown, staring at Taehyung, “and I believe one is undecided…?” 

“So it’s a tie.” Seokjin heaves, pressing a hand against his temples, “How am I ever going to make a decision?” 

“What’s going on?” 

The entire room plunges into an uncomfortable silence. 

Everyone slowly turns to the entrance of the grand room, line of sight redirecting to the person attached to the quiet voice that echoes into the chamber. 

Your eyes are as wide as ever, taking in the grand table and the chalices of wine in front of the seven interesting individuals. There’s a mix of different coloured eyes staring back at you, paired with intricate features like wolf ears, fangs, mist, and wings. Among them, a human-like man with pink orbs is the only one you recognize. 

“Seokjin?” You wonder, “Are these your friends?” 

“Y/N.” Although he smiles, it doesn’t completely reach his eyes. You wonder if you interrupted something, especially with how they all stare at you like you were supernatural.

Seokjin glances around, continuing to smile, “Something like that.” 

“O-Oh, that’s nice. What were you guys talking about?” 

You stare at the pink-eyed man, not noticing how the angel uncomfortably shifts, or how the demon smiles in your direction. You don’t notice the werewolf staring at you naively, or the intrigue the vampire holds. You especially don’t notice the warlock pushing his wine closer to himself, or the floating man that looks at you in wonder. 

“Um…” Hoseok warily peers at Taehyung. 

“Don’t mind me.” He swipes away at Hoseok’s drink with mist, causing Jimin to laugh. 

“Hey!” 

“Shhh.” Jungkook chides, accidentally letting out a howl in the process.

“Take mine.” Yoongi offers. “I prefer blood.”

“Y/N!” Seokjin chimes in, stern pink orbs locking onto his table of supernaturals who immediately pipe down. His arm wraps around your shoulder, a charming smile on his lips. 

“How about you wait outside, hm? Things are a bit…unearthly here.” 

“Oh…okay!” You chirp, “I don’t mind, I hope you have fun with your friends.” 

Seokjin nods, smiling unmovingly. He quickly guides you outside, before looking over in Namjoon’s direction urgently, who floats over to your side. 

The two of you leave the room and Seokjin continues to smile until the door shuts. 

He spins around. 

“Would you all calm down?!” He hisses, taking the wine out of Taehyung’s hands and instantly separating the members, “Didn’t I already tell you she’s human?” 

“And?” Hoseok retaliates, “You’re the most human looking out of all of us!” 

“Yeah!” Taehyung preaches, “You’re biased towards her.” 

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “For your kind information, I’m actually half human which is why I don’t look completely like a Faerie!” 

He gestures to his ears, which should have sharper pointed ends but take on a human-like appearance instead. 

“Biased! I’m calling it!” Taehyung says again. 

“Wait hyung, then why do you need our help?” Jungkook questions, “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to figure it out by yourself?” 

“I needed opinions.” He states, crossing his arms. “Despite being half-human, it isn’t as easy making decisions regarding them.” 

“Well, I think she’s nice. Doesn’t seem too harmful.” Jimin pitches in. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t quaking in fear.” Hoseok retorts. 

“She’s not a werewolf slayer, I’ll tell you that.” Jungkook states with uttermost seriousness. 

 Yoongi shrugs, “Don’t think she’ll reincarnate anytime soon either.”

“Can I turn her into a goblin?” Taehyung lets his intrusive thoughts out, but Seokjin frowns. 

He regards all of them, “I appreciate the penny for your thoughts,” His voice deepens, sounding borderline threatening “–and Taehyung, no.”

He pouts and Seokjin sighs, standing at the front of the table once again. 

“I have made my decision and it will be final – Y/N be allowed to stay in this home until we can recover where she came from.” 

A low laugh escapes your lips. 

“Is something wrong?” Namjoon wonders and you shake your head. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. You just have a really interesting group of friends.” 

“Ah, well, we are all quite interesting, aren’t we?” Namjoon chuckles, before fumbling. “Uh, n-not in a suspicious way, of course. In a more human-like way, with human lifespans and human way of livin–” 

“You’re all supernaturals, right?” 

Namjoon freezes. 

“Y-You knew?”

“It was quite obvious from the start.” You laugh, “Also, I heard Seokjin mumbling something along the lines of getting the creatures of the night to gather together just like the good ol’ tales.” 

Your laughter grows as Namjoon places a sheepish hand against his temples. 

He sighs, “Well, you aren’t wrong about any of that.” 

“And what about you?” He turns, only to be met with your curious gaze and warm smile. 

He grows hyper aware, “W-What about me?” 

“I could hear them talking earlier.” You explain, gaze not leaving him. “Are you like the others? Do you have a human counterpart too?”

Namjoon is taken aback, not quite expecting you to ask. But then his smile diminishes, hints of anguish filling his orbs. 

“I used to, but she crossed over not too long ago.” He looks down at his hands, his transparency only becoming more evident by the minute. “I’m just a wandering ghost now.” 

Your heart sinks. “Wandering?” 

“Regrets.” Namjoon shuts his eyes, “I’m tethered to this world because of my last regret – which had to do with my dead wife.” 

“Oh…” Your eyes soften. “I….I hope she’s in a better place.” 

“She is.” Although remorseful, you notice the hope that fills his smile. It results in one lifting onto your own lips. 

The doors before suddenly come bustling open, startling the two of you. 

Seokjin emerges, brimming with confidence. 

“There you are!” He boasts, “A final decision has been made!”

Namjoon looks at him eagerly, “Is she staying?” 

“She is, but–” Seokjin waves a finger around. “As long as she follows the rules and… accepts our true identities.” 

“Oh, I already know you’re supernaturals.” You profess, much to Seokjin’s utter shock.

“She knows?!” Hoseok’s voice pitches out from the table. 

“Humans are smarter than you give them credit for.” Jimin snorts. 

“Well, that’s my cue to go.” Taehyung snaps his fingers, vanishing into purple smoke. 

“I-I guess that answered my concern.” Seokjin stutters, staring at you with a mix of surprise and horror. 

“Thank you for letting me stay.” You warmly smile, glancing in Namjoon’s direction. “It’ll be nice getting to know all of you." 

He smiles back and Seokjin nods, widening the door and allowing you to enter into the dining room. 

“Supernaturals are a bit peculiar around humans.” Seokjin states, placing another chair at the table, “But hopefully you’ll fit in with time.” 

You slip into it, taking the seat of the eighth member amongst the large table. 

Leaning back into the chair, there are specks of pink dancing within your irises. 

“Don’t worry.” You grin wickedly, “I think I’ll fit in just fine.”

[hikarry]

17, 23 and 25?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

I'm such a great writer I had to search what a "minutiae" was.

So, the story I'm working on right now it's within the Good Omens Universe, just canon divergent, so the lore is pretty much the same, and so is the history. Thing is, there's no anti-christ (at least, not for now, I'm still in the planning process, so take everything I say with a grain of salt). It begins in 2019. Aziraphale and Crowley haven't seen each other in 20 years cause Aziraphale was suddenly sent into an assignment in Iran but neither of them expected it to take so long so Aziraphale never informed or contacted Crowley and Crowley has just been doing his assignments around London mostly. I don't know much about details and things that won't make it into the story yet cause, as I said, I'm still in the planning process

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

It depends on where I am.

If I'm in my flat on campus, I write in my bedroom. My desk is white and cluttered with cans with pencils and pens, my black desk lamp, and a candle, my desk chair is also white and quite uncomfortable. There's one of those big IKEA white bookshelves on the left and the window to my balcony on my right. Behind me there's my white old fashioned closet and next to it my white - unmade - bed and the white IKEA bedside table also cluttered with shit like meds, my alarm clock, and IKEA lamp. There's a calendar on the wall right in front of me

When I'm back at my grandparents I usually write in the kitchen. I sit in one of the grey fabric very comfortablr chairs in the long kitchen table made of wooden legs and pink, white and grey marble tops. To my left is the big counter with the sink, the microwave, the kettle, the toast maker. To my right is the oven and the pantry. In front of me is a basket with fruit on top of the table, a thingy where my grandma has her sewing machine and on the wall is the spices rack and the tv. To the left of that is the stove, the airfrier and the kitchen robot we rarely use.

Good picture?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

Well, the characters are not mine so I can only say about headcanons...let me see...Crowley has a favorite plant and her name is Blanche because of one of the Golden Girls characters

Ask Game

[cabezadeperro]

codywan sleep bingo #5: king bed

hello!! last fill (for the moment) for the @codywansleepbingo​

established relationship, takes place after the war. G. implied cody/others.

word count: ~1.1k

on ao3

bingo card and fic under the cut.

---

The bed is a big slab of white cotton in the middle of the room. It is big enough that Cody can lie across on top of it, his feet barely brushing the edge, and it’s one of the most comfortable places he has had the chance to sleep in. He also hates it. It’s too big, too cold, too empty, too unprotected. The wide expanse of sheets and blankets make him feel alone, lonelier than he already feels. He did not choose it: it came with the room, and the room was one of the Senates many little backhanded gifts, like the clothes they kept throwing at him at first, like the first few drafts of the Clone Sentient Rights legislation. A poisoned gift, a gift that isn’t one—one of the first attempts on the new chancellor’s part at guessing Cody’s price.

They now know better, but Cody’s stuck with the bed and the room and the apartment anyway, just because it is convenient and he has yet to see a single credit of the compensation they were all promised.

Cody closes the door at his back and pads barefoot to his bed in the dark. It is a mess: it’s been a few days since the last time he even tried to put the sheets and blankets in some order, and half the few things he actually owns have ended up finding their way there. He can see his personal ‘pad, the comm he thought he had lost, yesterday’s socks, the cap of his old greys. He makes a face at it and then gives in to the inevitable, because he’s tired and he’s furious and he just wants to sleep.

He should just leave. He knows it, and he thinks everyone does as well. The only reason he doesn’t is because by this point it has become a matter of pride: he stays out of spite.

He forgot—again—to pull down the blinds on the room’s big window, and now and then the room flashes pink, yellow, green: Galactic City is just a layer of transparisteel away, always busy, always thrumming with life and death and industry and money. Cody leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor and pads until he stops in front of the window: it’s cold to the touch. He leans his forehead against it and closes his eyes, allowing himself a second to really feel how tired, how angry he is.

At first the work helped with the latter: now it doesn’t, or not quite. Cody exhales, shaky with fury and frustration, exhausted to the bone, and then steps away and into the fresher. He showers in the big room, with its marble and its harsh white lights, and then he steps back out, the carpet soft against his soles and his wet hair dripping down his neck.

And he finds he’s not alone.

Obi-Wan has switched on the lamp on the bedside table. He’s moved most of Cody’s things to the chair in the corner, and remade the bed, more or less. He’s sitting on it, reading something in a datapad Cody recognises with a jolt as the one he used to own back in the war, and—

“Is that food?” Cody blurts. Obi-Wan snorts and looks at him over the edge of his datapad. He looks good, tan and fit, hair closer to blond than it used to be. “It is,” he says. He turns off his datapad and smiles crookedly. “The least I could do, since I let myself in and all that.”

Cody snorts. He digs into his bag until he finds a pair of clean underwear, slips it on, and then he joins Obi-Wan on the bed, sitting cross legged across from him, the take out boxes between them.

This—this: Obi-Wan appearing in the middle of the night with natborn food—started back in the war. Everything else might have changed, but Cody finds he likes knowing he can trust this won’t. He doesn’t always get it right—Cody will keep reminding him about the dumpling situation until he dies—but his choices are always interesting, and by now Cody knows that Obi-Wan knows that’s what he likes: natborn food is one of the few things that has yet to disappoint him.

“Where’s this from?” Cody asks between bites. Obi-Wan shrugs. He’s mostly sipping a paper cup of caf, its aroma nothing like the sludge Cody remembers from the war, his free hand around Cody’s ankle. “I have no idea,” he replies honestly. “It’s from a cart a couple levels under this one, and they were too busy to ask.”

Cody hums around a mouthful. He closes his eyes: the texture of the noodles reminds him of something he had in Felucia, a couple years ago, but the sauce is all wrong. And he has no idea what the protein actually is.

“A mystery for the ages, then,” he says carelessly. Obi-Wan huffs. He left his boots and the outer layer of his tunic somewhere, and he looks soft and approachable like this, the dim light sliding down his bare arms. “I’ll find out,” Obi-Wan replies. Cody hides his smile into his box. Of course he will.

He doesn’t always stay. He doesn’t spend too much time on Coruscant anymore: the planet reminds Obi-Wan of things he’d rather forget. He left the Council a few months after the war ended, and while Cody very much doubts he won’t come back sooner rather than later, by now he’s more than happy to spend his time doing Prime knows what in the Rim. They don’t talk much: Cody’s busy, and Obi-Wan keeps himself to the edges of the galaxy, far away from the reach of most comm relays, and he does it on purpose. But now and then, this: late night talks and weird food from the heart of the Republic and Obi-Wan’s warm hand around Cody’s ankle, heavy and reassuring. Obi-Wan in this bed Cody hates, in this room he loathes, and his tales, and his company.

He’s not the only person Cody shares his body and his time with, but he’s the only one he invites into this bed, even if he doesn’t always stay, even if Cody wakes up alone more often than he’d like.

Cody finishes one of the boxes, and then leaves the room to leave the other one in his glaringly empty conservator. He finds Obi-Wan in the fresher, brushing his teeth with the brush Cody keeps for him in the small cabinet under the sink, and he hip checks him out of the way to brush his own. And then: the bed, huge and comfortable and still awful. They settle under the covers, and Cody curls around Obi-Wan, slides his cold feet between his legs, and hides his smirk in Obi-Wan's neck when he curses, too loud in the quiet room. And then: Cody, waking up hours later to find he's drifted away, and tracking him across the mattress, and the beating of Obi-Wan's heart in his chest, under Cody’s ear, like a light in the dark, following him into sleep.

[jeanbury74]

A CC filled lot this time. English-ish House is up on the gallery. 3 bed, 2.5 bath, with a pantry and laundry room. ID jeanbury. All the CC used is written below. Beware, it's a long 'un!

876 simmer-Oslo wardrobe, lowboy dresser, nightstand and standing mirror.

9 sims-DIY stars wall hanging.

Adrestea Moon-Storybook Lover and PJR Paintings.

Ars Botanica-Peonies Pitcher and Peony Jule Cup.

Ameyasims-You're So Vain: Vanity Brush and Hand Held Mirror.

ATS4-Breakfast: Milk Pack, Coffee Jars, Coffe Jar, Milk Bottle, Instant Drink, Tea Tin, Tea Box, Cocoa Powder Box. Fruit Juice Packs, Fruit Juice Glass Bottle, Coffee Bag. Baking: Wooden Spoon,Mechanical Scale, Timer, Canister, Baking Decoration Jar, Dried Fruits, Mixing Bowl, Baking Aids, Flour, Nutella, Baking Aids Stock, Dried Fruits Stock, Electronic Scale, Measuring Cup, Sugar, Jar, Measuring Cups, Rubber Spatula, Pastry Wheel, Candied Fruits. SnowyDay: Gloves, Wall Scarf #2, Wall Beanie #1, Fur Boots, Boots Snowcalf, Wall Coat #1 and #2 Bag Clutter: Tic Tacs.

Awingedllama-Apartment Therapy Potted Vine Round Mirror, Hanging Ivy.

Charley Pancakes-Insomnia: Organic Cotton Bedding. Miscellanea: Book Collection, Standing Books, Book Series.

Desimmy-Tiny Nifty Pictures.

Dew At Home-Hallway Hanging Scarf.

Duckey-Springtime Melody ,mug, Forever Spring Canvas Art, Lil Lilies, Friends and More Friends(these are table mounted frames that are called friends. That's all the information that was given)

Faaeish-BB Wall Decor Pegs and Toy Camera.

Felixandre-Chateau: Alarm Clock, Bedding, End Table, End Table 2, Drawer, Table Lamp, Rug Square, Telephone, Dresser. Grove: Salad Bowl, Lady Sam's Peony Vase, Bedframe V1. Grove-Timbershelf Inside Corner, Flagstone Floor, Cups, Stacked Plates, Stacked Plates 2, Stacked Plates Small, Wall Basket Small, Casserole, Bowls.

Felix and Harrie-Livin Rum: Box Files, Rug, Book Row, Book Series. Orjanic: Table Lamp, Bench, Cushion 2, Book End. Baysic: Toothpaste Container. Florence Fresco Mural. Tiny Twavellers:Hedge Wall.

GhostlyCC-Pre Raphaelite Paintings.

Harrie-Coastal Kitchen: Cereal Boxes, Cabinet Stack, Accent Counter 1 Marble Type, Coastal: Farmhouse Kitchen Sink with Tea Towel, Tins, Sofa, Tv Unit, Display Cupboard, Small Plates, Bowl, Bowl Stack, Cans, , Large Plates. Heritage: Traditional Towel Ring, Bowl Traditional Toilet, Traditional Runner, Landscape Artwork, Traditional Console Table, Floor Lamp, Traditional Round End Table, Traditional Elegant Mirror Small, Traditional Desk, Traditional Bust. Country: CoffeeTable.

Haruinosato-2x1 Curtain 01 Short.

Javabeandreams-Whimsical Animal Portraits.

Kardofe-Vienna Dining Room Curtains, Bella Babies Bedroom Small Pics.

Kliekie-Yove Plants 06, Awipow Plants 11, DecorationsPlants 10 Dragon's Herb. Whisper Laurel Plants 05

Kriss-Scania Build Set:Windows Classic Colonial 2 Tile, Classic Estate 2 Tile,Jugend Cottage 2 Tile.

Leafmotif-Botanical Bathtub, Twee Tableware: 6 Egg bowl, 9 Pot with Lid, Twin Mug Stacks, Whimsy Cake Plate, Short Pitcher. Basil's Favourite Chair 3 Maud Lewis Paintings

Linacherie-Ts2 Olde Tyme Skillets, Billyjean Curio Kitchen: Trays, Clip, Jar. Simlish Art 11, RPC Prints, Sizzling Cuisine Mitts, Delicious Bakery: Cookbooks, Flour Bag.

Madame Ria-Back To Basics: Spice Bottle,Dish Rack, Cereal Box, Pot Holder Wall, Modular Shelves, Coffee Tin, Pot Holder, Stock Pot, Dressing Container, Spice Rack, Counter Grey Scale, Open Book.

Marefc-Half Tiled Walls 2.

MC- Modern Crafter The Short Contemporary Radishly Plant

Menaceman 44-Granny's Brolly Vase.

Midsummersim-Simterest Poster.

Moonlightsim-Photo Frame Memories.

Nocturne-Rustic Cottage: Pokers, Master Curtain, Pedestal Old Miller Tea Set, Deco Retro Vacuum, Not So Shabby Rug, End Table. Grandma Cupboard.

Nynaeve Design-Lyne Half Curtains Blinds V1. Lyne Three Quarters Blinds V2, 1069, 1069 Lyne Radiator 1 Tile.

Okruee- ACNH Bathroom Towel Rack. (Animal Crossing)-

Omorfi Mera- Glass Jars.

PlasticBox- Modular Plant Hanging Pot.

Peacemaker-Hinterlands:Living Throw Pillow, Farmhouse Dining Table, Single Bedframe, Cottage Dining Chair, Bedside Table, Luxurious Single Bedding V1, Arched Mirror, Wardrobe, Bedframe with Footend, Nightstand. Hinterlands Living: Stately Fireplace, Coffee Tray Table, Mantle Mirror, Fringed Pouffe. Hinterlands Dining: Framed Dining Chair, Hanging Clock, Short Petal Pendant Porcelain Lamp.

Piersim- The Office Mini Pack: Higher Plant, Landline, Stackable Book, Printer.

Pocci-S Cargeaux Cabinet RecoloursCyclamen Outdoor, Iris Outdoor, Lilac In A Glass Bottle, Woodcabinet Open (Book cabinet Mini Set), Vintage Tea Set: Teacup With Tea, Milk Pitcher, Cupcake Plate. Magnolia Ceramic Vase, Basket Decor With Slots, Anthropologie Ottoman, Laundry Day Basket on Stool, Steaming Coffee Cup, Marguerite Teacup Empty, Iris In Glass Jar. Single Rose Glass Bottle. Potted Lily Of The Valley.

PTS-Cottage Garden Tea Tin Herbs, Granny's Basket Deco, Deco Mason Jar Short.

Quaylinsims- Paintings Zodiac.

Rhiannon AR-Medium Rug Floral Modern, Long Rug WithModern Floral Patterns

Ricca Bee-Mom's Lamp.

RSVN-Clothes Minded: Fedora, Floppy Hat, Baseball Hat, Sweater. Peg To Differ: Dish Towel, Knife Set, Mug, Utensils. Simmerdown: Cookie Jar, Mason Jar, Mug, Hanging Pots And Pans, Paper Towel, Ceramic Jar, Macaroon Jar. Smeglish Kettle Large.Procraftination:Hoop Large,

RoyIMVU-Seagrass Baskets.

Silverhammer-Executron Executive Desk Throne.

SimMan123-Sheer Right Curtain Short.

Sixam-Spring Six Kitchen: Buttery Toast, T Meg Mid Century Toaster With Toast, TMeg The Terrance, Deco Stove Hood, Olly's Oil Bottles, Kitchen Appliances Stove, Don't Be A Square Plate.

SJB (Yika)-Charlie Set Two CurtainsV1.

Soloriya-Zoe Blinds Part 2.

SYB-Colette: Towel, Toilet Paper Rolls, Soap Dispenser,Wallshelf, Bath, Blanket, Sink, Floor Vertical Mirror, Book, Cupboard, Rug, Bath Tray, Toilet.Millenial: Fridge, Fruit Basket,Utensils Rack, Utensils Pot, Totebag, Spices, Dish Soap. Microwave, Olive Oil, Breadbox, Island, Trashbin, Shower Curtains Short. Highschool Corridor: Hanged Backpack, Sandrine Slippers.

Tianella SE- Honey Herbs Paintings.

Veranka-Yesteryear Loveseat.

Wistful Castle-Wistful Room Pictures, Wistful Lamp #1.

Wondymoon-Cycnus Curtains.

Zeenasims- English Cottage: Paintings, Wainscotting Wallpaper.

ZX-Tagada-Lighting Table Candlestick.

[ceramiccity]

Modern Interior with Artful Decor

Modern living room with grey sofa, floor lamp, marble table, artwork, and patterned rug. Follow Ceramic City on Tumblr Source: https://www.pinterest.com/theceramiccity/

[two-crabs]

They wake up, not for the first time, face-down on the floor of a stranger’s apartment. Their cheek is pressed into a plush multicolored rug that smells like burnt sage and potting soil. When they lift their head, their vision swims for a moment before steadying on a sliding glass door; outside the Los Angeles dawn paints a small balcony in thick orange light. There’s a cafe table and chair, and a dozen or more pots and boxes full to bursting with strange, thriving plants. 

The sound of shuffling feet startles them, but when they turn to look over their shoulder, their neck is painfully stiff, and the world lurches again. Slowly, they push themself up into a hunched, cross-legged seat, and rub their knuckles into their eyes. They notice, then, the white paper hospital bracelet around their wrist, and their stomach drops. It has a name on it, and a date that was four days in the future the last time they knew, and it’s dug a thin red line into their skin. On the back of the same hand, there’s a cotton ball plastered down with a dusty, peeling bandage, and the sticky residue of IV tape. They yawn, and count their teeth; their mouth tastes like saline. 

When they finally look behind them, the rest of the apartment is decked in luxurious jewel tones and glimmering gold fixtures. From where they’re sitting, they can see three pink salt lamps, and a hanging pot rack full of copper cookware. There are tapestries on the walls, and a foot tall stack of photography books on the coffee table, and a couch with four throw pillows all in different colors. On the other side of the couch there is a record player and an elaborate sound system, but no television, and a marble-top side table with a wooden incense holder. 

There is a click from the kitchen, and then the sound of a coffee machine burbling to life. 

It only takes a few seconds for them to smell the coffee, and they stand, buoyed by it, on wobbly legs. The t-shirt they’re wearing is oversized and unfamiliar, as are the basketball shorts that reveal two badly bruised and scraped knees. Hurriedly, they check the rest of their body for damage. There’s a long scratch on their forearm, and their lips are chapped and splitting, and every time they breathe they’re wracked with a deep all-over ache…but other than that they feel mostly intact.

When they hear more movement from down the hall, they drop to the ground again, hiding behind the couch, and wince as their lower back screams out in protest. They screw their eyes shut and hold their breath, trying to imagine whoever lives in this apartment. An older woman, probably. A hippy who comes by all the witchy shit honestly. No kids of her own, but enough of a maternal instinct to take in an ailing burnout and let them sleep it off at her place. Long grey hair, lots of turquoise jewelry and beaded robes and moccasins.  Retired, perhaps, after a long career teaching art history or ceramics or—

“—A-hem.”  

They open their eyes, and look up. 

The person staring down at them over the back of the couch is not an old hippy woman with eyes full of parental care and concern. It’s…some guy. And he looks annoyed. 

They cringe, and their joints crack and groan as they unfurl themself. Once they’re finally standing, the guy takes a step back and gives them a once over. They blink into the sun over his shoulder and do the same. He’s young, thirty at most, and fashionably skinny, draped in a Halsey t-shirt so large it’s falling off one shoulder, and his blonde hair is sticking straight up from sleep. There are several golden piercings in his nose, lip, brow, and both ears, and the faint, smudgy remains of liner under his eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest, and even though he isn’t very tall, he manages to peer down his nose at them.

“H—” they start, but their voice cracks and scrapes, like they’d been yelling. The guy raises an eyebrow.  They clear their throat and try again. “Hel—wait…” They tilt their head in response, and rasp out, “I know you.” 

“‘Know’”—and he makes lazy air-quotes with one hand without uncrossing his arms—“is an overstatement. But, whatever. Glad you didn’t die on my couch. Coffee?” He wanders off towards the kitchen, bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floors.

A little stunned, they look down at the couch, and at the squished pillows and balled up blanket, and then their heart drops into their stomach. 

“Where’s my stuff?” They vault unthinkingly over the back of the couch, catch their foot on a blanket, and nearly fall on their face. “My guitar—my pipes—what did you do with them?”

“Calm, you! Jesus.” The guy slides a steaming mug across his small kitchen island. He’s got an accent—British, but unplaceably so. “And no putin’ your feet on my fucking couch.” 

“I’m serious…” they say, voice wavering, eyes darting back and forth between the guy and the coffee. 

“So am I. Your shit’s in my trunk. Figured you didn’t want the ER staff nicking your gear.” Behind him, a toaster goes ping, startling them so much they jump. “And god knows I don’t want it in my house.” They watch as he turns, pulls a pumpernickel bagel out of the toaster, and begins smothering it in cream cheese. “My name is Rhys,”—he jabs a finger into his own chest and says it slow, overannunciated, like he’s talking to a kid or a foreigner. Which to him, they suppose, they are. He smirks at his own joke, then, normal again: “What’s yours? Unless you prefer Byrd-comma-Da—”

“Mai,” they say. “I’m, uh…Mai.” And they sit, perching on the edge of one of his kitchen stools, knees drawn up to their chest. “You’re the crystal shop guy. In Lawndale.” 

Rhys takes a bite out of his bagel, and points at the floor. “S’ downstairs.” 

Mai takes a sip of the coffee. It’s good. It’s hot. It makes their stomach ache with hunger. “Um.” They swallow hard, watching the muscle in Rhy’s jaw as he chews. “If…um…okay…” Wordlessly, Rhys slides the other half of the bagel across the counter, and wordlessly, they eat it. A minute later, they take a deep breath and look back at hum. The expression on his face isn’t quite derision, and isn’t quite pity. 

“Out with it, Byrd.” And Rhys rubs the crumbs off his long, elegant fingers. 

“What…happened?” 

[taintedpromises]

A Life Worth Forgetting

— Part 2 —

I am the monster that you created.

“She could’ve lived.” He spoke like the death of someone was amusing somehow.

“The old you would’ve known better, she wouldn’t have been so careless.”

My jaw muscles flexed from clenching my teeth, my irritation rising. That’s been the common phrase around this mansion, ‘the old you’ this ‘the old you’ that. I’m not her anymore, I don’t even know who that person was and I’m sick of hearing it.

The man sat behind a solid oak desk that lacked any clutter, only a laptop and lamp took up residence on the smooth surface. His greying raven hair is slicked back in its usual look, his thin lips pursed together as his sharp blue eyes studied me.

I’ve been held captive for over three months in a fancy room connected to its own bathing chamber and dining area, I was sought after and fed like a queen after the interrogations they had me undergo just to be sure I truly had no memories of the past. By interrogations, I mean torture for two weeks.

My bones are now fully healed and I knew he’d call me into his office to inform me that I’d be participating in the training. There were others he had here that he’s had in the mansion for years, training. I still wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I wasn’t about to ask questions. I found that every time I asked too much, I would go without food or water for a couple days. There was nothing like the hunger pangs. I needed to keep my strength up, I had plans to kill and being weak wasn’t an option.

Pushing away from the dark blue velvet armchair, I turn towards the giant wooden double doors. The heels that were waiting for me on the dining table, along with the little black dress I now wore, clicked with every step against the hardwood floors. My fingers grab ahold of the handle before I hear his voice again.

“Welcome back to the family, Luce.”

My spine straightened at the name, nobody has told me what my name was before the accident. Turning my head just enough to see him from my peripheral, I respond.

“Luce is dead.” My words dripped with pure hatred.

The last thing I heard prior to closing the door behind me was, “I’m counting on that.” followed by a low chuckle.

I refuse to go by that name, I don’t know her. Tequila isn’t your normal name, I’m aware, but it is the last thing I have that is mine. It may not be perfect, but it’s mine.

I learned a few things during my stay here. One: The one in charge is my father.

Two: He hates me because I remind him of my mother that died giving birth to me.

Three: If I don’t get out of here, he will force me to do something I’ll hate myself for.

I was shocked to find out that my mother is dead, not that I would be able to remember her anyway. It made me wonder, had my father always been like this?

I walked the marble halls of the mansion until I reached my prison of a bedroom, threw myself on the downy bed, and cried until sleep overcame me.

He killed Helen.

———————————————————————

———Two Years Later———

The world was built on nightmares

disguised as dreams.

The taste of blood on my tongue made my nose scrunch in disgust. I must have bit my cheek while sleeping again. My eyes slowly opened to adjust to the light pouring into my bedroom from the large windows that had a clear view overlooking central park.

This was the third hotel I’ve stayed at in the last three months with the money I swiped from the safe that is nestled behind my father’s desk. I never stayed in one place for too long. I’ve been on the run ever since I escaped my father, the leader of a tightly strung group of hitmen.

I don’t believe he’s hunting me, he knows I’ll go to him when I’m ready. That isn’t stopping some of his lackeys from trying to put me in my place. Every time one of them crosses my path, I have to change cities. Can’t stay in the area where a dead man is found. New York City made it easier to blend in, maybe I’ll stay.

My father knew the risks of training me. Although most of my memories remain hidden from myself, I remembered enough to escape from the clutches of that mansion that held me captive for two years.

I’m not sure how old I truly am, but as I gaze in the mirror, my burnt orange hair unruly from sleep, I’d say I were about twenty-eight.

My father’s attempt at ending my life failed, but with his failure came the loss of my memories. To my father, that was like handing a painter a blank canvas. I was something for him to mold, to make into a masterpiece.

The interrogations he had me undergo will forever be burned into my brain. The memory of those two weeks haunt me in my sleep. The torture lasted two weeks, I thought I was going to die in that room, until my father walked in. His presence made the room seem smaller, his emotionless eyes scanned the work of his men, his gaze was unnerving. He seemed like he was staring into you, at your soul, right to your center.

One of the servants was at work cleaning my wounds from the last round of interrogation. My father stood there, watching, waiting. When the woman was done, she scurried from the room after gathering all of her supplies. I stayed slumped against the chair, peeking through my blood soaked hair up at him. His face, expressionless.

He regarded me the way one would regard a pig they were looking to purchase for butcher. “Do you remember your name?”

He picks a piece of lint from the right shoulder of his black suit coat while he paced in front of me awaiting an answer.

“No.” It hurt to breathe. I was sure I had a broken rib or two.

He stopped and before I could blink, he was kneeling before me with his face inches from my own, eyes blazing with a deep hidden rage. He grabbed my face between his fingers, squeezing my bruised cheeks until it hurt. My scabbed lip opened, blood slowly trickled into my mouth.

“No, sir.” He corrected.

“No, sir.” I repeat, though it was hard to talk with him holding my face so tightly.

It took every ounce of self control to stop the tears from spilling. My body was in pain from the brass knuckled beating I took the day before, but I wouldn’t cry, not in front of him.

Satisfied, he lets my face go, he was close enough for me to smell the mix of coffee and cigarette smoke on his breath. “Do you remember my name?”

My heart rate kicked up, and I felt like I would vomit. “No, sir.”

“Good.” He stroked his chin in thought, his eyes staring into mine. I refused to look away, to show him any sign of weakness.

He straightened back into a standing position, going back to pacing the small room. “Training starts when your bones are healed.”

I thought that was all he had to say as he turned to leave, but when he was halfway through the door, he turned back to me and the hairs on the back of my neck raised. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

My muscles remembered what my mind couldn’t. The more I trained, the more my body remembered. Training required a lot of mental work along with physical and because of my petite size, I had to use people’s weight against them. It was easy considering how my opponents always seemed to underestimate me. That was exactly how I escaped, everyone underestimated me, thought me weak.

My father once said that I got my looks from my mother, but my way of thinking was all him. It made my skin crawl as much then as it does now because he was right. No matter how much I hate that man, I had a lot in common with him. The difference, I don’t enjoy killing.

Everyday I’ve had to look over my shoulder waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows and attack, even though it’s only happened twice. I can’t risk letting my guard down, I refuse to end up in my father’s clutches again.

“Luce.” I hear my father’s voice call out. “Luce, your mother is dead because of you.”

No! I want to shout but my voice is gone.

“Your fiancé died because you were too weak.” My father’s voice continued.

No, no, no! I tried to escape his voice, but it was no use.

“Everyone you will ever love is going to die because of you, Luce.” My fathers voice sounded almost amused.

“YOU’RE ALONE.”

I awoke with a start, sweat coating me and the covers. Another restless night, the days blurred together. Helen, James, my mother, all dead because of me.

“You’re a weapon, and weapons don’t weep.” I repeated those words until I knew the tears wouldn’t spill. I can show no weakness.

My mother died giving birth to me, James was my fiancé and he died trying to save me, Helen died because my father found her number in my pocket after I was kidnapped outside the hospital. They haunt my dreams every night and in the waking hours, I had to hide. Paranoia made every stranger that lingered too long a potential threat.

I can’t get close to anyone in fear that any connection to me will result in their death. Until I’m free, there is no life for me.

I may have escaped, but this is hardly living. I’m the shell of a woman. I have to kill my father, if I don’t, the fear that is so tightly wound into my being won’t ever ease, I’ll never be free, and I’ll always be alone.

“Anyone can start again

Not through love, but through revenge

Through the fire, we’re born again.

Peace by vengeance brings the end.”

———————————————————————

[influencermagazineuk]

A Guide to the Glamour and Functionality of an Influencer-Ready Luxury Bedroom

In the age of social media, having a stylish and luxurious bedroom is not just about personal comfort – it’s also about creating a space that can be showcased to an audience. Furthermore, for influencers, a bedroom that combines glamour with functionality can enhance their brand and create a backdrop for stunning content. Here’s a guide to designing an influencer-ready luxury bedroom. Set the Foundation with High-Quality Furniture Quality furniture is the backbone of any luxurious bedroom. Start with a statement bed that features a plush headboard and a high-quality mattress. Bespoke wall mounted headboards in velvet or leather add a touch of elegance. Complement the bed with sophisticated nightstands that have sleek designs and are made of high-end materials like marble or mirrored finishes. Investing in a spacious wardrobe with a chic design is also essential. Custom-built wardrobes with lighting and organized storage make a significant impact. Create a Stunning Colour Palette A cohesive and relaxing colour palette sets the tone for a luxurious bedroom. Begin with a neutral base colour; cream, taupe, or soft grey ceates a calming atmosphere and serves as a perfect backdrop for other design elements. Next, add exciting pops of colour through accent pieces like throw pillows, artwork, and rugs. Jewel tones like emerald green, sapphire blue, and ruby red add a touch of opulence. Finally, incorporate metallic accents in gold, silver, or rose gold to add a hint of glamour. These can be integrated through light fixtures, picture frames, and decorative accessories. Enhance the Ambiance with Lighting Lighting is critical in creating a luxurious and photogenic bedroom. Install a pendant light or a chandelier as a focal point. Crystal chandeliers add a classic touch, while modern designs in gold or black can offer a contemporary look. Choose elegant bedside lamps that provide soft, warm lighting; lamps with metallic finishes or unique designs can double as decor pieces. Use dimmable LED lights or smart bulbs to control the ambiance. LED strip lighting under the bed or along shelves can add a soft, luxurious glow. Incorporate Luxe Textures and Fabrics Luxurious textures and fabrics elevate the comfort and style of a bedroom. Invest in high-thread-count sheets, a plush duvet, and an array of pillows. Silk, satin, and Egyptian cotton are excellent choices for a luxurious feel. Layer different textures with throws, blankets, and cushions, using materials like faux fur, velvet, and cashmere to add depth and warmth. Opt for heavy, floor-length curtains in rich fabrics like velvet or silk. These not only add a luxurious touch but also help in soundproofing and controlling light. Add Stylish and Functional Decor Decorative elements should be both stylish and functional to enhance the overall aesthetic. Hang large pieces of artwork or mirrors to create visual interest and make the room appear larger. Choose pieces that reflect your style and uniqueness and complement the colour palette. Incorporate indoor plants to add nature and freshness; plants like fiddle leaf figs or monstera can make a bold statement. Use area rugs to add warmth; Persian rugs or those with intricate patterns can enhance the luxurious feel. Maximize Space A luxurious bedroom should be clutter-free and well-organized. Utilize built-in storage solutions to keep the space tidy. Consider under-bed storage, built-in shelves, and custom closets. Create a dedicated vanity area with ample lighting and storage for makeup and accessories. A mirrored vanity table with drawers can keep items organized and accessible. Integrate smart home technology for convenience; automated lighting, smart speakers, and a charging station for devices can enhance functionality. Final Thoughts A well-designed luxury bedroom not only enhances your personal comfort but also serves as a stunning backdrop for your social media presence, helping to elevate your brand and engage your followers. By paying attention to the above details, you can design a space that is both glamorous and functional, perfect for creating content that resonates with your audience. Read the full article

[edwin--artifex]

'Archeological Box' @ Domus Aventino BNP Paribas Real estate on Piazza Albania on the Aventine Hill, Rome

Edwin Alexander Francis 'dubbed' the famous Italian television host, science journalist and writer Piero Angela who curated the archeo-multimedia installations together with Paco Lanciani.

La Scatola Archeologica Domus Aventino

“Portare alla luce ciò che è antico, è una delle più grandi forme d’amore per l’umanità”

Piero Angela

(c) of the renders courtesy:

Here's a clip from the promo vid ->

and an article from:

Ancient Roman villa and elaborate mosaics found beneath apartment block in Rome. The villa and its mosaics have now been turned into a subterranean museum

By Nick Squires ROME 6 October 2020 • 10:00am

A concierge and a smart address are no longer enough for one apartment block in Rome – it can now boast its very own subterranean Roman villa. Archeologists have unveiled the remains of a sumptuous Roman “domus” or villa, complete with elaborate mosaics, that had remained hidden for 2,000 years. It was discovered when engineers carried out work to earthquake-proof the residential development, which was built in the 1950s. Archeologists were called in and found a series of palatial rooms laid with mosaics featuring black and white geometric designs, made from tens of thousands of tiny cubes of stone. “You can see from the richness of the decorations and the mosaics that the villa belonged to a powerful person, probably linked to the imperial family,” said Daniela Porro, a senior cultural heritage official for the city. “Rome never ceases to surprise us. It’s an archeological jewel.” It was unearthed by chance in 2014 and after years of archeological work is now ready to be opened to the public as a subterranean museum. Visitors will enter the modern apartment building from the street, cross a courtyard and descend one flight of steps to an anonymous grey door next to a pair of lifts. Inside are not the only the remains of the Roman villa, with mosaics and fragments of frescoes and Latin inscriptions, but earlier segments of a stone tower dating back to the 8th century BC, as well as a huge defensive wall that dates back to the Roman republic. During the excavation, archeologists found a wide array of objects from everyday Roman life, including a hammer, a key, a water tap, a hairpin and oil-burning lamps. They found amphorae which held garum, a noxious-smelling sauce made from fermented fish that the Romans loved to use to spice up their meals. There were also fragments of lacquered bowls stamped with the images of Hercules and the goddess Athena. Video projections on the walls of the underground space bring the villa alive, with a senator and his wife strolling amid marble busts, ornate tables and couches. One mosaic has as its centrepiece an image of a bright green parrot with a splash of red in its plumage, while another depicts a grape vine growing from a large vase. The archeologists found not just one layer of remains, but six different layers, one on top of another, spanning a period of two centuries. The patterns of the mosaics, including one which features a repetitive figure 8, are unusual. “We’ve not seen it before,” said Roberto Narducci, an architect involved in the excavation. The €3 million dig was funded by BNP Paribas Real Estate, the company which owns the apartment building. “It’s quite a challenge to allow access to the site, while protecting the privacy of the condominium’s residents,” said the company’s Anselmo De Titta. “It will be open to the public at least two days every month and more if there is the demand.”

...and here's Piero Angela's conclusion ('dubbed' by Edwin Alexander Francis :-) ->

check out the real estate here ->

[iheartvintage1]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Mid Century Robert Sonneman For George Kovacs Marble Chrome Table Lamp.

[choicefurnituresuperstore]

ELEVATE YOUR DINING SPACE WITH GREY MARBLE DINING TABLES

When it comes to designing a sophisticated dining room that exudes timeless elegance, grey marble dining tables are a perfect choice. These stunning pieces of furniture effortlessly combine sleek style with natural beauty, becoming the centerpiece that transforms your dining space into a luxurious haven.

Grey marble, with its unique veining patterns and captivating shades, adds a touch of refinement and sophistication to any interior. The cool tones of grey seamlessly blend with various color palettes, allowing for versatile design possibilities. Whether you prefer a modern or traditional aesthetic, a grey marble dining table can adapt and enhance your vision.

To create a cohesive and visually appealing dining room, consider incorporating complementary elements. Pair your grey marble table with elegant dining chairs upholstered in soft neutrals or rich jewel tones. This combination adds depth and warmth to the space while accentuating the natural beauty of the marble.

Lighting plays a crucial role in highlighting the allure of a grey marble dining table. Install a statement chandelier or pendant light above the table to create a focal point that accentuates its elegance. Additionally, strategically placed wall sconces or table lamps can enhance the ambiance and add a touch of intimacy to your dining area.

To further enhance the sophistication of your dining room, pay attention to the accessories and décor. Consider adorning the table with minimalist centerpieces, such as a sleek vase with fresh flowers or a collection of sculptural objects. Incorporating metallic accents, such as silver candleholders or gold-trimmed dinnerware, can add a luxurious touch that complements the grey marble.

Finally, ensure that the overall design of the dining room harmonizes with the grey marble table. Choose flooring materials and wall colors that complement the cool tones of the marble, such as light-colored hardwood floors or muted gray wall paint.

With a marble-top dining table as the focal point, you can create a sophisticated dining room that exudes elegance and charm. By carefully selecting complementary furniture, lighting, and décor, you can curate a space that reflects your style while showcasing the beauty of grey marble. Unveil the true essence of elegance in your dining room with a grey marble dining table as the crowning jewel.

[writelonely]

Vanishes in the Mist

“Reba’s wedding, Anju. Will you…?” The voice drops off.

[1]        Only two people could call me Anju. One is Mitali, my wife, and the other… well, how does Koushik know this number? My brows knit into a frown.

          We went our separate way long back when I left politics to pursue a career in the civil service.

“Capitalist roader,” Koushik spat on me when the admit card reached our sleepy North Bengal town. He had got no whiff of my preparing for the examination.

          My muscled frame has since grown flabby, and the greying hairline receded into baldness as I settle comfortably in the corridors of power. The eyebags are of a recent origin; the CBI investigation has something to do with them.

“Oh sure, I’ll be…just let me check,”

          “I need you, Anju.”

           Time often plays quirky. The ideals fade away, and the comrades develop feet of clay, leaving a sour taste. Yet, across the fogged-up memories of childhood and adolescence roll over the call – Koushik needs me.

          So, on a misty winter afternoon, Mitali and I pack up for the weekend and quietly slip out. CBI must not get a whiff of my leaving Delhi, and the media should not get a tip.   

          Nobody answers when I try to inform Koushik about our arrival. Well, this little surprise will not displease him, I hope.

The sun has long gone down when we get out of the taxi after a four-hour-long drive from Bagdogra. The house stands haunted in the dark right at the corner where the highway turns abruptly towards an empty field with overgrown grass the townspeople love to call the airport, although no aircraft have landed there for decades.

Nothing remains of the once formidable gate beside the two rickety brick pillars with a marble plaque clinging to one of them. Despite being corroded over time, it still announces ‘Roy Chowdhury Villa’. The rest is hidden behind shrubs and creepers allowed to grow unrestrained. Had it not been winter, when snakes go into hibernation, I would not have dared to step into that thicket. 

Wind rustles through the tree branches, gathering fallen leaves into a swirl. Bubai da, the old caretaker - his pale, wrinkled face shrivelled like a cadaver - springs out of nowhere. Mitali grips my hand.

          “They’ve cut off the electric connection.” His voice travels through the hollow of a long empty tunnel as he picks up our luggage and shows us our room – the only one with a kerosene lamp flickering - at the end of the long corridor.  

The door screeches open, unsettling the dust and letting out the musty smell of stale, dank air of a long uninhabited place. The walls – paint peeled off – have turned mouldy. The faded bedspread lies damp and cold like a corpse. No one has turned it for ages.

          “Nobody has entered this room after Kartama (the old mistress) died,” Bubai da explains. 

          It saddens me. Koushik has not told me Sonali is no more.

          “Karta (the head of the household) isn’t doing well. He’ll meet you in the morning.” Bubai da is busy preparing the bed while he speaks. “Freshen up. Meanwhile, I’ll rustle up dinner for you.”

          He melts in the darkness before I can ask him about Reba.

           “No need to unpack much,” Mitali’s voice betrays irritation, “seems we’re in a ruin.”

           I cannot blame her. This is not the reception we expected. Instead of a family preparing for a wedding, we seem to have landed in a spooky house.

“Reba Didimoni teaches in a school in Mathabhanga. She comes home at weekends. You will meet her tomorrow morning,” Bubai da explains at the dinner table.  

          “Karta had a small catering business. I used to oversee until it shut shop during the pandemic,” Bubai da continues. “Although things had never been hunky-dory, the pandemic reduced us to penury. Karta suffered a cardiac arrest last summer and has since been obsessed about Reba Didimoni’s wedding.”

           The only way out is to sell the property, but Koushik will not hear any such thing.

“You do whatever you please with the Villa, but only after my dead body leaves its gate.” Koushik will retort whenever his siblings – now spread worldwide – raise the issue.

           I chuckle to myself. The revolutionary is now clutching at a piece of land. I tap the mahogany dinner table.  Across it, Koushik and I spent so many evenings arguing about the future of humanity.  

           “Why don’t you take some of the burdens?” Bubai da turns to me. “You’re a rich man now.”

            “You won’t understand, Bubai.” Mitali tries to shake it off, “We have our share of trouble. Days are not so rosy for us either, you know.”

“And Bubai da,” I chip in, “what solution is there, anyway? Surely, you don’t think we will wade in the Roy Chowdhury’s muddle?”

            “But you can take Reba’s responsibility.”

            I know why Bubai da is so insistent. He has no immediate family, and his entire life has revolved around this house. Where will he go if the property is sold out?

  “God has his own plans,” Bubai da almost read my mind. “Tomorrow morning, you will find everything settled. You won’t have to trouble yourself about me either.” His lips pucker into a mysterious smile.      

          Late at night, I give up on getting some sleep. Throwing a shawl over my shoulders, I slip out of the room.

          A draft from the Himalayas shudders through the corridor. It breathes on my neck, tingling my skin to a late October night in my childhood. We were returning home after pandal-hopping all through the Durga Puja evening. I tugged at Bubai da for an ice cream stick.

          He tried to pacify me, but I would not. “One day, when I grow up – big as you, I’ll buy all the ice cream in the world and won’t give you any, however much you cry.”

          Bubai da lifted me to his chest and kissed my neck. “If you don’t give me one, I’ll be after you forever. Even after death.”

          I fondly rub my neck. If only I could return to that innocence and start all over again. 

          A fresh cool breeze kisses me as I open the window in the morning,

          Mitali sprawls languorously in the bed. “Bubai should have asked us for tea by now.”

           But we find no one in the house. Koushik, Bubai da, everyone seems to have vanished in thin air.

          We step out onto the highway. Kanchenjunga is sparkling over the northern sky. Mitali screams in joy. And it infects me also. We forget everything about the night before and worry about the missing people.

            “Anjan Kaku, you are… here?” A young woman stops on her way, throws her backpack to the ground, and tips to touch my feet.

           “I’m Reba. Can’t you remember me?”

           “Reba!” that girl in a frock running about in the yard has grown into a beautiful lady. Life has played rough on her, but in the soft golden winter sun this morning, her smiling face has no trace of that struggle.

           “Did you spend the night there, in our house, and Bubai da received you?”   Reba’s face wears an expression of incredulity if not outright fear.

           “What’s so odd about it?” asks Mitali.

            “Only that both Papa and Bubai died of Covid last summer, during the 2nd wave.”

           Reba wraps her arm around Mitali’s waist, saving her from collapsing to the ground.

           “What about your wedding?” I try to recover from the shock.

           “Wedding? My wedding?” Reba’s forehead creases questioningly before she breaks into a hearty laughter.

          “But who phoned me then?” I turn to the northern sky. Kanchenjunga has vanished behind a thick blanket of mist.  

[ukworktops]

Rosso Venato Marble Bookmatch

Rosso Venato Marble Bookmatch; Match the Perfect Ones

Work-tops.com

MATERIALS 5 minute read

A white-grey natural stone with crimson veins is called Rosso Venato Marble Bookmatch. Two when combined produce a pleasing veining pattern that is frequently utilised in bookmatch designs. Whether it is a home or commercial property, this marble will raise its worth. Due to its exceptional durability, fire resistance, and exquisiteness, this lovely and unique stone offers possibilities for a variety of interior project designs, from kitchens to fire hearths.

Applications include office desks, worktops, walls, floors, vanity tops, stairs, shower areas, and fire hearths.

ROSSO LEVANTO MARBLE BOOKMATCH

£363.80Get a Quote

Designing Book-Matched Marbles for Applications and Decorative Purposes

Marble is a magical stone that can infuse any area with a sense of opulence. The book-matching method can be applied to produce outcomes that are genuinely amazing. Traditionally, book-matched slabs were laid by architects and interior designers on sizable surfaces and areas that would "give credit" to their projects. Book-matching software is commonly seen in hotel lobbies, business offices, restaurants, and other public spaces.

However, book-matching has recently been used in smaller settings as well, thanks to a more modern approach to interior design. Interior design has seen a significant expansion in the number of book-matching applications, with marble emerging as the pinnacle of the natural arts. Book-matching is being employed in an expanding variety of inventive ways, including flooring and wall cladding in living rooms, kitchens, bedrooms, bathrooms, and other areas.

These programmes offer a fresh, cutting-edge method for designing modern interiors and exteriors and buildings.

Elegant Marble Wall for the Living Room

You spend a lot of time and effort in your living room or front room. The living room is where the entire family spends the majority of their free time. It usually serves as a place to unwind, enjoy time with loved ones, or entertain guests. The family room can have a variety of functions depending on how your home is designed. It is usually used as a typical sitting area, a place to watch TV.

The designs and structure of Rosso Venato marble Bookmatch should be understood in order to achieve a contemporary aesthetic. Even the materials and appearance of marble are altered for various spaces, such as the floor and kitchen. These two concepts explain how to create delicate, unbiased marble scenes without leaving a polished artistic layout narrative.

The flat-screen TV you choose will look fantastic and improve the appearance of your space when it is mounted on a marble wall design. Even kitchen cabinets, furniture, and other items are chosen based on the marble's colour and texture.

Marble and wood brace walls catch the light in more interesting ways than a level dividing

If you design the white marble wall in your living room, pendant lighting creates a hypnotic atmosphere.

On the other side, a complementary bedside table light is placed, and by decorating the marble wall in the living room, you may alter the appearance.

A small architect table lamp is used to furnish the marble and smooth wood workspace, which is an original way to decorate the wall.

Advantages of Having a Marble Flooring:

Appearance

The look of marble floor tiles is opulent. Their royal aspect can instantly improve a room's appearance and atmosphere. It comes in a broad selection of hues and tones. You can combine several colours to create an amazing colour scheme and design for your floor.

Translucent

Because it is a naturally translucent stone, marble has long been prized by artists and architects. Because of the glow that stone produced when it was exposed to sunlight, statues and flooring were preferred in this medium. The brilliance of marble floors is unparalleled even today.

Unique and Different

Since marble is a natural stone, each tile is distinct from the others and contains veins that grow in no particular pattern. Compared to tiles with several colours, the distinctive marble features are more subdued in those with a single colour.

Eco-Friendly

When compared to synthetic floor materials, which cause the emission of hazardous gases and toxic wastes, natural stones like marble don't require any kind of chemical processing and are therefore more environmentally friendly. Marble floors also bring the beauty of nature into the confines of your house.

Using Marble in the Bathroom: Style Advice

Marble is a durable stone that may be utilised in any bathroom surface. It can be used to cover the entire floor, counters, sinks, and even shower walls. Nevertheless, there are characteristics of marble that you need to take into account depending on where you plan to use it.

Look for marble that has a lot of natural variety in the stone since it will give the room more personality. For more visual intrigue, combine various sizes and shapes. Marble's ability to blend in with any other material, including wood, stainless steel, and other stones like quartz or granite, is part of what makes it such a versatile material. You can simply combine natural marble with other materials to reduce the cost, time, and energy required for upkeep and care.

Choose these Marble Stones for more veined patterns:

Pick up these marble stones at the best price

Rosso Levano Marble

Dark Emperador Marble

Grigio Carnico Extra First Marble

Alivery Marble

ROSSO LEVANO MARBLE

£422.10Get a Quote

GRIGIO CARNICO EXTRA FIRST MARBLE

£357.20Get a Quote

DARK EMPERADOR / MARRON EMPERADOR MARBLE

£281.85Get a Quote

Grab these Marble Bookmatches from these Huge Collections:

You can get these marble stones from work-tops.com for your kitchen countertop, kitchen flooring, walls, outdoor designs, and many more; you can get these stones at the best available price from us. For a free quote, Contact info@work-tops.com or Call us at 0330 113 5868 to get your Kitchen done and enjoy our fabrication and installation service within 10 working days.

[ceramiccity]

Flora Lamp by Designer Marcin Rusak

flora lamp by Marcin Rusak - Modern table lamp with spherical white shade, brass accents, and marble base against grey background. Follow Ceramic City on Tumblr Source: https://www.pinterest.com/theceramiccity/

[radhestonex]

The Many Wonders of Imported Marble for Home and Office Interiors

Introduction

Radhe Stonex Is the best Imported Marble for Flooring.  Imported marble has become an increasingly popular choice for both residential and commercial interior design projects. It is a timeless material that adds an effortless elegance and opulence to any space. It is sourced from around the world and offers unique and interesting textures and patterns. Imported marble can be used in a variety of ways to create a stunning atmosphere and ambiance in any home or office. In this article, we will explore the many uses of imported marble to impart elegance to home and office interiors. 

The Unique Appeal of Imported Marble

Imported marble is highly sought after for its beauty and uniqueness. It is naturally beautiful, with subtle veins and flecks that provide an interesting and eye-catching aesthetic. In addition, imported marble is available in a variety of colors, which enables you to create a truly personalized look. While there are a few standard colors, such as white, grey, and black, there are also some more exotic options, such as green and pink. These variations add character and charm to any space. 

Marble Flooring

The most common use for imported marble is for flooring. Whether used for traditional, modern, or classic styles, imported marble flooring can bring a timeless and elegant look to any space. Imported Marble for Flooring has the unique ability to elevate any room and bring a sense of grandeur and luxury. Moreover, it is highly durable and can last for many years with proper care and maintenance. 

Marble Countertops and Backsplashes

In addition to flooring, imported marble is also popular for use in countertops and backsplashes. It is a great medium for creating a unique and eye-catching design. Imported marble is a naturally cool surface that is great for food preparation. It is also easy to clean and highly resistant to stains, making it an ideal choice for any kitchen or bathroom. 

Marble Bathroom Features 

Imported marble is also great for inclusion in other bathroom features, including shower walls, floors, and even bathtubs. Its luxurious and elegant look will add a sense of sophistication to any bathroom. Marble is a timeless material that never goes out of style and is great for creating a luxurious spa-like atmosphere in the bathroom. 

Marble Furniture and Accessories

Another popular use for imported marble is in furniture and accessories. Imported marble is a great material for creating custom pieces, such as tables, mantles, and shelves. When properly cared for, these pieces can last for many years and provide an impressive look and feel. Imported marble can also be used in smaller accents, such as drawer pull handles, or even as the base for a lamp or other home decor item. 

The Benefits of Using Imported Marble 

Radhe Stonex Is the best Imported Marble for Flooring. We offers a variety of benefits to interior design projects. It is a beautiful material that is resilient and long lasting. Marble is also extremely low maintenance and easy to clean, making it a great option for almost any interior. Additionally, imported marble is a great choice for any environment, as it is highly resistant to extreme temperatures and weather changes. 

Conclusion  Imported Marble for Flooring is a timeless material that can add an effortless elegance and opulence to any interior space. From flooring to countertops to furniture and accessories, imported marble can be used in a variety of ways to create unique and interesting elements in the home or office. With its unique textures and patterns, it is easy to see why imported marble is becoming increasingly popular for interior design projects.