#Sliding Wardrobes in London

[craftwardrobelondon]

Transform Your Bedroom: Fretwork Wardrobe Doors for Luxury London Homes

In the heart of London, where design meets sophistication, homeowners are constantly looking for ways to elevate their living spaces. One increasingly popular choice is the incorporation of fretwork wardrobe doors in luxury homes. These beautifully designed doors offer a unique blend of elegance, functionality, and bespoke craftsmanship that can transform any bedroom into a chic, organized retreat. Whether you live in a modern apartment or a traditional townhouse, fretwork wardrobe doors add a touch of timeless luxury to your space.

What Are Fretwork Wardrobe Doors?

Fretwork refers to an intricate, ornamental design that’s often carved out of wood, metal, or other materials. These patterns can range from geometric designs to delicate floral motifs, offering a versatile option for those who want a unique, personalized aesthetic. When applied to wardrobe doors, fretwork elevates an otherwise standard piece of furniture into a stunning focal point in the room.

Fretwork wardrobe doors aren't just about aesthetics, though. These doors can be designed with perforated patterns that allow for ventilation, which can be especially useful for wardrobes housing delicate clothing or linens. The combination of form and function makes fretwork an appealing choice for luxury homes, particularly in a design-conscious city like London.

The Appeal of Fretwork in Luxury London Homes

Luxury homes in London are known for their attention to detail and commitment to quality. Incorporating fretwork wardrobe doors into a bedroom design aligns with this ethos. Here’s why fretwork has become a top choice for London homeowners:

1. Unique Aesthetic Appeal: Fretwork doors are a statement piece. Whether the design is subtle or bold, the intricate detailing adds character and depth to your space. It reflects a refined sense of taste, offering something truly unique compared to standard flat-panel doors.

2. Customizable Design: A major benefit of fretwork wardrobe doors is the extensive level of customization they offer. Homeowners can choose from a wide range of patterns, materials, and finishes to complement their bedroom's style, from minimalist modern designs to ornate traditional patterns. This flexibility makes it easy to incorporate fretwork into any luxury interior design plan.

3. Enhanced Functionality: Fretwork wardrobe doors can be both beautiful and practical. With carefully designed patterns, they can help improve airflow within the wardrobe, preventing issues like moisture buildup, which is important for clothing preservation, especially for delicate fabrics.

4. Artistry and Superior Quality: High-end homes require exceptional materials and expert craftsmanship to meet the highest standards. Fretwork doors, often handmade, are a testament to skilled artisanship. The quality of the materials used—from rich woods to metal detailing—ensures that these doors are not only beautiful but also durable, lasting for years to come.

5. Adds Value to Your Home: Incorporating high-quality, bespoke features like fretwork wardrobe doors can significantly enhance the value of your property. In London’s competitive real estate market, where buyers are often looking for homes with unique design elements, these doors can set your home apart.

Pairing Fretwork Doors with Luxury Fitted Wardrobes

Luxury fitted wardrobes in London are another key feature of high-end homes. These wardrobes are custom-built to maximize storage space while maintaining a seamless, tailored look. Combining fretwork wardrobe doors creates a striking blend of elegance and practicality, turning your bedroom into a lavish sanctuary.

Custom-fitted wardrobes allow for a wide variety of interior configurations, such as shelves, drawers, hanging rails, and even built-in lighting. The addition of fretwork doors takes this storage solution to the next level by adding an extra layer of beauty to an already practical design. Imagine walking into your bedroom and being greeted by a wall of perfectly designed wardrobes, with intricate fretwork patterns catching the light—a true luxury experience.

Creating the Perfect Bedroom Atmosphere

A bedroom is more than just a place to sleep; it’s a sanctuary where you relax, recharge, and express your personal style. Fretwork wardrobe doors contribute to this by adding elegance and serenity to the room’s design. Paired with other luxury elements such as plush bedding, soft lighting, and sophisticated furniture, they can help you create a space that feels as luxurious as it looks.

For homeowners looking to blend the classic with the contemporary, fretwork doors offer the ideal solution. Their intricate designs can soften the look of more modern interiors, adding warmth and texture. Alternatively, they can enhance the richness of traditional décor, giving the bedroom a timeless appeal.

In London’s luxury real estate market, where style and functionality are paramount, fretwork wardrobe doors stand out as an exceptional design feature. They offer a perfect balance of beauty, practicality, and bespoke craftsmanship, making them the ideal choice for those looking to transform their bedroom into a luxurious retreat. By incorporating these stunning doors into your fitted wardrobes, you can elevate the overall aesthetic of your home while enjoying the benefits of enhanced storage solutions.

Whether you're redesigning your entire bedroom or looking for a way to add a touch of elegance to your existing space, fretwork wardrobe doors are a timeless investment in luxury living.

[samifeur]

Reach-In Closet London Inspiration for a mid-sized modern gender-neutral reach-in closet remodel with glass-front cabinets

[vaultsnakes]

Reach-In Closet London Inspiration for a mid-sized modern gender-neutral reach-in closet remodel with glass-front cabinets

[bragtech]

At Beautiful Bedrooms, we supply and fit a range of Bespoke Sliding Wardrobes to complement the look of your home or office, Only using the best quality wood products and offer affordable Prices.

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.3 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.4 wordcount: 2495

You had convinced yourself nothing had happened. You would never have to tell Flo anything. And for a few days, it was easy to believe that. There were no events, no fittings, no reasons to see him. Just a silly mistake you had already forgotten. It should’ve never even happened in the first place. You weren’t the kind of person who mixed work with… whatever that had been. You were a professional and your LV job meant way too much to you to risk anything.

So when you arrived at the next fitting, relieved you weren’t assigned to Lando. It was for a campaign shoot, a setting that felt much more comfortable to you than the chaos of a live event. Here, things were controlled. Professional.

You were helping another driver with their fitting when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Manager: Hey, slight change—Norris requested you.

You barely had time to process before the door opened and Lando strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking completely at ease.

Lando stretched lazily, like he had no idea why you’d be annoyed. 

“Hey, stylist.”

You kept your voice even. “Didn’t realize I was assigned to you.”

His grin widened. “Well, you weren’t.”

You exhaled sharply. “Then why am I here?”

Lando shrugged. "Yeah, well. Wouldn’t trust anyone else with my zippers during a wardrobe malfunction. Only the best, hey?"

You didn’t answer, just tossed the first outfit at him. “Try it on.”

Lando took the suit, standing up. “You’re all business today.”

“I’m always all business,” you muttered.

He didn’t push further, just disappeared behind the curtain to change. You took a steadying breath, shaking off the tension creeping into your shoulders. This was fine. You were in control.

A few moments later, he emerged, adjusting the sleeves of the suit jacket.

“How do I look?”

You turned, ready to make some small remark—but your words caught in your throat.

The suit fit him too well. Sharp lines, tailored perfectly to his frame. The deep navy color made his eyes stand out, the crisp white shirt underneath just barely undone at the collar.

Damn it.

Lando caught your hesitation, grinning. “That good, huh?”

You exhaled. “Put the next outfit on.”

He chuckled but did as he was told.

By the end of it, Lando looked as effortlessly put together as ever, and you had successfully done your job, and kept your professionalism intact. You were glad the fitting was done and you didn’t have to stay for the whole shoot, so you quickly left.

-

After the Australian Grand Prix and the first few races, there were no high profile LV events. You had been doing preparatory work at the London office. Until Monaco. Of course for Monaco, Louis Vuitton would play a big part at the events again. You flew there a few days before the events and race. Quadrant was also in Monaco for the race and they were all going out tonight, Max and Keegan had both texted you to come with like old times in London. 

When you arrive, the party is in full swing, the rooftop of the Monaco venue buzzing with drivers, influencers, and the elite of both motorsport and fashion. Maybe it’s the relief of not being on duty, of not having to hover over drivers making sure they don’t wrinkle their suits before the cameras get to them. 

You spot Max and Keegan near the bar, laughing at something stupid, and make your way towards them immediately.

“Finally,” you sigh, sliding between them. “People I actually like.”

Keegan grins, handing you a drink. “We’re honored.”

“Don’t be,” you tease, taking a sip. “I just don’t like anyone here”

Max laughs. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

You let yourself have fun. It’s been a while since you weren’t just the put-together stylist, since you weren’t navigating an event with work on your mind. The music is good and the drinks are flowing.

Of course they had invited Lando, he was their actual best friend. But you had thought he might not be there with the race weekend coming up. 

You’re all dancing, when you see him approach, greeting Max and Keegan enthusiastically. When you see Lando laughing with Max, joking around effortlessly like they always had, there was something oddly familiar about it. For a brief moment, he wasn’t the global superstar you had to dress. He was just Flo’s annoying brother, the same kid who used to crash your sleepovers and steal your snacks.

Then he sees you. 

“Hey stylist” he says as he steps closer.

You tilt your head. “I’m not working tonight”

Lando hums, eyes flicking over you. “I can tell.”

There’s something about the way he says it. 

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lando leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach twist. “Just… didn’t see this side of you.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, his hand grazes your waist as he reaches past you for something on the bar.

The touch is fleeting. Almost nothing.

But it lingers.

Your breath catches.

His smirk deepens, like he knows.

So you turn back to Keegan, laughing at something he says, ignoring Lando for the rest of the night.

-

Your head was pounding.

The second you cracked your eyes open, you regretted it. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to let in the Monaco morning light. Everything smelled like expensive cologne, a mix of fresh linen and something unmistakably male.

This was not your hotel room.

You groan, shifting slightly—only to feel someone beside you.

Your eyes fly open, heart hammering.

You turn your head.

Keegan.

Your entire body sags in relief. Keegan is still dead asleep, sprawled on his stomach, snoring into the pillow.

You push yourself up, glancing around. The sheets are too nice. The floor-to-ceiling windows too clean, too expensive-looking. You carefully slid out of bed. You needed to leave before anyone saw you.

That’s when you hear voices from the other room.

“…absolutely gone.” Max’s voice, amused.

“Yeah, she’s never drinking that much again.”

Lando.

The possibility of sneaking out without anyone noticing vanished instantly.

You sighed, making your way into the living room, where Lando and Max are sitting casually drinking coffee, looking way too well-rested.

Lando smirks over his cup. “Look who’s alive.”

You fold your arms. “What the hell am I?”

Max grins. “Lando’s place.”

Your stomach drops. You stare at Lando.

His smirk widens. “Don’t look so horrified. It was just the safest option.”

“You and Keegan got absolutely wrecked. Figured we’d let you crash here instead of sending you back to your hotel in that state.” Max adds.

Lando just shrugs. “Safe house.”

You narrow your eyes. “And we just… crashed?”

“You both crashed onto my bed directly,” Lando says. 

Keegan stumbles into the room, groaning. “I am never drinking that much again.”

You laugh when you see him, nudging him. “This is all your fault, those damn tequila shots”

Lando watches the exchange, something unreadable in his expression.

You heard your phone buzz.

Manager: Hey, last-minute change for the fitting today—it’ll be at Lando’s place instead of the hotel. Be there in 20.

You blinked. Then read it again.

No. No, no, no.

"Something wrong?" Lando asked, too entertained by your reaction.

You slowly looked up at him, horrified. "You arranged the fitting here?" you asked, voice hoarse.

Lando stretched, entirely unbothered. "Oh yeah. Seemed convenient. Thought you’d appreciate not having to travel. Figured it’d be easier than going to the hotel. Hope you don’t mind."

You wanted to murder him. Instead, you exhaled sharply, turned on your heel, and headed straight for the bathroom to make yourself look less like you had spent the night drinking tequila with his best friends.

You really needed to not look like a complete disaster before the fitting.

Which left you with only one option.

Lando’s wardrobe.

You rummaged through his neatly arranged collection until you found what you needed—a white button-up shirt and a pair of jeans. The jeans were  too big, but with a little trick—you were a stylist afterall—it worked. They sat low on your hips, hanging just right. His button-up was oversized, falling effortlessly over your frame, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows.

By the time you emerged from the bathroom, freshened up and dressed, you actually looked good. Casual. Effortless. Like you hadn’t just woken up hungover in a Formula 1 driver’s apartment.

Lando raised his eyebrows when you walked in, smirking. “Didn’t know we were styling my clothes on you today.”

You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t know I’d be styling someone in their own damn apartment.”

“Worked out, though.”

You heard Max and Keegan arguing in a different room, it sounded like they were playing videogames. 

You were glad the doorbell rang, it was your colleague with the clothes. It was very normal for celebrities to request their fittings at their homes, so she didn’t question it. 

The fitting itself was smooth—thankfully, he didn’t push too much. When you stepped back to check the final look, he tilted his head.

“You’re quiet today.”

You met his eyes, unamused. “I have a headache.”

“From drinking?”

“No. From you.”

Lando laughed. “Fair.”

You finished up quickly, more than ready to get out of there.

“Alright,” you said, taking a step back. “You’re done. I’ll see you at the event.” You still had to go the LV office before, and were going to the event from there.

Lando just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

You popped your head into the gaming room to say goodbye to Keegan and Max, too focused on their video game and stream, mumbling something like ‘’See you soon’’. They wouldn’t be going to tonight’s event, but they would be at enough other things in Monaco this week and weekend. You were glad they were around again, missing the friendships during your work at Quadrant.

-

The venue was extravagant—glistening chandeliers, perfectly curated floral arrangements, and guests dressed in luxury from head to toe. Louis was always extravagant, but this was Louis at Monaco, you hadn’t seen something like this before.

Lando was already there, talking to a group of people, glass of champagne in hand, his fitted suit a sharp contrast to the playful persona he usually carried. He had a way of looking effortlessly put together.

And yet, there was something about how easily he slipped into the role of charming, high-profile athlete that irritated you. He looked good—you knew he would. You had styled him. But it still annoyed you to see him flashing those perfect smiles for the cameras, working the crowd like it was effortless. It didn’t help you were still feeling hungover.

So, you did what you never did at events. You drank.

Not recklessly, just enough to take the edge off. 

"I liked my clothes better on you" Lando said, his gaze dragging over you in a way that felt deliberate. You had obviously changed into something else back at the LV office.

"Guess you can dress yourself again then" you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

He laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "Nah, I like all the attention your outfits get me"

You rolled your eyes.

The night went on, and you did your best to avoid him—not in an obvious way, but enough to keep some distance. It was necessary. 

But, of course, it was impossible to ignore him completely.

And then, the final blow—

You reached for your bag, instinctively searching for your keycard, only to realize—

Shit.

Your stomach dropped. You had left it at his apartment.

And, as if the universe was just as cruel as Lando, he already knew.

"Problem?" Lando’s voice came from just behind you, close enough that you felt his breath against your ear.

You should have been startled, but instead, your pulse just kicked up. You turned slightly, exhaling sharply. "I left my keycard at your place."

Lando smirked. "Looks like you’ll have to come home with me, then."

You shot him a look. "I could just ask the front desk for a new one."

"You could." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. "But then you wouldn’t have an excuse to come over again."

Your stomach twisted. You hated the way he said it—like he knew what he was doing to you.

You huffed, tilting your chin up. "I don’t need an excuse."

His smirk widened. "Then let’s go."

-

Lando unlocked the door to his apartment, stepping inside and tossing his keys onto the counter. "Make yourself at home," he said, amusement laced in his voice.

You shot him a glare, slipping off your heels. "Not funny."

"Little bit funny."

You ignored him, going straight for the living room where you had probably left your keycard earlier. But before you could grab it, Lando was suddenly there, leaning against the couch, watching you with an expression you really didn’t trust.

"You know," he started, and you could already tell he was going to say something stupid. "At this rate, you should just move in."

You glared at him. "Shut up."

He laughed, but then his eyes flickered down—just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked, his hands slipping into his pockets like he wasn’t affected. Like he wasn’t standing close enough that you could smell the mix of his cologne and whatever alcohol still lingered on him.

"Okay, got it. Leaving now."

Lando leaned against the doorframe, blocking the way.

"Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "You sure? You do basically live here now."

Lando was suddenly close. Closer than he had been all night. Hands grazing your waist, fingers trailing up your spine.

“Lando,” you warned, voice quieter than you intended.

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

You could feel his breath against your skin.

“I—”

And then, suddenly, his hands were on your zipper.

"Think I can handle this one," he murmured against your lips.

A breathless laugh escaped you, but it was lost in the way he kissed you—deeper, needier.

Lando’s hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his grip firmer this time, like he wasn’t afraid you’d pull away. 

And this time, you didn’t stop it, you weren’t sure if it was the lack of energy or the drinks you had.

It was messy and rushed again, seemingly unplanned, and before it could go any further, you heard stumbling and a door opening. You quickly stepped away.

‘’Lando, that you?’’ Max emerged from the bedroom, still half asleep.

-

WN: guysss sorry it took so long!! long chapter to make up for it. I actually have many chapters and ideas for this story but I just want able to finalize to post because I was busy. Hope you enjoy it!! xx

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07

[robertseo2019-us]

At FWAB, we supply and fit a range of Bespoke sliding doors in London to complement the look of your home or office, Only using the best quality wood products and offering affordable Prices.

[craftwardrobelondon]

Elegant Fitted Wardrobes in London: Sliding Door Options for Modern Living

In the bustling city of London, where space is often at a premium, the need for efficient and stylish storage solutions is paramount. Step into the realm of fitted wardrobes, where elegance meets functionality, crafted to optimize space while bringing a refined touch to any room. Among the various styles available, sliding door options have become increasingly popular for modern living, offering a sleek and contemporary look that complements any decor.

Why Choose Fitted Wardrobes?

Fitted wardrobes in London offer a tailored solution to the unique challenges of urban living. Unlike freestanding wardrobes, fitted wardrobes are designed and constructed to perfectly match the precise measurements of your room, making sure that every inch of space is utilized efficiently. This bespoke approach allows for a seamless integration into your room, enhancing the overall aesthetic while providing ample storage.

The Appeal of Sliding Doors

Sliding doors are a standout feature in modern fitted wardrobes, offering several advantages over traditional hinged doors. Firstly, they save space. In a city where every square foot counts, sliding doors eliminate the need for additional clearance, allowing you to make the most of your room layout. This is especially advantageous in smaller bedrooms or apartments where space is at a premium.

Secondly, sliding doors provide a sleek, minimalist look that is perfect for contemporary interiors. They can be customized with various finishes, from mirrored surfaces that create the illusion of more space to wood or lacquered panels that add warmth and texture. This versatility allows homeowners to match their wardrobes with existing decor, creating a cohesive and stylish environment.

Customization Options

One of the greatest advantages of fitted wardrobes with sliding doors is the ability to customize every aspect of the design. In London, where architectural styles vary widely, this flexibility is invaluable. Homeowners can choose from a range of materials, colors, and finishes to create a wardrobe that reflects their personal style and complements their home's architecture.

Internally, the customization continues with options for shelving, drawers, and hanging spaces tailored to your specific needs. Whether you require extra shoe storage, a dedicated space for suits, or adjustable shelves for seasonal clothing, fitted wardrobes can be designed to accommodate your lifestyle.

Enhancing Your Home's Value

Investing in fitted sliding wardrobes in London is not only about improving your living space; it can also enhance the value of your home. In a competitive real estate market like London's, potential buyers are often drawn to properties that offer smart storage solutions. A well-designed fitted wardrobe with sliding doors can be a selling point, showcasing the home's functionality and style.

Sustainable Choices

As sustainability becomes an increasingly important consideration for homeowners, many companies in London offer eco-friendly options for fitted wardrobes. From using sustainably sourced materials to incorporating energy-efficient lighting, there are numerous ways to ensure your wardrobe is as environmentally friendly as it is elegant.

Conclusion

Elegant fitted wardrobes with sliding doors are an ideal solution for modern living in London. They offer a perfect combination of style, functionality, and customization, making them a worthwhile investment for any homeowner. Whether you're looking to maximize space in a small apartment or add a touch of luxury to a larger home, sliding door wardrobes provide a versatile and attractive option.

Incorporating these wardrobes into your home not only enhances your living space but also adds value and appeal to your property. With endless design possibilities and a focus on sustainability, fitted wardrobes are a smart choice for those looking to embrace modern living in one of the world's most dynamic cities.

[toomuchracket]

matty buying you a sexy birthday outfit and then ripping it off of you 🤭

oh my god... this is so fun. buckle up babies, it's a long one

ok so i fully believe matty's the type of boyf to ask you like 5 million times if he can pick out an outfit for you, very like "i love you and i love when you take my outfit recommendations so much but i don't wanna do a kanye and take full creative control, cos your autonomy is so important and besides i always think you look beautiful no matter what you wear" - you're like "matty i've said yes to you picking my outfit for my birthday night out eight times already. i don't even know what i'd pick anyway i've never been to this bar you're taking me to lol" (in my head it's either here, the library bar at soho house's electric house in london, or here at swans bar in maison assouline also in london). and so i think on your birthday you'd wake up to not only breakfast in bed and some flowers and gifts, but to some massive luxury shopping bags perched on the end of your bed beside your extremely excited fiancé (this gives fiancé vibes!), who you take a couple of minutes to berate for spending so much money on you before kissing him and thanking him (because you're lowkey hyped about it lmao). and matty's sensible enough to buy you things you'll be able and willing to wear more than once, so i think he'd probably buy you a cute little black dress (i like this ysl one) and heels (inspo), as well as a handbag and obv some new lingerie. you knew about the latter, because he made you bookmark everything you liked from agent provocateur and send him the links, but you were like "you can pick which set, you're the one who's going to be looking at it and taking it off after all" (which made matty short-circuit lmao) - he's opted for the one you secretly liked best, anyway, so it's all good. but yeah, matty's done well with the outfit choice, mostly due to the fact that he's picked things he knows you'll feel good wearing, which he thinks is the sexiest thing, and he gets all blushy when you give him lots of little kisses and tell him he's done well (praise kink simp that he is).

and you feel SO good about how you look when you go for drinks that night. you spend a fair bit of time on your hair and makeup and getting ready and accessorising, just listening to some good music and generally vibing, and you steal one of matty's leather blazers from his wardrobe when he leaves the room - when he comes back in and sees you ready (without the jacket), he loses all coherent thought and the ability to speak for a little bit, just staring open-mouthed at how incredible you look. and you're smirking like "yeah i think i look alright", and matty's spluttering like "alright? ALRIGHT? you're the fucking pinnacle of beauty, darlin'. 'i look alright?' next clothing item i buy you'll be a pair of glasses. christ", and you giggle and blush and matty comes up behind you to look in the mirror and he's like "seriously, you're gorgeous. far too hot for me. look". and you're like "ok now YOU'RE being blind. you look so handsome in that shirt. and look how good we look together (incredible btw hottest couple alive)! we need to take pictures". and matty's like "oh absolutely" and then he takes like 85849 pics of you both looking sexy as hell (some a little bit risqué, because he's him lol) and another 5838558 pics of you alone (he makes one of you smiling cutely at him his lockscreen) before his phone vibrates to tell him the uber's outside - you quickly grab his jacket and slide it on like "ready!", and matty just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath like "you're trying to kill me, woman. i am going to turn into a puddle of goo because of how much i fancy you", and you're like "ok but could you wait until AFTER we've gone for drinks to do that please lol" and matty's like "whatever the birthday girl wants" and you leave the house (after you've kissed mayhem on the head and told him you loved him lol).

drinks are SO FUN - the bar is incredibly beautiful, the atmosphere is great, and the cocktails are GOOD. you and matty have so much fun picking out drinks for each other and trying them, as well as just chatting shit and kissing at your secluded little corner table. and he just cannot get over how good you look!! he's constantly touching your hand or your leg or putting an arm over your shoulder, almost as if you're some perfect figment of his imagination that'll slip away from him if he lets go at all - between that and the kisses and the drinks and just the incredible way matty looks and smells, though, you get pretty turned on after a couple of hours. and you kiss him slowly and you're like "i really do like this outfit on", and matty's like "fuck, so do i, sweetheart", and you lean in to whisper in his ear like "however, i would also quite like you to take it off, preferably soon". and matty's eyes darken a little bit and he kisses you slightly more roughly, before he says "again, whatever the birthday girl wants. finish your drink, let me settle this bar tab, and then i'll take you home and take that dress off you, darlin'. ok?", and you're like FUCK ok, downing your cocktail and booking an uber for the two of you. and it's a fairly quick drive home, thank god, you kissing matty's neck as he tries to be polite and chat to the driver, before you're hustled out of the car and into the house.

as turned on as you both are, i'm convinced it's a somewhat romantic evening - matty scoops you up bridal-style ("i'm getting my practice in") and carries you to the bedroom. and i think he goes down on you before he's even gotten you out of your dress - sets you down on the edge of the vanity and crouches down to take your shoes off, then thinks "fuck it, i'm down here anyway" before shoving your panties to the side and eating you like you're his last meal, until you're almost crying from the overstimulation of two consecutive orgasms and pulling him up by his shirt collar and undoing the buttons. while you do that, matty's got his hands on your back, pulling the zip of the dress down and coaxing you to step out of it, just as you simultaneously undo his belt and push his trousers down. when you're both in just your underwear, matty steps back to sit on the edge of the bed, looking at you with an interesting mix of lust and total adoration like "you're stunning. i can't believe you're mine" - you giggle and straddle his lap, kissing him before you cheekily say "of course i am; if this is how well you treat me on my birthday BEFORE we're married, i'm so excited to see what you do next year when i'm your literal wife". and that does it for matty - he groans and kisses you passionately, hands going straight to the clasp of your bra and undoing it, before shimmying the garment off you and kissing all over your boobs for a minute then going back to making out with you. he pulls away after a second to be like "i love you. i'm so excited to marry you, and to treat you even better on your birthday next year than i did today. have you had fun, though, sweetheart?", and you're like "i love you too, and i've had the best day ever. you know what would make it better, though?" and matty's like "tell me" - you grind down onto his lap and whisper "if my extremely sexy fiancé fucked me like i've wanted him to for hours". and matty grins and says "don't need to tell me twice", before flipping you both over and fucking you hard and deep and passionately until you're both euphoric and exhausted - after that (and a quick bathroom break and a cup of tea), you snuggle up in his arms and go to sleep, dreaming of the amazing day you had and the amazing wedding you'll have soon <3

[secret-rendezvous1d]

This idea has been floating in my head. Harry speaks with Brad because his wife has lost motivation for exercise throughout her pregnancy. So, one day during her fourth month when the three (Four *wink*) of them are on a walk through London, Brad recommends a female friend of his who specialises in fitness including personal training for pregnant women. (Maybe they stop by a cafe for takeaway coffee and fans interact with them).

:)))))

"she looks so good."

"she's glowing!"

"do you think she'll take a photo with us?"

"i don't know, i feel like she'll want some privacy. especially if she's out with harry."

yn smiles to herself as she tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation happening behind her; two young fans, who knew who she was, seemed excited to be standing behind her in the queue at the coffee shop as she waited for her takeout order of coffees (and a decaf) for herself, her husband and his trainer.

"i can take a quick selfie with you but can i ask you not to post it till later today?"

yn takes in the wholesome faces as one of them gets the camera on her phone ready. she slides off her sunglasses and pushes them into her hair, holding her fringe back, leaving her eyes to adjust to the very well-lit coffee house around her. the sunshine flooding into the room through the full wall-length windows that seemed to be surrounding her.

there's a quick couple of photos taken, one with a pose and one with a smile, and some hugs were exchanged before her order was called. with a smile, a wave and a cardboard carrier, she was off out of the shop and back outside to see her husband who was waiting with his hands out to take two of the coffees from her.

"feel like they love you more than they love me, you know?" harry snorts, passing brad one of the coffee cups and taking a sip from his own, "it's good. i love it. and, i know you love it."

"i love it when they're like that," she grins, chucking the cardboard carrier into the bin beside her and taking a sip from her own decaf coffee, "they're the sweetest. they were the sweetest."

"must feel mad to see all these girls fawn over h though. he's loved by many," brad states, pressing a kiss to yn's cheek, "thank you for the coffee."

"you're welcome. i'm glad you've allowed harry to have the one thing he misses on this workout plan you've got him on," yn smirks, an arm nudging into brad's side as he feigns pain and grips onto his rib, "he loves it more than he likes to admit."

they continue their walk down the pavement, dodging those walking towards them and trying their best to hide their appearance from any fans who were lurking around the streets to catch a glimpse of harry in any way. sunglasses, hats and coats hiding any part of them that could give them away in any sense.

"and speaking of workouts, harry said something about you needing some motivation to get out and move. said you've been struggling since your pregnancy began," brad states, "i know a good personal trainer who would be happy to help you out. if you want it. i'm not forcing you or anything and harry's not pressuring you. i know he wants to help."

"i just- i'm so pregnant," she whines, looking down at her 7-month bump that was covered by the baggiest jumper she could find in her wardrobe (which, she's sure, was one from harry's collection), "i've lost all determination. i'd use to love going to gym with harry when we had a night free but now? i'd rather stuff a burger down my throat and enjoy that burn than the burn in my muscles."

brad snorts and harry just cackles, reaching his free hand for her free hand, squeezing her fingers in his hold.

"i'll think about it. i'm very appreciative of the offer though, brad."

"you've got my number, just drop me a text. i'll sort you out." x

[definitionsfading]

tartan

for your consideration; a domestic ficlet I did as a warm-up last night

content warnings: includes some adult humor between married celestial entities and Crowley is pregnant (by choice) ((the babies are Aziraphale’s)) (((ayy)))

+ + + + + +

It’d been something of a strange summer thus far, all things told. London volleyed between pouring rain and spiking heat waves every other week throughout the month of June, then trundled headlong into July with the tepid promise of milder weather. It was a sleight of hand trick meant to beguile and fool every weather forecaster in the country, because after the rains passed one morning the temperature dropped so low that Aziraphale had to pull his wool cardigan back out of the upstairs wardrobe.

But if mother nature was temperamental and unpredictable that summer, well—she had nothing on a pregnant demon. 

“I’m hardly a stone’s throw into the second bloody trimester and already nothing fits,” Crowley moaned from where he’d flopped back onto the bed with the button of his trousers still undone, the garment in question butterflied open at the zip. “Not even a vest top. Meanwhile, it’s sodding July and we’re wearing jumpers, as if my entire existence weren’t already enough of a sick joke.” 

Aziraphale poked his head out of the adjacent water closet, fingers still busy tidying up his cufflinks, and appraised the grim sight on the bed. Crowley was right; every time he tugged down his black cotton vest it would simply roll up over the rounded swell of his middle again. 

“Don’t get yourself in a tip, dear, I’m sure we’ll be able to pop out to the shops and find something suiting,” Aziraphale said, stepping further into the room to wander over to the bedside. “Even if it’s unseasonably cool, I think this weather is a far cry better than the heat for somebody in your condition.”

“My condition, he says,” Crowley snorted, golden eyes flashing just before he draped a dramatic forearm across his face and moaned again. “This is your fault, you know—we only really needed the one baby and here your angelic super sperm had to go and knock me up twice as hard. I’d still be fitting into my trousers if I weren’t busy stuffing my face for three.” 

Aziraphale laughed, warm palms landing on the knobby shapes of Crowley’s knee caps. “Now see here,” he countered, “I wouldn’t have been able to do that if it weren’t for your overindulgent ovaries releasing two eggs during the same cycle. You’re just as much to blame, if not more.” 

Crowley made another wretched sound but let his arm roll away from his face, gazing up at his husband with a pitiful hangdog expression around his eyes. “But m’cold, angel,” he said, pouting out his lower lip. “I can’t very well go out looking like this, and what’s the point in buying anything—? When I must be gaining a fresh inch around the middle overnight at this rate.” 

“Because you’re healthy, darling, and your body is doing a remarkable job of sustaining our growing children,” Aziraphale reminded him, letting his hands slide down to Crowley’s thighs as a telling flush bloomed on the demon’s chest and began crawling toward his throat. “If you weren’t growing accordingly I think we’d have more cause for concern. From my point of view, I don’t think you’ve ever been as gorgeous as you are right now.” 

“Yeah, but I can be butt-arse naked in front of you, you sentimental git,” Crowley groused, wriggling there with Aziraphale leaning between his spread knees. “All that greeting card swill doesn’t solve the problem of me busting all the seams in my clothes if I so much as sneeze.” 

Aziraphale thought about that for a moment, with genuine effort, and then smiled. “I think I may have a temporary solution, if you’re amenable to it.” 

“Which is?” Crowley asked, arching a gingery eyebrow, but Aziraphale was already pushing away from the bedside and whisking back over to the old wardrobe. 

Crowley laid there in resignation for a few beats, gazing up at the velvet canopy of the four-poster until Aziraphale started sliding hangers on the rail and curiosity got the better of him. By the time he could manage to hoist himself back up into a sitting position again, the angel was already standing at the bedside with an assortment of clothing folded over one arm. 

“Oh no, absssolutely not,” Crowley started, eyes widening at the sight of some camel coloured slacks. “I’d rather go out full starkers, angel, than be caught dead—”

“Do hush, you utter fiend, it’s not that bad,” Aziraphale tutted over him with a roll of his eyes, holding up a jumper with a flourish meant to inspire. “This is pure Ladakhi cashmere, I’ll have you know. It’ll feel like French butter against your skin.” 

Crowley pulled a doubtful face. “Dunno about you, but I’ve never been one to slather myself in butter on a real lark,” he muttered, but reached out and took the sweater anyway, a cream and camel-based tartan with a thin blue stripe. He swore as he pulled it on over his head, and then proceeded to sit very still on the edge of the bed as they both looked down at the offending garment. The cashmere accommodated his belly perfectly, neither too snug nor too loose where it draped around his figure as if it’d been made bespoke. 

“That was pure luck,” Crowley said, plucking at the sleeves. “There’s no way in utter creation those trousers will fit me.” 

Aziraphale only held them out with another glowing smile. “Give them a try, love, if only to indulge a doddering old angel.” 

It took some grumbling and a few more choice swears once Crowley was standing, but he stepped one foot at a time into the slacks and then—rather miraculously, all in all—hoisted them up so they fastened without a hitch just under his navel. 

“Ngk,” Crowley said, once Aziraphale had pulled the tartan jumper down and straightened the hem for him. “Uhm.” 

“You look so handsome,” Aziraphale crowed as his hands clasped together, corners of his eyes crinkling up in joy. “Go over and have a peek in the looking glass for yourself.” 

Crowley sauntered over to the mirror and appraised his reflection from the front, and then the very new and ever-changing side profile. He cupped a hand under his growing bump and pulled a frown, but it began to wobble a bit just as soon as he caught Aziraphale’s adoring expression peering at him in the glass. 

“Do I look fat?” he asked in a tremulous sort of laugh, just before Aziraphale’s arms circled around his middle and pressed the tartan cashmere more flush against Crowley’s skin. Damn it all to hell, it was as sodding soft as French butter.

“No, you’re positively radiant,” Aziraphale said, dropping a kiss onto Crowley’s shoulder there in their shared reflection. “Even better, wearing my colours like you are.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley sniffled, feeling something unexpected and hot burning behind his eyes. “And what of it?”

“You look like you belong to me,” Aziraphale said in a velvety voice, bracing both hands underneath Crowley’s belly. “All mine to keep and adore for myself, I’m afraid.” 

Crowley scoffed and reached up to dab at something on one cheek before wrinkling his nose. It was starting to get oddly warm in the bedroom all of a sudden. “Well, I suppose you’re right about that part,” he said. “Just this once.”

Aziraphale nodded, and this time felt the upward quirk of his husband’s dopey smile against his lips when he gently turned his face for a kiss. “Just this once,” he agreed amiably. “Do you think you’ll be warm enough to pop out to the shops, now?”

“If I must,” Crowley diplomatically decided, admiring his transformed reflection for another beat before turning to straighten Aziraphale’s bow tie. He leaned in for another chaste kiss, and then reached around to pinch a small handful of angelic bum. “The sooner we get out, the sooner we can do luncheon and come back to shag for the rest of the afternoon.” 

“Impeccable logic, dear,” Aziraphale said with a breathy little laugh of his own. Crowley gave him a wink before stepping away to fetch his trainers and sunglasses, and only then did Aziraphale glance back to the looking glass and see that the tartan of his bow tie had somehow changed itself to match the colours on a certain demon’s cashmere jumper. 

It was rounding out to be an interesting summer, indeed.

[if you enjoy fics like this one, feel free to check out my ineffable parents ficlet collection or other Good Omens works on AO3]

[bragtech]

Get the finest of Sliding Wardrobes London custom made for your home at affordable prices. Call us on 0208 936 7662 for a FREE DESIGNER VISIT!

[beechersnope]

Trick or treat for a nico pairing of your choice! (but make it nasty😈😈)

hopefully a bit of spooky scary toto/nico shall suffice

***

Nico had been envious of Lady Wolff from the second she’d come to the manor to work as a governess for the Lord and Lady’s two children. It was a natural sort of envy, at first. The lady of the manor was beautiful, elegant, and possessed every quality that Nico had spent her entire life wishing she’d had.

And she was rich, of course.

But all of that paled in comparison to the obsessive jealousy Nico had been wrestling with ever since Toto finally entered the picture.

The first month Nico stayed at the manor, she never once caught a glimpse of Lady Susie’s mysterious and elusive husband. But when Toto finally came home after a long stint of doing business in London, things changed.

For the worse.

Nico knew full-well that she wasn’t allowed into the wing of the manor where the lord and lady resided, but the Wolffs had gone on a little holiday over the long weekend, leaving Nico and a handful of staff to fend for themselves for a few days. Now that night had fallen, the housekeeper, groundskeeper, and cook had all gone home, and the children were fast asleep, which meant that for the first time in a very long time, Nico was all alone.

Nico had gotten over the instinctive anxiety of living in such a big, old house after the first couple of weeks. Now she traipsed through the hallways without a care in the world, humming under her breath as she made her way to the Wolffs’ bedchambers for a bit of old-fashioned snooping.

Nico wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find, honestly. Maybe Lord and Lady Wolff liked to get their freak on while wearing fur-suits. Or maybe Susie had a strap-on that she used on Toto while the two of them were dressed up as each other. Whatever the case, Nico was confident that she’d find something of note buried in their wardrobe. After years spent looking after rich people’s children, Nico had learned that they all had something to hide.

But much to Nico’s disappointment, Toto and Susie seemed to be horrifically normal. There weren’t even massage oils or anything she might have expected from a vanilla couple. Maybe their secret was that they weren’t even having sex at all. Nico tried not to get her hopes up at the thought.

Then her fingers skimmed across a gap in the wood paneling. Nico frowned, pushing aside the coats and dresses hanging in the wardrobe and peered at the wall, surprised to find something that looked like a safe, built into the wardrobe and so well hidden that Nico wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t accidentally touched the edge of it first.

Nico pulled at the door out of curiosity, not really expecting much to come of it. She was doubly shocked when it swung open with ease. Somebody must have forgotten to lock it back up the last time they’d used it, Nico decided. Inside, Nico could see a collection of boxes stacked haphazardly on top of each other. She took out the one on top and carefully pried open the lid to find a set of lingerie in rose-pink, carefully positioned in a wrapping of tissue paper as though it had never been worn.

Nico set it aside and rummaged through the rest of the boxes to find that they all contained much the same: more sets of lacy underwear in various colors and patterns, all appearing as though they’d never once been touched since their purchase.

Nico’s eyes alit on a particular set in emerald green. She felt drawn to it, like it belonged to her, not Susie. Nico’s fingers delicately brushed against the lace, filling her with a peculiar sense of rightness. She needed to put it on.

Nico undressed right there in the middle of the open wardrobe, sliding the lace over her skin and pulling it into place with a smile. She skipped out once she was done and gave a little twirl in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door, admiring the way the jewel-tone color contrasted with her skin.

Then Nico turned around again to find Toto standing at the door.

Nico froze in place with a tiny gasp, but Toto didn’t look upset. He was smiling: a Cheshire cat grin. Nico felt unsettled by it even as she felt a surge of gratitude that at the very least, it didn’t seem as though she’d be sacked for the indiscretion.

“Is Susie on her way up?” Nico asked in a small voice.

Toto shook his head, the smile remaining fixed on his face. “No,” he told her. “We’re alone.”

Nico nodded slowly. “Should I…?” she asked, gesturing to the stolen lingerie hugging her curves.

Toto shook his head again. “Get on the bed,” he commanded instead.

Nico didn’t have to be asked twice.

Toto undressed her slowly, carefully, like he was unwrapping a gift, leaving Nico shivering and covered in goose bumps in his fingers’ wake. She tried to cover herself, reflexively, but Toto pulled her hands away and feasted his eyes on her without an ounce of shame on his face.

There was just that unsettling grin.

Nico was grateful that she didn’t have to face him any longer when Toto finally leaned down to kiss her stomach, running his hands up her sides as he moved even lower, pushing her legs apart to get his mouth on her pussy next. This was what she’d wanted all along, Nico thought to herself, but something seemed terribly, horribly wrong.

His tongue was hot as he licked into her, a stark contrast to the frigidity of his hands on her breasts. Nico cried out as he gently nipped at her clit once before sitting up again, that same grin fixed on his face as he undressed in just a few hurried movements.

Nico closed her eyes as he hovered over her. There was no warning at all before his cock pushed into her in one long slide, filling her up, stretching her open till she could barely breathe. It hurt a little, but it also felt better than anything Nico had ever experienced in her life, and she tightened her legs around Toto’s waist as he started to pull out, not wanting the experience to end so soon.

Toto laughed quietly in Nico’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’ve just barely started, darling.”

Toto’s hands were like ice still as he laced his fingers between Nico’s, the tantalizing push and pull of his cock inside her tempting her into opening her eyes so she could watch him fucking her, but she refused, terrified that she might see that horrible grin staring back down at her.

“Almost there,” Toto whispered as the pace of his thrusts started to pick up speed. “So close. I want to come inside you. I want you to give me another baby.”

Nico squirmed pathetically underneath him, crying out with every brutal thrust. She was so close, she could feel it, she was going to come, she was—

“Nico?”

Nico’s eyes flew open to find Susie standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Standing next to her was her husband, who was wearing a matching expression of shock and horror as the two of them stared at Nico writhing in their bed, being fucked into the mattress by—

Nico glanced up at Toto, still hovering over her wearing that same malicious grin. Her eyes moved to the other Toto in the doorway, still watching her with wide eyes. Then the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door, now facing her, revealing a bed with only one occupant.

Nico screamed.

[survivoirs]

@korinthiakos " don't be so stubborn! take my coat "

Yeah it was fucking cold out. Yeah he was fucking wet because some asshole driver couldn't avoid the puddles from that mornings rain. And yeah, Roy Kent was stubborn despite all that. He'd tried to deny the initial offer as he tried to wring out his hoodie, only to feel the cold breeze against his arm hairs. Fuck it's cold. Fucking England for you. His shirt underneath was damp but not as bad and there was no doubt that this guy's long coat was really warm. Looked fancy. Then again he'd grown up in a poor part of London so anything without zippers looked fancy to him. "Stubborn is my middle name, mate," Roy huffed but relented at last, reaching out to take the coat. "Not my usual style," he grunted. "I don't think I own anything so light," he chuckled softly to himself. His wardrobe had a lot of black in it and similar shades. "Probably looks better on you," he added after he'd pulled it around his shoulders. As a habit, he started to slide his hands into the pockets before he pulled them back. Not his coat. Not his pockets. "Thank you. Definitely warmer." He couldn't help but stare up at the man's sunglasses. There wasn't any sign of sunshine anytime soon but who was he to judge.

[13atoms]

The Curious Case of Norma Fields (Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle)

Summary: The whole team is needed for a run-of-the-mill haunting at the glamorous London townhouse of retired supermodel Norma Fields.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | 3.9k / 25.8k

Chapter 4: A Ticking in the Dressing Room

“You were actually meant to wait for us, Lockwood,” George grumbled as he reached the top floor, panting a little with the exertion.

Lockwood was already distracted, rapier drawn as he swept each room.

“I heard something.”

“Even more reason to wait for us,” George retorted.

Behind him, Lucy drew her own blade.

“I swear you’re the last person to follow your own rules.”

At her words, Lockwood had the decency to look a little more scolded.

“Sorry guys. Where’s…”

“Death glow should be in the main dressing room,” George interrupted.

“Jesus,” Lucy grumbled, beating Lockwood to the door.

She kicked it open, rapier drawn. Lockwood recoiled at the brightness of the death glow, the outline of a man sprawled across the middle of the carpeted floor. Salt littered the room.

Lucy glanced back to see him sliding a pair of sunglasses on. Even George was squinting a little.

“Bright?” she threw back to them.

“Incredibly so.”

“Even George can see it,” Lockwood teased, and Lucy heard a shove behind her.

“Focus! It’s probably in here, right?”

“That’s where the DJ guy died, yeah.”

George was sandwiched between them, his own rapier sheathed. Lockwood guided him aside slowly, joining Lucy in the room. He was avoiding the death glow, wishing he’d remembered his usual sunglasses. The blinding light managed to bleed around the edge of the backup ones, making his eyes ache.

“If the ghost hasn’t manifested yet, we should start looking for a source,” he decided.

“Good idea.”

Lucy was already pulling wardrobe doors open, as Lockwood crossed the room to join her.

Norma’s clothes were gorgeous. Designer. Ironed and unstained and expensive. It took Lockwood’s hand raising to shield his eyes from the death glow to remind her that she was in a haunted house, despite the clean mirrors and cream carpets, spotlights turning on in each wardrobe she flung the doors open.

“Should we be looking for something new?” she called out, shoving aside furs and

“Usually sources are pretty grim,” George replied helpfully.

Lucy saw him open a draw, and quickly slam it shut at the sight of lace bras. She kept watching long enough to entertain herself, as he made the same mistake with the draw below – startling at the sight of dozens of pairs of designer underwear.

“It could be anything,” Lockwood supplied, “I guess something new since last time?”

She knew he was right, but Lucy sighed nonetheless. There were so many pieces in the dressing room, it was impossible to know what had changed. Lockwood looked equally baffled by his own search, pulling out draw after draw of stilettoes and sandals and boots, with no real idea what he was hunting for.

Nothing she touched called out to her. The room was huge. This would take forever. Lockwood was growing frustrated.

“I’m sure I heard something up here,” he grumbled, “can you listen, Luce?”

Anything Lockwood heard was probably a cat crossing the roof, or a seagull wandering around. Lucy said nothing, and stepped back to do her job. He boxed her in, rapier extended to the room, as Lucy steadied her breath and closed her eyes.

Nothing.

Silence.

Distantly, something.

It was a ticking, not like a watch. Something bigger. Grander. Deep.

It was too distant to tell, but Lucy thought of the grandfather clock in Norrie’s grandparents’ house. That deep, continuous ticking, a pendulum swinging side to side. Keeping her awake at night.

She kept listening, but it was so quiet. Like it was happening across the road.

She opened her eyes and caught Lockwood’s attention in the mirror, shaking her head.

“Nothing powerful, yet,” she told him, “ticking, like an old clock. Deep. But I don’t know… I can’t hear anything else.”

“It’s still early,” George pointed out, “but that sounds like something.”

“I agree,” Lockwood lowered his rapier, returning it to the sheath on his hip.

He turned back to the wardrobe, flinching and covering his eyes yet again. Lucy was getting a pretty good sense of where the death glow was, based on Lockwood’s aversion to looking at it.

“Christ, sorry guys. I’m gonna search the bedroom next door.”

His eyes were hurting him, Lucy could tell, and nodded her approval as George glanced after him. He wasn’t as sensitive as Lockwood, so she knew it must have been bad.

“It might be next door,” Lucy reassured him, and with an apologetic shrug, the researcher scurried from the room.

She was alone. She could still hear them, rummaging, mumbled speaking, but Lucy felt suddenly watched.

She liked this house less and less by the day.

Ticking. Would it be a clock? A watch?

There was a carriage clock on the mantle, and she reached out to touch it cautiously. Nothing. It had been there last time, at any rate. Lucy had to believe they were right – this was new.

“All okay, Luce?” Came Lockwood’s voice, almost making her startle.

She blinked herself from the trance of staring at the clock, glancing around the room before responding in the affirmative.

“Anything in there?” she called.

“Some rather scandalous magazines!” George returned.

She couldn’t hear what Lockwood said next, only that it sounded stern. And made George laugh.

She was pulled back into her search of the room. The wardrobes had seemed clear enough, though she wasn’t certain she knew what to look for. George had cleared the drawers. Lucy didn’t like this.

A bad feeling rose in her stomach, something she’d grown used to on these nights. Through the open door she could see the unlit office, the doorway foreboding. She was afraid to look away, convinced that Bailey’s begging spirit would reappear, playing with the edge of her vision, glistening and screaming. She could see the wall Lockwood had been trapped against. The threshold she’d dived across.

The darkness wasn’t absolute, not in a house as modern as this.

It made Lucy convinced she could see the shadows moving.

That dread was welling up in her stomach.

Then she pried it apart from her anxiety, from the fear she felt. It wasn’t losing George or Lockwood. It wasn’t fear for her own life.

It wasn’t her fear. Her mouth tasted of blood.

Shit.

She turned, recoiling against the mirrored wardrobe walls at the sight.

Shit.

It was a Limbless, a torso and head ripped from its limbs. Swollen. Grotesque.

She thought of the bodies she’d seen pulled from rivers, the way their flesh began to peel, the soft tissues bloated and peeling away.

Without eyes, it seemed to be tracking her, head tilting as it rounded the room. The height of it was terrifying, floating easily a head above her. Floating towards her.

She tried to back away further. To reach for a salt bomb. To call for the boys.

Shit.

She was ghost locked.

The Limbless was getting closer still. It was slow. Slower than she’d expected. Yet still able to manifest early in the evening, cruising across a carpet of salt. She tried to scream, finding her mouth trapped open.

It was all Lucy could do to move one arm, fighting the intensity of the spirit’s hold on her. Salt crunched beneath her feet, and yet the grotesque figure continued towards her.  

Lucy tried to throw it, she really did. Instead, her rapier missed by a mile, her muscles limited to chuck it barely three feet in front of her. The handle struck a wall, the blade where the ghost’s feet ought to have been as it bounced to the ground.

Shit. Now she was trapped and unarmed.

The closer the Limbless got, the less it made sense, a weaving tapestry of gore and sinew. There might have been a pair of twin caverns in its face, surrounded by peeling flesh, but Lucy struggled to make out where they might have been. The mouth was an open maw, and it seemed all-consuming as the ghost struggled closer still to Lucy.

She’d wasted her rapier, but the clatter was enough for George and Lockwood to come running.

Lucy had no idea whether the salt bomb or Lockwood’s rapier pierced the Limbless first, her body released as the ghost dissipated with a horrific groan of pain. She felt the explosion of salt on her face, stinging as it whipped past her. She saw Lockwood, arm covering his face as he rushed towards her.

“Lucy!”

She hadn’t reacted fast enough to protect herself from the salt bomb, but she was free now. She blinked,  and tasted salt. It was some small relief from the coppery, decaying taste still lingering on her tongue.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, blinking rapidly.

“Kitchen,” George insisted, already fleeing from the room.

Lockwood had no intention of arguing, and Lucy followed him as they rushed down the stairs, regrouping inside the iron chains.

“Do you have mints?” was the first question she asked, and Lockwood barely seemed surprised as he pulled gum from his jacket pocket.

Lucy took two pieces first, jamming them in her mouth before passing the packet to George.

When they were all chewing, she finally began to calm down. They all had their eyes fixed on the door. She hadn’t even noticed George grab her rapier during the retreat, until he subtly pushed it back into her hand.

“Thank you,” she exhaled, trying not to get caught up in the shame of making two rookie mistakes in a row.

Lockwood exhaled heavily, rubbing at his forehead.

“Sorry, Luce. We shouldn’t have left you in there on your own –”

Something in his tone made her suspect he was blaming George. Now wasn’t the time.

“It’s a Limbless. Powerful, if it’s manifesting above salt. And still ghost-locking immediately.”

The boys nodded.

“The source has to be in that room, then,” Lockwood concluded.

“Nothing in the bedroom?” Lucy asked.

They both looked a little sheepish. Lockwood shrugged.

“I don’t think so. Nothing that seemed… source-y.”

“There was plenty that seemed saucy,” George quipped proudly.

Lucy was a little horrified at herself for letting out a bark of laughter. Lockwood rolled out his wrist, rapier swinging in a neat figure eight in irritation.

“We need to find the source and get out of here. Before that thing returns,” he said.

“What do you think it is? We’re going in so blind!”

Lucy didn’t like this. Hated it.

She cursed the day she thought a posh, lived-in house would be easier. Modern houses were stupid, actually, she decided. They weren’t even allowed to smash things up in here.

“Guys,” George began, eyes fixed on the dimly lit staircase beyond the kitchen doorway, “I, uh…”

Lockwood’s attention snapped to him.

“What?”

“I sort of skimmed the drawers. Felt… inappropriate.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. Lockwood swore.

“We still don’t even know what we’re looking for!” George insisted, “I assumed it wasn’t thongs!”

“It might be something in those drawers… George…” Lucy whined, but Lockwood was quick to formulate a plan.

“I’ll draw it off, give you guys time to search. How many drawers were there, George?”

“Four.”

“Which ones did you skip?”

He glanced down at the floor, socks shuffling against the polished tile. Lucy’s gum had faded. The taste of blood was coming back.

“Bras. Underwear. And one with makeup stuff in.”

“So, three.”

“I’ll search the underwear ones.” Lucy piped up, “George, you take makeup.”

He nodded curtly, glancing nervously at the stairs.

Wordlessly, Lockwood used his free hand to pass the gum around again, rapier raised as his colleagues collected salt bombs. George tugged a silver net free from his pocket, making sure Lucy knew he had it.

Lockwood, then Lucy, then George ascended the stairs in silence. Blades at the ready.

The silence was almost worse.

The waiting.

For just a second, pausing on the landing, Lucy closed her eyes to listen.

Groaning. Despair without the vocal cords to express it. A recognition that she was listening. It was getting louder –

Lucy snapped her eyes open, regaining her balance and fixing her stare on the dressing room door.

“It knows we’re here. I can hear it.”

Lockwood nodded curtly.

He took one step forwards, cautious. Lucy noticed he was shifting his weight into a fencing stance.

With a scream of anger, the Limbless rushed from the room towards him, even more grotesque with this new loud fury, mouth agape as it barrelled towards them.

Both herself and George gasped, recoiling, as Lockwood took two clean swipes through the ghost. And a jab into the air for good measure.

It had been close. The taste of blood was making her nauseous, that fear sending her heart racing into overdrive.

“Go!”

They rushed into the room, feeling the salt sharp through their socks and the temperature dropping as George and Lucy approached the dresser.

Lockwood made circles of the room, rapier at head height, twirling it as though he might taunt the ghost to him.

Lucy found herself running on pure fear, and George didn’t seem to be doing much better. She ripped the first drawer from the set, pulling it clear and setting it onto the vanity. Perfumes and lotions scattered across the room, and she pulled bra after bra from their neatly folded settings.

George was beside her, rummaging through dozens of products Lucy couldn’t even name. Nothing seemed right.

What was it?

She could hear the Limbless, its odd screams even louder this time. Lucy wasn’t sure how, but she knew: it was homing in on her.

Both drawers were empty. There were two left in the set, and she could see the lace of underwear in the dark cavity of the dresser unit. Whisps of silver were beginning to gather above it.

She dragged George away by the collar, retreating to the door. Lockwood stepped in front of them, as George drew a flare from his pocket.

Lucy let go of him, one hand steadying his arm. Warning him not to light it yet.

“It has to be there, right?”

She didn’t know who she was asking. But she had to hope. The vague suggestion of a head was forming, then something wide enough to resemble drooping shoulders.

The noise was getting worse again.

Even across the salt, it would be fast. She withdrew her rapier from where it had been tucked under her arm, something Lockwood had told her a thousand times to stop doing. A foot behind him, she found her own stance, blade outstretched.

A badly timed blink could have caused her to miss it, as the Limbless screeched, the limp flesh of its contorting in shades of silver and green.

One parry from Lockwood sent it careening across the room, rolling its neck and straightening up to glare at him. It was higher now, phasing in and out of the ceiling. Glaring down at them.

It went against every instinct for Lucy to turn her back, but she knew they had no choice. She could feel its rage, surpassing even the grief and fear it forced into her chest.

They wouldn’t be fast enough, the next time around.

She launched herself to the dresser, plunging both hands into the mess of underwear. She could feel different fabrics, scraping them out of the way, hoping against hope. Lockwood grunted with effort as he parried yet another approach from the ghost, she could hear George’s footsteps as his attention split between the two of them.

The drawer was almost empty, fabric shoved out the back and thrown to the side. Her hands hit the back of the drawer, scrambling against the wood for anything.

Then, something hard. Something small. She lost it for a second, feeling the fabrics covering it, before pulling it out.

The ghost roared, so primal it shocked her to her core. She heard the heavy fall of Lockwood misplacing a foot and then correcting it as he circled, guarding against the Limbless.

A silk handkerchief. She threw it aside. Then, a flesh-coloured stocking wrapped something hard, metal, silver. She cursed as she tried to snake a hand inside it, before giving up and ripping, scrambling to get her nails through the low denier weave. It was a watch. And when it sat firmly in her palm, Lucy realised her mistake.

Lockwood cried out as the ghost approached again. Someone else’s sorrow washed into her, replacing her with something else. Someone else. It was nothing distinct, just an overwhelming sadness, grief, and desperation. It washed into her. Then it pulled her away like the tide.

George had wrapped the silver net around her clenched fist before she hit the floor.

*

Lucy woke up curled up on a bed, shivering from the sweat cooling on her skin. The room was fully lit, and she kept her eyes closed in protest.

It was like her heart had been ripped out of her chest, energy sapped away. Lucy was no stranger to that odd feeling that followed crying yourself to sleep, waking up confused and empty, and strangely cleansed. She felt that now.

“I swear that girl is always unconscious. She needs iron supplements or something.”

“She’s exhausted, George! She listened to the necklace earlier, it did that possession thing.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling me about that by the way!”

She could hear the silver net, moving as it was handled. The distant pang of fear she felt was alleviated by one of Lockwood’s deep sighs.

Her mouth tasted weird. Had she swallowed her gum?

The bed smelled fresh. Faintly like perfume, and like a stranger. The pure white sheets under her face were completely unfamiliar.

Her back ached like it was bruised. She could taste blood. Faint mind. Salt. From the salt bomb, she realised. She had tasted it earlier, when it had exploded.

The Limbless.

The watch.

Where was the watch?

She watched from her bleary cotton world, as George and Lockwood stood at the foot of the bed. It was Norma’s guest room, she realised. The one the boys had searched earlier. She was above the sheets, lying on top of the duvet, one pillow dragged down the bed to beneath her head.

Lucy had an experimental wiggle of her toes, then her shoulders. Finally, she shifted to prop herself up on her elbow.

Immediately Lockwood filled her vision, sideways as he crouched beside the bed.

“Hey,” he offered softly, “don’t move too quickly.”

She noticed her hand was wrapped in a jumper, something cashmere that certainly didn’t belong to any of them.

“A bit of freeze, from the source,” he followed her eyeline, “I think it’ll be fine, we just wanted to be sure.”

She nodded. As George moved to stand behind him, she suddenly felt pathetic. Ignoring her headrush Lucy forced herself to sit up in bed, brushing off Lockwood’s hands as he tried to help her brace her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “Though, has anyone got water?”

Lockwood murmured that they’d get her some in a minute, sounding so apologetic that she dropped this issue.

He was still wearing his sunglasses. Lucy absently thought that maybe he’d forgotten to take them off. Or maybe he was trying to be cool.

It was weird not seeing his wide, concerned eyes as she tried to tune in to the world of the living.

“The source was right, then?” she asked, not managing to project far beyond the end of her nose.

Lockwood was listening anyway.

“Must have been. Vanished the moment you guys wrapped it.”

George cleared his throat, the silver net still bundled in his hands in the corner.

“Thanks, George,” Lucy mumbled.

Hoping it might appease him.

“No worries, Luce. Well done finding it. Probably could have just wrapped the whole thing up though, rather than… that.”

She thought Lockwood might be silently chiding him, she couldn’t really tell. Her eyes kept closing.

“Why would it be hidden in a scarf and tights, unless she knew it was a source, and didn’t want to handle it?” Lockwood was asking.

“Someone could have planted it there?”

“Maybe. But at the back of an underwear drawer? It’s a bit of a weird one. That’s where you hide personal things you don’t want to be found.”

“Like your collection of Marissa Fittes posters?”

“George!”

Lucy smiled, eyes drifting closed.

When she next opened them, George was sneaking glances at the source, peeling away the net before replacing it. That was definitely not DEPRAC protocol.

“See anything interesting?” she murmured to him.

George crossed to sit on the bed, and Lucy felt the mattress dip.

“There’s ageing on the face of the watch, dust in the cracks in the glass,” George realised, “this was broken a long time ago.”

“It would be weird for a broken watch to become a source, once it’s already old and broken.”

Lockwood was pacing. Glancing between the window and the door. His rapier was still in-hand, hanging against his leg.

“Not impossible, though.”

“Yes, but weird,” Lockwood countered, “just like it’s weird for a house to have two brand new, completely unrelated type twos.”

George shrugged.

“Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

Lucy was tired, and not sure what the whole thing meant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She stayed in place until Lockwood told her it was time to move.

*

She sat herself on the stairs as the boys prepared to leave, feeling slightly devoid of her pride but too exhausted to care. The source had been handed over to DEPRAC, a swift collection by an officer who had been far too late into his shift to give them more than a cursory thanks and promise it would be incinerated soon.

“You’re sure we’ve cleared the place?”

It was against the advice of that voice in the back of her head – the one which sounded suspiciously like George – that Lucy closed her eyes and listened.

Her head rolled forwards with exhaustion, chin resting on her knuckles.

All was blessedly silent.

“There’s nothing,” she murmured.

She didn’t look up to see the look of disapproval on the boys’ faces. She didn’t want to.

“Lucy, you really need to slow down,” Lockwood sighed.

She nodded. She wasn’t interested in a fight tonight.

“Just wanted to be sure.”

She thought he might have been thinking, as he stood still for a moment longer, watching her exhausted form on the stairs.

Whatever Lockwood had wanted to say, he seemed to think better of it. With a groan at the effort, he lugged a kit bag onto his shoulder, ushering Lucy and George from the house first before flipping off the lights, and locking the door.

He posted the keys through the post box once his colleagues had stumbled into a waiting night cab, determined it would be the last time they risked their lives for this ridiculous house.

When he got to the car, the adrenaline was long gone, making his muscles ache and his bones feel ten times heavier.

The door was open, and he could see Lucy in the middle seat, slumped against a limp Karim. He threw their last bag into the open boot and closed it, slipping in beside them. He leant forward to give the driver their address, his voice sotto, and refused to watch the windows of Norma’s house as they drove away.

He’d had enough of seeing that death glow. And he dreaded whatever might be backlight against the glass.

[sp-sons-interiors-ltd]

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