#frosted glass opaque doors

[lihvamay1990]

Contemporary Bedroom in Manchester

[itsonlydana]

where snow falls and conversation strikes | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

Your train gets caught in a snowstorm and when the first class gets moved into the normal compartments, a beautiful man asks to sit with you

warnings/tags: modern(ish)!AU, First Meetings, Fluff

wordcount: 3,7k

an: wrote this mostly on the train on my way to work every morning so it took a while and suddenly its 25° c and not 0°c anymore... oops? and lets ignore that my layout for fics is not even close to uniformly

+ masterlist + rules + read the fic on ao3 +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The view outside the train window was white in its purest form. The mush of white flakes went from gently landing on the glass to completely covering it, obscuring everything behind an opaque wall. 

A few hours ago it had been a wonderful sight of frost-tipped mountains, sloping meadows, and high-risen forests that made the long journey not only bearable but quite enjoyable. The hours had flown by just like the landscape, yet – as the newspapers had predicted it would happen – the gray clouds coming in from the seaside had caught up with the train weaving through the country and now, ever so slowly, it lost its speed. 

It couldn't have been long to the city. The last stop had been a while ago and if it weren't for the clouds hanging so low, coloring the sky ashen and the snow that just wouldn't stop falling, you could have probably seen the first small villages that dotted the outside of the city.

The train slowing down had been inevitable, you had known as much when you had boarded earlier this morning, though you had hoped to arrive at the destination fast enough that you would have outrun this weather.

Back in the city, back home, the weather would have been a small inconvenience but nothing that would hold you back.

The old speakers crackled just as you adjusted your seat, bringing forth another storm though this one ravaged through the inside: 

"We're mighty sorry 'bout this bother, but we kindly ask for yer patience. We've been movin' at a snail's pace 'cause of this darn weather, and now we're told we gotta face this blasted snowstorm 'fore we can carry on."

Even through the walls of your compartment, you heard the groaning and moaning of the other passengers. 

It wasn't surprising, the decision to travel onward would be foolish – everyone on this train knew – but the times you did travel like this you found that people seemed to bond over these expressions of annoyance toward something no one could be blamed for. The annoyed grunts that were passed along the rows with an eye roll made up for hours of silence daring the others to interrupt their own peaceful silence.

Your sigh fogged up the window, and you let your head fall back against the cushions, fixating your gaze on the white haze outside when the scruffy voice continued speaking after clearing his throat: 

"As it's damn impossible to know how long this weather's gonna last or whether it'll get worse, we kindly ask our first-class guests in the rear carriages to come through to the front. Heating there could be gone any minute. Make room for 'em. You'll of course be helped with your luggage."

Knowing that there is not much else to do than to sit back and wait, you picked up the book you had been reading, a collection of short stories by your favorite author that you knew by heart yet the familiar words provided comfort and you were quickly far away in those lands described.

Before you could finish the story you had left on though, a noise startled you and pulled you right back. The door of your compartment slid open by a tall man peeping his head in. 

"Good evening, forgive the intrusion, but might I trouble you for a moment? I was told I could find a seat here. Would that be alright?" The man raised his shoulder to stop the bag he was carrying from sliding down, it wouldn't do what he wanted and slipped to his elbow.

He was beautiful, despite the distressed look on his face that was covered by his long blonde hair falling into it as he glared at the bag; on its way down his arm, it had taken the coat he had hung over it with it so that it dangled close to the carpet floor of the train. 

You stared at him long enough that he arched a thick dark eyebrow and you flinched. 

"Oh, yes.. yes of course!" You prayed that your cheeks weren't as red as you feared they might be as you nodded.

There was enough space inside the compartment, your suitcase was pushed under your seat and the bench across from you had been free, but you felt the need to look like you would make room for him.

Since there was nothing in the way, really, all you did was pull the bag next to you closer and kick away a piece of lint that stuck to the carpet. 

"Thank you," the man slipped inside, coat, bag, and another suitcase dangling from his long arms.

You tried to look busy and lifted your book high up to your face while he stowed his suitcase away, a sleek dark blue leather one that unlike yours had no stickers on it or clothes sticking out. Then he entangled the coat from the bag to hang it on the door before he turned and stared at you. 

"Can… can I help you?" you asked when he remained silently scrutinizing you.

His eyes were an icy hue of blue and you would have compared them to the snowy weather outside, cold and unmoving, if there weren't the slightest hints of nervousness in them. 

"I don't want to inconvenience you any further but" – he swallowed and lifted a hand to brush some hair away, revealing the faintest of blushes on his high cheekbones– "I fear that I can't stomach traveling backward very well. Would you mind switching places or I could sit beside-"

"It's fine!" you interrupted him. Just him standing there seemed to affect the man quite a bit, he was swaying even though there was no movement, and what harm would it cause you to switch places?

You quickly gathered your back, closing the book with your thumb in between to mark the page you had left on and smiled at him as you sat down on the other side. "It's no problem at all, I have no preferences where I like to sit."

The upholstery was chilly under you and your legs groaned as you moved them for those few steps for the first time in hours instead of just folding them over each other

The man sat down, mumbling a soft "Thank you". His legs were long enough to brush against yours before he angled them toward the window, his slender hands resting on his lap. 

Silence fell just like the snow, with the man growing as still as a statue, his eyes hefted outside the window, and you finding a comfortable position to get back to your book.

Despite your best efforts to concentrate on the poetry, your mind couldn't stop straying to the man.

He must be one of the first-class-traveler, you would have noticed him on your short walks through the train whenever you got bored or had grown restless. 

His hair stood out, worn long enough to brush past his shoulders and over the cream-knitted sweater he wore, and then there were his eyebrows, the only dark spot of color in a face that could have been cut out of marble. He certainly looked expensive. He made the impression of a man who owned his own – equally perfect – bust.

He suddenly turned his head, not by much but he caught you looking at him nonetheless. Like a deer in headlights, your mouth simply fell open in a forgotten lie to excuse yourself for staring.

Thankfully he didn't comment on it, instead, his rosé lips curved into a smile.

"I'm Thranduil, by the way. I think I should tell you so that you have a name to complain about the stranger who not only stormed into your compartment but took your seat as well" He held out his hand. 

You took it after a relieved breath. His fingers were cold, his grip firm.  "Nice to meet you Thranduil," you introduced yourself and noted how his fingers flitted over your racing pulse point at your wrist, "Don't worry, I'd be a fool to moan about having a conversation partner, you've done nothing but turn this boring journey interesting"

"Ah, but you haven't realized how awful I am at small talk. I make a dreadful conversationalist," he admitted with a laugh and let go of your hand.

"We could simply skip that part then," you offered boldly and finally closed your book in your lap. "Tell me, what stop did you get on?"

He arched an eyebrow at you and rested his elbows on the table between you, placing his chin on the intertwined fingers. "What? You want to know where I came from and not were I'm going?" 

You shook your head, "No, I'll see where you have to get off, this is much more interesting."

Thranduil looked at you for a moment, his eyes taking you in like he wanted to figure you out. Then he huffed, giving in. "I got on right at the first stop," –you smiled, encouraging him to continue talking, which he did, his lips twitching to a smirk– "I stayed in Laketown with a friend over the holidays, but I didn't want to impose on him any longer."

"So you brought this weather with you?" You grinned.

"Oh, one hundred percent," he said, sounding so serious that you nearly giggled, "I had so much fun shoveling snow every morning for ten days that I simply wanted to continue at home." Thranduil tipped his head to the side, examining you once again. "And you?"

"God no, I don't get to pick up any tools while I'm on vacation," you said, knowing full well that's not what the question was about.

"No?" 

"No," you sighed, "Try being the youngest at the family reunion. I'm glad my parents let me shower and dress myself. Gosh, I think they would've cried if I even thought about helping with the snow."

Amusement lit up his face, lifting all his sharp features. "Tell that to my friend's little one. She's a fierce thing; knocking at my door at sunrise all dressed up and threatening me with her shovel that I better be outside before she had to come again."

"Oh my! Say, whatever was she threatening to do instead?"

Thranduil chuckled and shook his head, "I didn't stay long enough in bed to find out." 

A knock sounded from the door, interrupting the conversation as an older woman opened your compartment. "Hiya, loves. May I offer you some tea? Dreadful weather outside and with the heating back there gone completely, we don't want ya to catch a cold," she said.

"Ye–"

"We'll take two cups," Thranduil's directive voice overshadowed yours, there was an authority in it that even you wouldn't want to cross. He was already pulling a fancy black wallet out of his pockets, which produced a fresh note that gave no room to argue or chip in. "Keep the change," he said while the train service employee shuffled inside and placed a tablet on the table between you.

"Thank you, Sir Oropherion!" She beamed at him and slipped the note through the buttons of her blouse, "You're always too kind!" Then she turned to you and lowered her voice in a faux-whisper: "He's just as handsome as he's single. But you didn't hear that from ol' me." 

Thranduil scoffed, though you could see a faint blush on his cheeks. "You are a horrible gossip, Hilda! Go bother some of the other passengers or they'll freeze to death."

A little bit louder and glaring toward Thranduil, she added: "A shame his attitude is like the weather; he could use a sweetheart like you.

With a last wink, she turned and left you to stare after her, wondering what just happened.

"Impossible, that woman." 

Thranduil's low rumble pulled you back to him, leaving that poor – now again shut – door alone before your eyes drilled a hole through the wood in search of an explanation.  

The man across from you didn't offer you one either, instead, he was reaching for one of the silver spoons that the woman, Hilda, had given to you as well as a cup filled with milk and a small tower of cookies. 

Somehow you had the feeling this wasn't what the other customers would get but rather a gesture of whatever fondness the woman pledged to the blonde, who used the tiny tongs to drop two cubes of sugar into his cup.

"So," you said and cleared your throat. Thranduil looked up, nearly killing you on the spot with the daggers in his eyes daring you to speak on the matter. Of course, who would you be if you shied away because of that? "She seemed lovely. A friend of yours?"

"No. No, she's not," Thranduil said. He pushed the other cub toward you, encouraging you to take from the all-paid-for beverage. 

You wrapped both hands around it, marveling how beautifully and frail the cup looked and felt, and after taking a small sip, you smiled benevolently and waited for Thranduil to continue. 

He rolled his eyes, admitting defeat in his thickheadedness of remaining aloof. "I travel this route to Laketown quite a lot. Once a month, sometimes two or three times, or whenever my schedule allows me to actually. That woman made it her personal mission to get on my last nerve; chatting to me and leaving me sweets and tea without me asking for it. After a while, I could at least get her to accept my money for it. She's keen on finding me my soulmate so I no longer travel this much alone."

"Aw, but that's cute," you said and drank another sip of the hot tea. You didn't know what burned more, the tea or Thranduil's hardened eyes, "What? She looks out for you; the journey is long and she just doesn't want to be lonely." 

"Whyever you feel the need to defend her is unfathomable," he scoffed as if you taking Hilda's side was the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard, "You don't even know if her accusations are true– if I'm lonely. Maybe I like traveling alone!" Thranduil placed the cup back onto the tray with such an energetic movement, that it clinked. His lips twitched.

"That…" you started and nodded toward the cup, "was far too defensive. Why, Thranduil, it's no shame to admit to something, especially not to a stranger." His expression was still unreadable though the sharp line of his jaw protruded even more like he was biting down on his teeth. You made sure to keep your tone lighthearted: "Dare I say this is even the perfect chance to get it off your chest? Who knows if we will see each other again. Time to spill all your deep, dark and dirty secrets."

He fixated you with his cold blue eyes. Your words had left an impression on him, that much was clear and you would even go so far to say he was considering them. 

Thranduil made a sound close to a "Humpf!" and you smiled and nodded, pushing him evidently over the edge for he rolled his eyes, clasped his hands together and leaned back into the cushions.

"Very well," he sighed though clicked his tongue as he saw your satisfied smirk, "You are right, traveling alone can–" lifting one finger, he punctuated the word "get a bit lonely. Not to say it's like that every time but I find that this conversation, despite the uncalled-for nosiness on behalf of my private life, makes it a lot more enjoyable than the hours I spent in the first class."

"Aww," you waved off in false modesty, "that's such a sweet way of saying I basically rescued you from a death of boredom."

"Bit of an overstatement"

"Okay, first-class, no need to knock my ego down like that." 

"Anyone ever tells you how cheeky you are?"

You smiled brightly, "All the poor, single, and handsome men I chat up on these travels."

Thranduil laughed out and shook his head more for himself than anything else. He extended his hand towards his cup once more, coinciding with the moment you brought your tea to your lips.

As your gazes met over the rising steam of porcelain, the black tea seemed to carry a subtle sweetness reminiscent of the shared smile between you, if only for a fleeting moment.

Or maybe it was the sugar, combined with the subtle loneliness that was your own travel companion nowadays, a constant bitterness coating your tongue. 

No matter what, another sip of tea flushed it down. 

"Now," Thranduil cleared his throat and dabbed the sleeve of his sweater at the corner of his mouth where a small drop of tea rested next to a shy smile. The tea disappeared – the smile stayed. "Do you want to tell me where you are going?" 

The answer was simple, you just had to tell him the name of your station, but you hesitated. 

This felt too good to be true, and maybe, if you disappeared without giving him any real information, there wouldn't be the urge to keep your eyes open when you arrived home, hoping he would be looking for that mystery woman he met on the train. 

Before the moment passed for far too long to be deemed anything but awkward, the train jolted. First, there was this one tug, then another one, and then, right when you looked up at Thranduil and understanding passed across his face like a ghost, appearing and disappearing right again, the wheels set in motion.

"Seems like we're off again," Thranduil said quietly, turning his face to the window.

He cleared his throat and you watched him swallow, not breaking away from the fuzziness outside that mirrored what you felt in your stomach right now. He was beautiful, even with that sadness settling heavy on his shoulders.

Why you couldn't just offer a piece of yourself now that he has given you some of him, that you didn't understand yourself because this trip had been the loveliest in a long time, the conversation quick and easy and nothing like the pestering questions about your romantic life that your brothers and your mother had poured over you, and while yes, you just met him, there was a connection between you. 

More than strangers on a train.

And you wanted it, so so much.

To have someone by your side wherever you go. 

"Thranduil–" you spoke so suddenly you not only startled Thranduil; the sound of your own voice frightened you as well.

"Yes?"

"This thing working again? Ah yes, now yer can hear me 'gain. Darn line cut off for a moment there. Next stop, Mirkwood Central Station, arriving in 'bout five minutes. We apologize for the delay 'n hope y'all get to your destination safely. To all those leavin' us: Remember to grab all your things before ya go. Hope to see y'all again real soon." 

The rest of the sentence died on your lips as you listened to the announcement. How they managed to be on time when you needed another delay, another moment to sort out your thoughts was an unwanted miracle.

Right when you wanted to panic and quickly pack up the book you hadn't opened up again, Thranduil got to it first.

"Five… five minutes?" he gasped and jumped out of his seat, knocking his long legs into the table resulting in you both reaching for the rattling cups trying to stop them from crashing down, hands brushing just enough for you to nearly smash the pot of sugar away as well.

"Wait. This is your stop?" 

Thranduil nodded, already throwing his coat on. "Yes, oh it's such a shame! I had hoped we had more time to finish our tea." He threw a sad glance at the half-empty cups; although the switch to look at you spoke of a far greater regret than simply leaving two cups of tea behind.

A laugh burst out of you, taking both of you by such surprise that you wondered if it had come off as discouraging or far worse: like you were making fun of him.

You hastened to explain: "This is my stop as well!" – the wide smile that shot to his eyes turned into a smirk – "This is me, Mirkwood Central. So if you want–" you interrupted yourself by standing up and grabbing your jacket, "we could get a tea later?"

"Yes!" Thranduil said quickly, "Yes, I would love to. Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?" 

You copied his smile. "The rest of the evening? Bit eager, aren't we?" You were teasing, mostly, because that seemed to affect that glimmer of playfulness in Thranduil's eyes that made them look like molten silver, but you couldn't deny that you wouldn't have canceled all your plans if you'd had any to begin with, to stay in Thranduil's company. 

"I will gladly take every bit of time you can offer me," Thranduil said, "Any man would be this eager to get to know you."

You were still blushing when you stepped into the narrow corridor of the train, the tight space and crowding of passengers waiting to exit as well making it impossible to stand anywhere else but close together, Thranduils taller body a warm presence in your back and whenever you swayed his large hand found your shoulder to steady you and his amused chuckling reverberated in your stomach.

The train finally made its way into the bustling train station, the smoke of other trains clouding up the window and excitement like only arriving at a special destination could evoke in one filled the air inside the train, the hushed talking growing as other passengers saw relatives or friends or lovers waving to them, children pressing their faces against the glass or tried to run past you with their parents following close behind.

One particular stormy child knocked you straight into Thranduil as the doors opened and cold air greeted you while your face lightened up with a blush. 

"I hope I won't lose you," you said, jokingly but the air was stolen right out of your lungs as Thranduils gloved hand grabbed yours.

"Don't worry," he said and helped you step onto the metal platform, watching carefully as you hopped onto the platform. He looked beautiful in the evening lights of Mirkwood Station, white snowflakes landing gently on his long lashes. "I won't let that happen!"

©itsonlydana 2024

[catfern]

she will destroy you.

pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader

music: crack baby or bag of bones ( or anything from puberty 2 ) - mitski

word count: 3.3k (i'm exhausted)

summary: rumours are swirling, fighting their way through your front door. you hope to keep your work and private life separate, but your proximity with your boss threatens to catch up with you.

warnings: mean!toxic!abby, cheating, porn with a LOT of plot, swearing, tipsy sex, fingering, oral (r!receiving), zero ( i mean ZERO ) aftercare, angst-ish

an: a quick intermission from cowboy!ellie because LORD. i read one page from one book abt a butch teacher yearning for the headmaster's wife and suddenly I NEED AFFAIRS!! I NEED YEARNING!! I NEED SECRECY!! and who better to do that with than a rlly mean ceo!abby who has a PhD in fucking bitches.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Shit.”

A line of scarlet trickles onto the warm printer paper and settles. You drop your paperwork on an unknown desk and suck your finger, hissing through your teeth at the sting. Your phone buzzes impatiently in the back pocket of your work pants, and you fumble with your non-bleeding fingers to pull it out.

we’ll talk abt this when u get home

see u after ur party i guess

A shit fucking day.

You hall back to your desk, defeat slumping heavy on your shoulders. The Office makes an effort not to stare as you walk by, low whispers hot on your feet like coals in a firewalk. You pretend very poorly not to see the half-lidded, secretive looks shared between your old work friends by the water cooler. Water off a duck’s back, your mom used to say in a nonchalant way when you cried to her about mean girls at school. Not that you ever really knew what that meant.

You were never really thankful to be shut off from the rest of the cubicles, until now. A fortress of frosted glass and a heavy door, your desk was the secluded gateway to a place dreaded. Just you and The Boss, which you guess didn’t help the flying tongues of the old, bored fucks in accounting, but it kept people away. Away from you, with their knowing looks and unknowing laughs.

You huff, settling into your uncomfortable desk chair and digging out a small first aid kit your dad bought you when you first started. Pulling the seal off the small tin, you eye its contents. Disinfectant, thermometer, some loose aspirin and bandaids. You whine lightly as you wrap one tightly around your ring finger, feeling it throb and pulse, like a complaint. Get over yourself, you tell your body.

A sharp - ahem - breaks through your mumbling silence. She’s never sick, she never coughs. It’s a bodiless beckoning, a call into the wild, it’s the wordless agreement you have with her. You pick up your notebook, and the nearest working pen, and shuffle quickly through the open door into her office.

The opaque shades are drawn, the natural light greying and dying on the dark, decaying herringbone floor. 

Abby is bathed in the orange light of her desk lamp. With impeccable, almost effortless posture, she’s resting her forearms on her desk, one hand scratching notes into her diary, the other distractedly tapping on the leather top. You follow the shadows that the folds in her dress shirt create, your eyes falling on the contour of her body. 

You know she frequents a few gyms. You’re the one who schedules late night international calls around her evening runs, and her weights sessions, and her triweekly spin class. But now, the results of her efforts are on display, tightly wrapped in expensive cotton, perfectly tailored, down to the very last stitch, to her existence. You swallow an uncomfortable feeling when she deigns to meet your eye.

She looks you over in the way she always does, an uncaring, but judgemental once-over, like an army sergeant inspecting a uniform. she hones in on the bandaid,

“Workplace injury?”

Her voice has the warmth of a dying cigarette, rolling like well-spoken honey off her lips. You almost feel ashamed, your finger so offensive to her you could chop it off. You almost feel like you wouldn’t even mind. You start picking at the ends of the bandaid with your thumb.

“Paper cut.” Your voice is always so out of place here. An echo of something that does not belong. She nods her head, ever so slightly, as if she understood.

“Don’t think you can go claiming compensation for that.” It’s a joke you’re not allowed to laugh at. You smile lightly instead. It’s short-lived, “I need you to correct some seating arrangements for tonight.”

Yes, of course. No problem. In wordless agreement, Abby starts listing off adjustments, complaints and warnings from guests about not being seated next to their five ex-husbands, or their whining step-children, or ex-business partners fallen from grace. your pen fingers begin to ache as the whole process draws out.

“And I’m going to need you seated at my table, to keep track of my evening itinerary.”

Uncertainty quickly sows its seeds in your stomach. The unopened messages from your girlfriend burn their way through pocket, searing at your legs like a brand on cattle. Everyone knows, everyone will know. Every detail of your life will be laid bare, and you’ll be tried publicly and without mercy. Your bandaid begins to unravel as you rub anxiously at the glue underneath.

You need to do something, something to get things back under control.

“Actually,” You start, unsure. Abby meets your eye quickly, without hesitation, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s quick, and condescending. Undercutting any sudden courage you may have had, she meets your eye and stares you down, pinning you under ice, almost imploring you to feel terrified. And then she looks away, busy packing away the seating chart, and you wonder if she even looked at you at all.

She stands, and you try to meet her, your hands clutching your notebook.

“Your attendance tonight is mandatory.” She says it slowly, harshly, like it’s hard for you to understand. Her eyes chase quickly over your outfit, “It’s a black tie event.”

You’re left alone in a dark office, hyperventilating.

The apartment is empty and cold when you arrive home. 7 unanswered texts to your girlfriend tell you she doesn’t want you near her, but she isn’t packed. You expect her to come home, hopefully in the hour you have before you have to go again, and you contemplate just blowing the gala off to wait.

Abby’s voice is sharp in your head, a familiar dedication wringing your body. You can’t leave her. She needs you there.

You put off the conversation with your girlfriend into the furthest parts of your mind, allowing yourself to be swallowed in the minor decisions of clothes and hair and accessories. It’s not until you’re throwing your shoes on, and three times you think you hear her keys in the door, that you give up.

The phone rings 5 times before going to voicemail.

Hey. Listen. I know we said we weren’t going to talk until we were face to face but..

Whatever Maria told you wasn’t true, okay? I promise-I fucking promise you, nothings happened. Baby, okay? People are fucking bored, and I love you, so so much. I’ve gotta go to this one thing tonight - i tried to get out of it i swear -, and i’ll come home and we can talk, and we can fix this. Okay? Jus-Just, gimme some time to explain. Okay. I love you. Bye.

Echoes of quiet chatter uncomfortably ebb and flow off the walls of the ballroom. Too many people. Shoes scuff the cheap marble as the rich make their rounds, with light touches and reused laughter. They all hate each other.

Abby is a familiar sight. Wearing the same thing she has all day, she looks staggering. Hands just breaching her suit pockets, comfortably falling at her side, her hair in a calculated braid, designed to make her look approachable. 

 The air here agrees with her, her smile wide and effortless. You know she’s come straight from a meeting, and you suppose that adds to her charm. The Working Woman, a success story. Her rich friends, who spend their inheritances on shares and indoor tennis courts, lap it up. She’s a foreign object, something unfamiliar and wild.

You don’t interrupt, skimming the sidelines to get to your table. You can feel her glance, without substance, before returning to her conversation. Your event planner ( a shitty flip notebook that fits in every small clutch you own ) sits on the tablecloth at your seat, and you wait. Eyeing the glasses at the placemats next you, you can tell a few drinks has been shared, raking your eyes over Abby’s looser disposition.

She’s happy, and charming. She’s been drinking bourbon. Mint, with ice and syrup, the way you serve it to her in her office, when the occasion calls for celebration. 

Her conversation finishes, her soft hands bidding gentle, kind goodbyes to the couple as they move on. She’s a friend to the people that matter.

“I expected you here before me.”

She doesn’t bother to look at you as she sits, instead fixing her napkin to her lap. You watch as the veins in her neck rise and fall as she talks, “Doesn’t matter now. Run me through everything.”

Right, fuck. You open your notebook and run your fingers over the scratchy writing. Your days leading up to this were spent copying details from obscure emails, tidbits you thought Abby needed to remember. Late nights at the office, life abandoned, deciphering biographies and 2 hour youtube deep dives. You can watch yourself fall asleep from the future, your handwriting slipping, long and longer strokes, spelling dissolving, long words abandoned. your pen fell to the floor, and you slept at your desk. Twenty missed calls. You argued when you came home in the morning.

“The Ambassador is arriving around 8:00pm with his new wife, also named Rebecca. Oh, Old Rebecca emailed asking why she didn’t receive an invitation.”

She’s slowly sipping at another whiskey, a different cocktail she ordered just as you’d arrived. The orange peel brushes her nose as she tilts the glass, her jaw tightens as she swallows, “Tell her the venue was at capacity. Send some flowers.”

It continues like this for a bit. Quiet and attentive, she listens to what you have to say, as her eyes follow the crowd. You too, spy people that you know, a few slimy execs that share a whisper and a boisterous laugh as they look your way. You order gin.

Soon enough, Abby checks her watch. An inexpensive, vintage piece of leather and quartz. She excuses herself with a measure of politeness. It’s time for an hour of speeches that don’t matter, before you’re finally allowed to eat. You sigh.

A quiet buzz rips through the growing silence. You open your clutch and hide your phone under the silk tablecloth, away from the disapproving elderly eyes.

i told u to leave me alone

jesus christ

A pit in your stomach. Dark, pressing, ever present. Your saliva is heavy in your mouth, and you feel like shrinking away. Luckily, the waiter isn’t far. Drinks are discounted for the company staff.

Finally, speeches finish. Abby looked nice on the stage, effervescent under the lights. Her hair catches warm light nicely in the strands.

The food comes, but people disregard it for shallow conversations. Plates are taken away full, apart from slim, polite pickings. Your table orders more drinks, and syrupy laughter echoes as anecdotes about private schools and hedge funds are shared. You don’t belong here. Your body becomes unsteady, restless. Your legs shaking, a hand finds you thigh in the veiled secrecy of the table cloth.

Abby’s not looking at you, too engaged in tipsy conversation to draw attention. A nice gesture, but it’s not. It’s wordless agreement. Her thumb traces the outside of your thigh mindlessly, her jaw clenching as she feels your gaze.

You hesitate.

What else did you have to do? Apart from go home and wait for an argument.

You let her touch you a little longer, soft, ghostly. It’s kind, unmistakably. You let yourself revel in it, in her uncommon affection, before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Abby follows not long after. She’s confident, her position charismatic, not unlike the other times she finds a drink, and then goes to find you. She doesn’t stop, so sure that you’ll follow her trail as you’ve done so often before. But you hesitate, again.

She turns back to you, a look on her face that’s hard to decipher. You stumble in your reasoning.

“It’s just-, my girlfrien-“

“Are you coming? Or not?”

Your palms itch, you swallow.

What kind of sick sacrifice. Unfair to have both, some would say, but some don’t know you. How wicked it is to taste both fruit and have to choose the sweeter. Fuck. The drinks settle in your stomach.

Your girlfriend wasn’t coming home tonight anyway, not really.

She’s leading you up the stairs, hands flush to her body. You grip the cold handrail to hold you steady. She’s already steps ahead, the appropriate distance. 

A quiet corner doesn’t need to be found. She’s been here before. You’ve been here before. The holy emptiness of the second floor is an accustomed comfort.

She’s quick and calculated, despite the mix of drinks on her breath. One hand pushing you to the wall, the other finding the zipper for your dress. It falls off you like it never belonged to you, kicked away and piled into a corner, forgotten.

Gripping you like you’d run away, she palms your tits and presses crescent moons into your hips. She holds her head away from you, watching you down her nose as you squirm. Abby has always remained detached, carefully groomed a distance between you that now feels too sacred to break. You long to feel her kiss you, to feel her intimately, to run your hands along her arms and feel every curve, every outline. You’ve needed to touch her since the moment you met her. Craved it.

Abby is disrespectful, impatient. She cups your pussy, still hidden in slick panties, letting the rough ball of her palm grind against your clit. It sets you on fire, and she chases it with a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Get rid of them.”

You strip fast, in a very unflattering way, you’re certain, and throw your underwear close to the ghost of your dress. She moves against you again, her hand softer as it wraps around your lips and cheeks. You look at her, hoping to see that softness echoed on her face, but her eyes are elsewhere, too focused on the movement your tits make as she holds you against the wall. 

Painstakingly, her fingers slide inside you, her hand pressing down on your mouth as you moan around the feeling of her, the intoxication. Your hands lock and unlock, your nails digging at scratching at the wood boards on the wall as you try to balance yourself.

Merciless. She rocks into you, letting you fall into step with her, find her pace, a relentless one. You feel her melting into your core, her fingers curling and stretching your walls as she pounds into you, again, again, again. You sound pathetic, behind the mask of her hand, whining as she leaves, and nearly screaming when she returns.

Abby watches as your face contorts around her fingers, feels you wrap around her. If she feels even a fraction of what she gives you, you wouldn't know. Her eyes remain unkind, left at a distance, but her breathing is staggered. short, laboured. she looks over you, you feel it, feel as her eyelashes rise as she rakes over your body.

You need it to be desire in her eyes. You need her to starve. To crave, like you do. Desperation.

Her hand moves from your mouth, your whimpering breath filling the room fast, the quiet broken. Her pace slows, and you almost rest on her fingers, left to wonder what she’s playing at. Instead, it comes down on your shoulder, still warm and wet with your breath, and she pushes you down onto her fingers, deep, deep. you feel her at the very centre of yourself, your eyes wide as the pressure builds inside you, her fingernails leaving a trail, evidence of her in your walls. She lets your ragged moans echo, hurt and pleasure. It’s an unkind end to things.

You don’t want to let it to end. You can’t.

The distance is broken. You reach out and grasp flesh, firm under your nails. You’re still riding the ecstasy pulse, the heat in your pussy, and Abby lets you stay, holding onto her as if you would fade otherwise. Your cheeks are almost touching, her breath hot on your ear, you hear her for the first time, raspy groans as you squeeze around her. She’s been holding back.

Damn it all.

“Everybody knows. Please. Please, fuck me like you know you should.”

You meet her gaze. Everything is foreign now. Her skin feels different to how you had imagined it. Softer. Her eyes are more uncertain, more than you’d ever seen before. Hesitance.

“Fuck it.”

Whiskey, and a sip of your gin, and tobacco. You didn’t even know she smoked, but you taste it on her like its the only thing she ever did. The smell of pine came in a wave as she moved, hooking her hands under your legs and hoisting you up. For months, you’ve yearned for her to kiss you, begged for it even. And now, her lips are rough, and bloody, and everywhere. Ghosts tracing your neck, unkind, stinging, exhilarating. 

She moves you to the floor without fuss, holding herself over you, your legs spread around her. She’s smiling, and you become so sure that there’s something not quite right with this side of Abby. You’re quickly aware that you’ve landed in hostile territory, vulnerable, needy.

She usually didn’t like it when you begged.

Her tongue is like the rapture on your clit, spitting fire through your veins, in your nerves. You feel it creep up in your body, twisting and tightening through you like something invasive, moans and prayers dripping from your lips that only push her. her name a curse, fallen on your body. You feel her laugh against your slick walls and it jolts you.

Abby, suddenly so aware of you, so kind, so attentive, shifts her posture, “Oh, you’re so needy.” A hand grabs your face, pulling it up from the floor in a dead lull. Her name rolls off your pretty lips once more, “What? You beg for me, and now you can’t take me?” Her tone is mocking, “Which is it? Hm?”

A cacophony. You, you, you. Your head foggy, unsure of what she wants to hear, you beg for again, telling her you can it take it. I can, please, abby.

Her laugh is cruel, mocking as her mouth finds you again, sending cold vibrations up your legs. Slut echoes against your clit.

Inside of you, she feels like a god. Her fingers stretching your walls, pressing deep against your centre at an excruciating pace, and her tongue lazily laps up all that you give her. 

“Fuck! Fu-uck, fuck!”

It’s clear to Abby that the caution she so carefully designed was useless now. People knew, and fuck it if they knew. Fuck it if they heard you dripping on her fingers, calling out her name. Fuck it if they stop the music, and turn to listen - fucking perverts - because it’s her. And you’re the one begging for her.

Stars creep in through the haze in your vision, and Abby’s trying to ask you something harsh, but you don’t hear it. You’re tethered to the feeling of her fingers, your whole body knotting around her like a planet in orbit of the sun. 

You’d burn if she wanted you to, happily.

You’re so fucking tight around her fingers, your legs shaking and a vicious call ripping through your body. Her Name.

The warmth from your body is too much, and the cool of the floor is lulling, soothing, as you collapse. Abby’s fingers leave you empty, incomplete. You whine as she leaves you, your walls tightening around the absence of her. She wipes your cotton slick on your leg.

She stands, and rolls her shoulders. Fixes the few hairs that fall out of place. Guiltless.

“Get dressed, before someone sees you.”

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave you (Pt.53)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: A snippet of the future- a flash forward- in which you and jimin reach an agreement.

Tags: Pleasure dom Jimin, pillow princess m/c, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pussy spanking, excessive squirting, knotting, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Breeding kink, Jimin gets a little mean once he tastes her slick, slick-drunk minnie, talks of safe words but no safeword usage, talks of gender and sex, murder, talking ill of the dead, assassin! jimin, implied autistic! jimin, Flash Forwards, intentionally vague moments, brief mention of mommy/daddy kink, brief talks of clothing control

W/c: 10.0k

A/N: please be patient with me regarding the rut chapter ie the chapter after this one! i’m visiting my brother next week in LA so!!! please recommend me some stuff to do in la! i’m hoping it’s going to be a restful trip but ngl…it’s not looking great…. i don’t like planning things that other people are going to potentially not enjoy 😠 i’m meant to be a passenger princess threw and threw

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

(Flash Forward, 6 days after Namjoon’s rut, Jimin)

Jimin lays out the plastic sheeting with a ripple. Making sure it covers most of the corners and the baseboards of the back room of the house. Taking more effort than usual not to be messy.

It would look normal to anyone else as you watch him work from the hallway. But you have a lurch in your stomach as Jimin fucks with the plastic, making sure it lies flat. 

Jimin setting out plastic sheeting would look totally normal to you if you didn’t have an inkling of all the other times he’s probably done it. How many times has he watched blood and viscera soak plastic? How many times has he melted it after at high heat to destroy DNA evidence?

You watch him work, feeling like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t.

But today, if you happen to have an accident and drip paint onto the floor, Yoongi will refinish them anyways. You’re just glad you’re not painting the sunroom red. 

That's the plan for the day. Primer, paint rollers, the whole shebang. They litter the 10 x 10 room like fallen soldiers. At this point, you've helped Yoongi paint just about every room in the house. This will be the last one for a little while. 

The sunroom at the end of the hall is the last unfinished room in the house. Mostly unused due to its decrepit aura until now. The space is sunlit in the afternoon light, no longer dampened by the old dirty windows. 

Today is the first day since Namjoon’s rut that everyone’s been out of the house. It’s just you and Jimin here. The quiet feels overfull, like something is lingering overhead, a storm or a fever yet to break. 

Jimin straightens when he sees you through the mottled windows- not quite frosted but ripply, like looking through water. Yoongi put the doors back on finally yesterday after the workmen left. Hobi and Jin helped him hold the doors in place while he put them back on their hinges and you and Tae and Jungkook cooked while Jimin and namjoon opened all the windows to rid the house of the smell of strangers.

He was mindful of the strangers, as had the rest of the pack been yesterday with no less than 5 of them here. Tae’s hand had been practically glued to your lower back, herding you towards a secluded corner in the library room for some cuddling and a nap. Yoongi had been worried about them possibly breaking his labour of love. 

They’re similar to the door he put in for Tae’s library only this one is varying textures of mottled glass, most opaque, but some clear with white ribbons or rainbow films like bubbles. 

Yesterday was a little bit hard for Namjoon especially with his post-rut pheromones already elevated. But the windows are finally done, and no more strangers need to set foot in your house for the foreseeable future, and that’s something. 

It’s been a race against time. As the temperature begins to plummet the windows have finally been tended to, the drafty space transformed into a sunlit puddle that captures the afternoon light like a suncatcher. Hopefully, it will help the pack wait out the winter months and fend off any seasonal depression which more than a few packmates are prone to. 

Yoongi doesn't like to name names but Tae and Hobi are vulnerable that way. Like stout magnolia trees and pink echinacea their happiness is prone to bouts of dormancy.

You wandered in here with Yoongi and Jin last night after dinner to talk colors. A glass in each of your hands full of Sweet pink wine, the kind that Tae likes. She would have joined you, had the pack alpha not pulled her and hobi and a dejectedly shy Jimin into some alpha bonding time upstairs.  

“We can’t paint every room in this house varying shades of pink hyung, even if it’s for Tae.” The word sounds especially sweet on Yoongi’s tongue; Jin is the only one Yoongi can ever call ‘hyung’. A special sort of pet name between the two of them. 

The pack omega had curled especially close to your mate with you happily sandwiched between them. Your fingers hooked into Yoongi's pocket and Jin's sleeve. He'd pressed his pink button mouth to Yoongi’s easily, the way he’d kissed the beta a thousand times. And replied stubbornly “Why can’t we?” 

Yoongi always aquiecess, even if he is a little stressed, “Remember Jungkook’s already chosen lilac for the outside. you’ll hate it if it clashes”

"I want to paint stars on the ceiling with glow in the dark paint and maybe the outside too!"

Jin had saved another special kiss for you, just as soft as the one he gave your mate. "Of course you do sweetheart." Yoongi had only sighed, and pulled out his phone to look it up.

They’d settled on a shade of salmon pink this morning when they went to home depot (and coffee, because any outing with the pack omega is sort of a date). the color is so light it looks almost white in the morning and honey in the afternoon. Not quite as dove slipper pink as the upstairs closet, or as muted terracotta as the pack’s bedroom. 

There are several different colors of pink and red sitting by the doorway, mini bottles that the pack used for swatches. Not just pink but yellow too (the color you thought you wanted to paint your bathroom once upon a time) and dark teal blue (the color Yoongi had chosen for your bedroom).

Of course, no painting can happen until the ceiling is fixed. (Yoongi started peeling back the paint, intent to fix it before you started, only to find that the whole corner was rotted out. If Yoongi gets back from Home Depot with a drywall patch by a reasonable hour, you might be able to start tomorrow. until then, you and Jimin will prime the living daylights out of the trim. 

Jimin spots you and flushes- a light pink on his cheeks a shade redder than  the color in the paint buckets. “Hey,” he says, soft, pausing. Sheepish at being discovered.

 “That’s not-“ you gesture to the plastic sheeting, leaning up against the doorframe. “For me, is it?”

“Yes,” Jimin says. Then he bobs, urgent when he realizes what you mean, what just the two of you in the house means. His grip on the screwdriver goes slack. “No! not in that-“ but then he sees your grin and realizes that you’re just teasing him.

His plush lips pout. Round and glossy like he kissed Tae earlier and hadn't remembered to wipe away traces of her lip gloss. Seeing that is enough for you to get a bit of pep in your step. “That really isn’t something we should even tease about-“ You drum your fingers on the doorframe smiling nonetheless.

He opens his arms, and you fold yourself closer to him, stepping over the layer of plastic and drop cloth, and- is that canvas? It’s pleasantly rough beneath your bare feet. His hands smooth up your tank top to your upper back. Your tank top hides very little of you- but Jimin supposes that’s half the draw. The thin straps don't give you too much support. He tries not to get distracted by the faint squish as you press your whole body up against his chest.

Before, he might not have really mused on the slight differences between hugging you and the others but now Jimin’s gotten used to calculating the differences in gender the last few weeks, more important now because it affects Tae. You nuzzle into his chest and then pull back, Jimin’s eyes are puffy, his scent is normal and his hair is washed but- 

“You look...“ Jimin scrubs a hand across his cheekbones, trying to banish the slight haunted look in his eyes. Not like there's something weighing on him but weighing on his soul. 

“I know I look like shit.”

“It’s okay, I like my alphas a little bit ruffled.” You tease, but your eyes flash from his face to his chest and back again. “Is it about Tae?” Jimin looks away rubbing his cheek. And you know that’s a yes without having him confirm it. Jimin's anguish and happiness can always be boiled down to her.

Especially given what happened during Namjoon's Rut. 

“I wanted to ask you for something. A favor.”

You wait. Through the window you watch the trees bob in the wind, the train chugs passed, its lights as limey yellow as the ginkgo trees that lay interspersed with the pine trees on the edge of your property. Not quite as orange opulence as the tall maple tree that plunges your backyard in shadow. You watch as some of the oak leaves are tossed onto your narrow back lawn, a space that any of you rarely venture to because it’s steep and because it tends to be a little mossy and muddy. 

Jimin tugs you to the floor, helping you sit cross-legged without teetering. The layers of plastic and cloth on the floor make it a little slippery and a bit squishy. It's a little bit more comfortable than it might be ordinarily.

Jimin hesitates and his scent goes sour, not exactly angry or overstimulated sour (the kind of scent you’re more used to when it comes from him) but more scared sour. Sharp and grating to your senses the kind of angry alpha scent that once upon a time would have had you ducking for cover. 

You shuffle closer to him smoothing your hand over his knee. "Minnie, what's got you so spooked, why are you so nervous? You know you can tell me anything. Literally."

Your attempt at being funny does little to soothe him. Jimin talks quickly when he's nervous. A habit he definitely picked up from Tae.

“Like with you and Namjoon- like with his rut. I don’t want our first time to be in the heat of the moment. I don’t want to do this without thinking because I feel like- when I do that I fuck up, and I might fuck it up with you. If there are two things I’m most scared of it's fucking it up with you and Tae.”

But it's more than that. Jimin knows that since Namjoon's rut, Tae has pulled you into her favorite secluded corners of the house more often than not. That you've chased those hidden moments of pleasure with love confessions. 

Is he surprised that you've begun to fuck like rabbits now? A little. Not because he's been excluded from it (Not excluded intentionally, it's just that you spend most of your moments together late at night or in the afternoon before he comes home, and he comes back to the house to find you both smelling sweet and sated.)

You haven't stolen his soulmate from him. It's more like you've uncovered a layer to her that Jimin hadn't even known existed. A flower that he just thought was a bud, a dandelion turned puffy-wish. Only more spectacular than that, because if Jimin could choose one flower to represent Tae it would take fields and fields of them, and probably Hobi's help to make the levels of pretty match properly.

Is it Tae's hormones? Tae has never been the most sexual creature, at least not compared to other packmates. Jimin practically wanted to live inside her skin. To consume his lovers again and again until their pleasure became a part of him.

It's not that Jimin's love language is sex (at least not the way Kookie might consider it his) It's just that there's something about the way he loves that's all-consuming. Perfectionistic almost. Jimin will love them well, and learn how to fuck them well- because he simply won't compromise for anything less.

Tae would say that there's something about the way that he loves that's all poetry. Not at all Plath or Service but maybe Wilde if Tae is feeling particularly sentimental for the person she’s doing her best to leave behind. In Tae's words- and she's written books and books of poems about Jimin at this point- Jimin's love is all: 

Let me press my lips to your skin and make every inch known, my lips the pen and your moans the ink, let me show you how good 'good' can feel. Let me do it again and again until bliss feels boring. Let me claim your pleasure as proof of how much I am yours and you are mine. Let me make you hope for nights quiet. For afternoons spent in sheets. Let me make you scorn the morning.

But then again, you're the only one who's read Tae's poetry; so really Jimin has no idea. 

Tae has always been the least sexually active of all the packmates, even compared to Yoongi. Jimin knows it’s a bit prejudiced; to think of Betas as being less sexually active especially when he knows the kind of kinky shit Yoongi liked to get up to before you. But there was a time when Tae's sexual activity outside of rut was few and far between. Jimin knows because he and Jin tracked it one year.

Which is why your cries of "Mommy! Mommy please" That Jimin has overheard on more than one occasion over the past two or three weeks- even before Namjoon's rut- coming from the library room- is so strange.

He'd noted the subtle sound of a chair creaking back and forth and a wet slap every now and then and had not had the strength to peer through the more translucent sections of the glass door. But the encounter had left him with his cheeks hot and his pants uncomfortably tight. A hot shower and the warmth of his own fist had left him feeling only guilty, not satisfied. It was the first time that Jimin had ever felt... unwelcome in the pack's escapades.

Maybe he's a little hurt too- because you hadn't come to him and asked to call him Daddy too. That special pet Name remains reserved for the pack omega. 

The packs dynamic is also something that tae’s been mostly left out of, in the hierarchy somewhere in the middle in only the barest of terms. because tae has never been interested in the dominant and submissive shit the rest of the pack gets up to. 

And yet Jimin doubts this is something you forced on her, doubts that anything about your relationship isn't organic and natural. Which leaves only one possible conclusion; 

Jimin simply cannot fuck Tae the way you can. There is something more, that you do better when it comes to loving her that Jimin lacks.

It's stupid to feel insecure, Jimin has loved Tae for almost his whole life. But jealousy is only a secondary emotion when it comes to you and tae- the primary one Is relief. (and also guilt, but Jimin feels sort of guilty about everything so that’s barely a blip in his radar).

You can’t be scared of change forever. He can’t be scared of change when it’s staring him right in the face when you’re sitting pretty and cute and representative of everything Jimin wants not only for Tae but for himself too.  Of course, just because you know how to give Tae what she needs doesn't mean Jimin should be complacent.

Jimin puts down the screwdriver, and the last bit of paint cracked open.  “After this last week, It’s clear to me that I don’t know how to love women right.” You read into his words. And suddenly standing there feels a lot less normal, your back straightens, mouth falling into a little ‘oh’. There is a stain on the edge of your checkered gingham shorts, the kind you like to wear when you sleep. Suddenly it feels like it matters that you're not put together.

It's okay, Jimin's going to take you apart today anyways.

Jimin's eyes are intense and focused when he stares you down. “I want you to teach me- I want you to teach me how to make love to Tae properly- the way you do.”

Your breath comes in one stuttering gasp and-

Jimin promptly takes one of the tubes of paint, a light blue- the same light blue that you ended up painting the upstairs bathroom, and squishes it out onto the canvas below you. Near your hand but not on it.  

The breath you were holding rushes out in a single jagged laugh, “Okay, now I’m lost- I thought the whole point of the plastic and drop cloths was not to get paint on them.” 

The look he shoots you asks you to suspend your disbelief and tugs you closer by your knee, "Sit closer so that I can spread more around you." He starts dishing out the other colors. Enough careful drops of paint that it would take a lot of concentration to get out of the room without tracking dark blue or pink or yellow or red halfway across the house. 

You wonder what exactly Jimin plans to do to you. Paint included. He puts out a spurt of yellow paint on your side and then another. 

Surely sooner rather than later, noodle is going to wander in here in search of a pool of sunlight, track his paws or tail through the paint and leave pawprints everywhere throughout the house. Yoongi will probably complain about them, but you might make him keep them instead of washing them away.

When he’s finished, Jimin turns a yellow tube over in his hands. Back and forth, the cap flashing like a rising and setting small yellow sun. Jimin’s voice is low when he speaks, near reverent. “You’re the first woman I was ever with- that I ever knew I was with.” 

It’s an admission and an admonishment, one that you and the rest of your pack have been tiptoeing around. Even though Tae’s a woman now she hadn’t always been. While new lines in the sand are drawn that doesn’t mean the old lines totally fade away. It will take a few more cycles of low and high tide to completely grow used to this.

Jimin fiddles with a small red tube of paint. “I’m a rigid person, I know I am. I don’t like change most of the time and I know, I know things shouldn’t be so planned, I know that’s not the way things usually go but-” You nuzzle close to Jimin, and his words extinguish into a sigh. His hands cradle your sides, the same place he always likes to hold, between your shoulder blade and your ribcage.

You peck under his jaw, “But you need them to be this way sometimes. Planned? So you can make sure everything’s done right?” You press. Mirth playing at the end of your sentence. Jimin is terribly fun to tease. 

He bristles, “If you’re expecting me not to make loving you guys perfect when I can make it that way then-”

“You’re such a control freak Minnie.” You say it with a smile, playing your fingers through some of the milky pink white, feeling the tackiness between your fingers.

“You don’t hate it?”

You shrug. “Jin’s that way too sometimes. So no, I guess I don’t hate it. Maybe it’s just because I like- really fucking hate making decisions- so.”

He grimaces, but Jimin’s eyes dart from your face down to your crossed legs. settling on something. “Do you care if those clothes get dirty?”

“A little- I like these shorts.”

“Then you should take them off.” 

Your heart thuds as Jimin leans over you, tugging on the strap of your Tank Top with his teeth, lips pressed to the bare skin of your shoulder, dragging them down. He plays at being sexy but decides not to be, settling for leaning his cheek on your shoulder and watching you. 

“I had this stupid idea, if you don’t want to do it just say so. But this is every shade of pink that we ever painted the house. Tae’s favorite color is pink- and the canvas- I thought it might be nice to have like- some art in her library room- that’s what I meant about making it planned.”

“Are you saying you want to make sex art for Tae or something?” Jimin blushes yet again. You should be keeping track of how many times he has and use them for leverage. 

"Her favorite color is pink." He says, like that justifies it. “And you know gift giving is like, my second love language if that bullshit is to be believed and-”

“-Oh my god you actually do want to make sex art!” your playful shove at his shoulders almost sends you spilling into a splotch of blue. But Jimin is as immovable as ever.

He leans over, growling, nipping at your throat- an alpha tired of being teased. “Do you really think it’s so strange that I want to remember this later, or do you just think it’s odd that I want to treasure you specifically?”

You lean, you’re awfully close to a splotch of yellow that he poured out. You don’t have a good answer for him, or at least- one that will make him stop looking a little sad. 

He shouldn't be so surprised that you kiss him to avoid answering. And yet his hands hit a splotch of blue to support himself when he's suddenly made dizzy. Your laugh tastes sweet pressed to his mouth, and the quirk of your lips says ‘That’s what you get,’

You guess the floors need to be replaced anyway, and he's a trained professional when it comes to clean up so it’s not like it will matter if you and Jimin get a little messy here. If Jimin really wants to learn (and you have no doubt that he does) you’ll gladly teach him. 

Unhurried kisses become your hands pushing his flannel off his shoulders. Laughing when you look down and realize you've definitely left pink all along the collar. Jimin has the perfect lips for kissing, soft and strong in all the right ways, his hands go to your hips then up to your waist and back again, and his kiss goes sloppy- like he’s distracted by the feel of you.

He separates briefly, to very carefully and neatly, take off your shorts and place them near the edge of the room where there is less of a risk of them getting ruined. Leaving you in just your little panties, you wonder if Jimin knows this is one of a set- that Tae has the other ones and is wearing them today.

(You might have decided to match today, getting ready in your bedroom. She might have liked picking out your clothes a little bit too much, heart fluttering at the idea that you’d be wearing what mommy wanted you to wear all day).

But then he surges forward, pressing a kiss to your lips gently except for the way that you can feel him get jumpy and nervous, and when he pulls back, he’s uncharacteristically shy. “I-“ Jimin is blushing, his cheeks rosy pink, like the buckets of paint have jumped up and left splotches there. “I wanted to come find you once I was done setting up- to kiss you and then-“ he tucks his face down not meeting your eyes.

 “You love Tae so well,” Jimin sounds sick with it. A confession maybe, that you love her better than he ever could. How is it that you’ve mastered it? Jimin’s world begins and ends with Tae, and Tae’s world is all you colored these days. And yet, you love her better- love her more. 

He leans forward holding your hip, hand hovering on that space between love handle and stomach. It's the first time in the night that you push back, covering his hand with yours and sitting back. “I don’t know how that feels on men but on me, that’s kind of ticklish and kind of anxiety-inducing so-” 

“Sorry,” Jimin takes his hands off of you, flexing them, “Wait how should I do it then-” you make him sit back, straddling him, narrowly avoiding putting your palm in a puddle of pink paint. 

You slide your hands up his waist to cup his ribcage, and you feel the frantic thudding of his heart under your fingers. “Like this, if you had tits, I’d be just barely touching them, right? Boobs on their own are not like- the most sensitive things to be honest, but if you don’t touch them strong at first and kind of tease around them- it makes it feels better.” 

You sit back again, letting Jimin touch his fill, letting his hands rough in all the right places. His fingers skimming up your ribcage, cupping underneath them with a blush on his cheeks, pulling back carefully to watch your expression and make sure he's doing it right. “Yeah- like that” you ignore the way that your breath goes heavy but Jimin’s smile goes a little feline. Like he knows how affected you are but won’t call you out on it. 

“Did you know- until you I thought I was like- truly only into men?” you shrug, as Jimin slips off your tank top reverently. The dusky rose of your nipple is so similar in color to one of the pinks he just placed, or is it closer to the rose brown purple that comes when you mix the swatch from the upstairs with the pack's bedroom? Jimin couldn’t tear his eyes away from you if he tried. There’s a fleck of it on the shorter baby hairs near your face too.

You tap your fingers across Jimin's shoulders, narrower and comparatively more feminine than Tae's. You don't like thinking of any part of her as particularly masculine, but her shoulders have always been particularly dysphoria-inducing for her.

It's sad to think that maybe if she looked a little bit more like Jimin and had his proportions some parts of her transition might be easier on her. You can only tell her she's got the proportions of a victoria's Secret model so many times before it starts to feel a little disingenuous. 

“It always seemed a little bit nebulous to me- women, men- gender- secondary and otherwise." You shrug, and maybe that's not what Jimin expects from you. Especially with Tae- that you'd have more keen answers for the differences. Not that there were none between the secondary and primary sexes. 

His fingers slide down your hip, petting over your hip bone. his touches exploratory, uninhibited as you talk. Waiting for you to check him. He leaves his fingerprints- yellow blue and pink, over the cusp of your hip, and you can tell you're smearing some color beneath you as you shift to let him have his way with you.

Your breath gets heavy as Jimin's touches get bolder and bolder. Petting up and down your thigh as he kisses softly down your chest, hair tickling your skin. He gestures to your boobs, “No biting?”

“Yes but also no. It depends.”

Jimin sighs, pulling himself closer to you, face level with your chest, nudging your nipple with his nose. “That’s frustrating, I’m used to penis rules. No teeth. not ever.”

You bark a laugh, and Jimin touches your chest softly, your nipples pebbled against his palms, a little heavy as he feels their weight. “They’re so-“

“Squishy? Soft?”

“I was going to say weird, why do you have pillows attached to your chest?” you slap his shoulder in retaliation but Jimin’s smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay” You mean it too- you don’t expect Jimin to adjust instantaneously. Maybe it’s too honest for you to confess it, but you understand how love and sexual attraction can be two different things. Jimin might love you because you’re you and might want to show that love in the way he knows how but that doesn’t mean your body won’t at first be very new and very odd to him. Sometimes it takes a second to properly enjoy the people you love.

Tae is the way you find yourselves back to each other. “Did you ever love a woman besides Tae? Before her?” A flash of red lips and a short black bob of hair runs through your mind, but you shove it down and away because no- desperation isn’t the same thing as love. 

Jimin continues to touch your chest, his hands moving from cupping them to teasing at the nipple gently, probably the way he’s done to Jungkook before. You can’t say it doesn’t make your tummy start to tighten, the way he does it- unsure but eager.

“Yes and no, I think I had like- crushes maybe? In high school? But never like Tae.”

"Maybe that’s only because I started to love your soulmate after I knew. I never had to change the way I loved her like you did. You've loved her for a long ass time Jimin." Jimin flushes with that- the acknowledgment of it never feels any less lucky. Tae could have been loved by anyone- yet she chose Jimin. Tae has always felt like Jimin's own personal slice of heaven, the only piece he might ever touch.

Jimin looks at you and sees a second sliver, a second chance at salvation. “I've only ever loved her as Tae- not-” You don't say Tae's deadname. To utter it here among all this pink feels sinful when it's done in the name of loving her.

Jimin touches you so reverently, fingers skimming up and down your slit, finger pads pressing against your clit, gentle but explorative. 

He watches you, watching your lips part in a soft gasp. The wet glimmer of slick builds, wetting the tips of his fingers. You're so soft and silky down there. knuckles pressed to your mouth to try and keep the sounds in, eyes fluttering shut. Very very pretty in the sunlit room where Jimin can see all of you, the soft fold of your stomach, the freckle on your hip, the one just under your chin.

If freckles hold all of the places that you were kissed in a past life, Jimin thinks you’re going to be covered in them for the next.

You're breathing heavy, but you still find the air to instruct him, “You're doing well- ah- soft touches like that make me feel- Tae likes to feel pretty.  I don’t know if it’s like that with all women but-“ You grab his wrist but don’t tug it away, so Jimin keeps drawing endless circles on you, “B-but it’s like that with her. I called her cock pretty once and she came all over me on accident. Said it was just the hormones but-” 

“She is really pretty” Jimin’s eyes go far away like he’s thinking about it. And you laugh to bite back a moan. You reach over, pawing at his pants and his belt, making him pull back to take them off not only to make your positions more equal but also because Jimin's all-black outfit is honestly being ruined by all the paint. 

You lean back and watch him lift his shirt over his head. “I know! It’s honestly so annoying like- how is it that she was so pretty as a boy and as a girl- I’m honestly so jealous of her sometimes if we’re like-“ you break off. Going quiet wondering how much is normal to reveal. “Talking about gender and stuff.”

Jimin grips your knee, “If I keep going, are you going to tell me when I do something right and when I do something wrong?”

“Of course, but take off your pants first.”

He huffs, but it's all put upon "What a demanding little pup I've got. As you wish." 

You’d forgotten that Jimin a quite frankly unfairly pretty cock. Pink at the tip and well-manicured. All of your packmates keep their downstairs area mostly trimmed- the furriest of the bunch being your mate and Namjoon. Somehow you thought Jimin might want to keep it wilder and yet he's smooth. Perfectly manicured. 

“Her, but not you,” Jimin says, needing clarification but knowing the answer. your foot hits something wet smearing.  The mess gets messier when he jerks you up into his lap, sitting you across it with an impressive show of strength. His cock is wet and hard and pink where it’s pressed against your thigh.

To be mean you arch your hips forward, dragging your clothed cunt across it, Jimin's lips part, and his scent goes thick, like melting vanilla ice cream or baking sugar cones.

The hair on his happy trail tickles your tummy, his hands supporting you as he sets you back against the drop cloth, making sure you don’t bang your head. Jimin holds himself over you, crouching low. “You don’t like to be called pretty- you like to be called cute,” he nips at your collarbones and makes your pulse quicken.

You squirm, but he settles you with a hand on your stomach. “You will get red paint in your hair if you’re not careful.” 

He's telling the truth, you know you have to be half-covered with paint by now. You're doing a good job of making the canvas all pretty. He catches your hand, covered with different shades of pink and white spread across your fingertips, and kisses them anyways, a tiny splotch near the edge of his lips. 

You’re worried. Of course you're worried about the effect your slick will have on all of them, especially Jimin- who's already at the mercy of his instincts on a good day. And yet, you let him pull himself down, knees sliding through pink and yellow and blue. Tossing your panties into some forgotten less paint splatter corner because they’re actually really fucking cute. 

It’s like before Namjoon’s rut, the day you sub-dropped. When Jimin looks up at you to check that this is okay you have the same look on your face; half afraid and half nervous. Like you don’t want to say anything. 

Loving Jimin is very good for you because he doesn’t let you stew in those emotions.

“You don’t have to be nervous. I want to do this, I’m not doing this just because I think you’re more likely to suck my dick later, or because I think you deserve to have your pussy eaten- that's last part is like 1/3 of it.” 

"Are we describing love with fractions now?" you tease, trying to make it lighter. but your heart hurts, Jimin is so very good at making you feel comfortable.  “I always have a hard time believing that.” You confess because today seems to be about honesty. Jimin kisses his way up your inner thigh. Leaving splotches of pink in his wake. “You guys are all so giving, it makes me feel selfish.” 

Jimin presses a first slow kiss where you're sensitive. Slowly, Waiting, hurting for you to push him off. You don’t. 

“It’s not like that,” he struggles with his words for a second but you’ll wait as long as he needs. “You know how sometimes when you eat food and it makes you full but it tastes so good you only want more?” 

“Oh, great now you're comparing me to food" Jimin cuts off your words by pushing your knee to your chest. Unwrapping your pussy for him, the most sensitive part of you wide and open.

“Shut up you know what I mean.” He pales, “I didn’t mean like- shut up literally-“

“Minnie I’m just teasing. I’m not actually upset.” he huffs, but lets you laugh, back against the canvas. "Honestly, I’m just surprised. I didn’t think because of your whole 'I’m a gay alpha thing' that you'd ever want to fuck me. Or if you did we'd at least be with Tae.” 

Contrary to what might be believed, the idea of Jimin only wanting you with Tae doesn't hurt you. The truth is that you have so many people now to please; you were sort of okay with Jimin and Tae being a package deal in the bedroom. If only because it makes things on your end slightly easier.

Jimin presses a kiss to your knee, “I want to do more than fuck you- I want to make you cum so many times you cry.” 

Your stomach swoops, in a way that might just be you clenching a little at the idea of it. “I don’t think anyone’s ever fucked me till I cried, at least not in the good way.” 

Jimin’s growl is a dangerous thing as he pulls himself up to look at you. There’s paint drying on your inner thigh and a whole puddle of it by your hip. And you know you must be a sight. Jimin’s eyes go cold, a little unforgiving at the thought of it and his scent darkens, almost imperceptibly.

You wonder how many people have seen him look exactly like that just before they’ve died under the same touch that makes your heart race. Jimin skims his fingers along your hand, gripping it after a moment, hard, tangled fingers stained with pink and red. Your love for Tae and your other, darker secrets.  

“Remind me to piss on your ex’s grave next time we go into the city.”

Your laugh is a bright thing, and you miss Jimin’s smile when he pulls himself back down to your cunt. "In case no one's ever told you, I'm proud of you for killing him. I know it couldn't have been easy.”

You swallow, you don't want to think about that right now, probably the least sexy thing you've ever done. You don't want to think about any of that right now. “You really want to like- Make me cry?”

“Yes,” he says, and even you have to admit that you don’t find any ulterior motive or any sort of underlying motivation in his eyes. Other than wanting, something dark and roiling- an alpha with something to prove. A shaft of daylight cuts across his face, his body.

Jimin’s so pretty. You wonder if he’s this pretty in every universe.

“You’re welcome to try I guess,” Jimin’s fingers brush over the front of your pussy. Keeping his eyes locked with yours as he softly- ever so softly- pets over your pussy. Your breath hitches.

With one hand braced against you Jimin uses his other hand to brush back the top of your cunt, pinning your clit to your pubic bone. Your lips parting around his thumb, his other finger that just barely, teases the top of your hole. You grab his wrist, cursing low.

Every ounce of your self-control goes to keeping yourself from letting out so many embarrassing noises as Jimin draws light circles over your clit. Touching you firmer than before. “You get so wet so fast- it’s precious.” You squeak, jerking when he presses a little harder. Hand flinging out to grab onto something.

It sends a bit of pink paint splattering, and Jimin’s laugh bounces off the high ceiling. A little gets on the wall. You hope Yoongi won't get too angry at you. You and Jimin are going to make the canvases lovely, probably all blotchy and blended together, by the time you're finished here.

It’s hard for you to concentrate, Jimin’s fingers work so diligently, pushing against your hole even as his thumb digs into your clit, you grab his wrist, “gentle” you say, and he slows his pace, “the estrogen makes Tae-“ Jimin slowly drags his thumb down your clit then back up- the hard nub twitches under his touch. “Sensitive. You have to be gentle. Tae likes it gentle, and so do I sometimes.” He remembers the guise of this, you teaching him.

“Sometimes, but not all the time.” You nod, and Jimin continues his slow, torturous circles. “You can be a little bit rough. If it's too much I’ll tell you.” He nods obediently. “Safeword rules still apply?” you ask, because although this isn’t a scene, you can’t help but feel like you might need them.

You don’t know when you started to need them like a safety net. When it started to feel important to have them, But Jimin nods, agreeing. “Of course. They always do with me. I’ll hold you to them.”

The gentle small slap he lands over your cunt has you jumping, cursing, the skin hotter under his touch. "Jin told me you liked that."

"I do- fuck" Jimin alternates, loving the way your whole body jerks when the sensitive part of you is tapped. They're not even rough slaps but you bet the sound of slapping is sounding through the whole house. juxtaposed with the slow pressure that he rubs against your clit, your heartbeat is just under your skin. The slaps make your pussy more sensitive and especially hot when he begins to press kisses there too. 

He draws his fingers into a pinch and then drags them up and down your clit, making your legs kick weakly. He does it again just to see you shake. figuring out the best way to toy with you, the quickest way to rile you up.

With cocks- Jimin is used to it being fast and wet and hard, but the slower he goes with you the more it seems to rile you up and push you to the edge. You shouldn’t be so surprised that someone so kissed by Cupid is so good at lovemaking too. (Tae has a thing for people touched by love, you should know by now to trust her judgement.)

His fingers press into your hole gently, crooking up with gentle pressure at the same time he lightly circles his fingers over your clit, fingers glossy with your slick, the glide of them wet and easy. “Do you belive I want you yet? or do i need to spank you cute pussy a few more times for the message to get across?”

You cum on Jimin’s fingers like that, clenching down on them as they press up. With him just sitting there, just watching, eyes transfixed on you. he taps over your clit once, twice, and then a third time before you’re arching away with a jagged exhale. You pawing at his hand to get him to stop or at least slow down.

but he’s true to his word, he doesn’t let you get far. His fingers grip your thighs the chub there dimpling like dough. “I was serious,” he says, eyes bright, “about making you cum so many times you cry.”

You wheeze, and he laughs again. You’ve never heard a laugh that sounded so hot, it’s kind of funny how it goes that way; the more you love someone the hotter the little things about them get.

“Lie back-“ he says, “just let me-” You do- because you’re honestly too boneless to protest right now. He pulls you by the hips through the mess of paint, getting it all on his elbows but he doesn’t care when confronted with you, stretched out like a meal before them. Clit pink from cumming, pussy lips hot under his touch from the spanking, wet hole twitching in invitation. Even though he’s seen you take Namjoon’s cock, it still looks so cute and tiny. 

You've come back to yourself enough to tease him. Threading your fingers through his hair as he brazenly watches you. Dismissing the heat in your face as just a conciquence of your orgasam. “If you get paint in my pussy, you better help me clean it later.”

“I’d clean you with my fucking mouth.” He growls against the skin of your inner thigh.

Your retort gets stolen from your throat when he presses his mouth to you.

If you thought Jimin was good at kissing, it’s nothing compared to how he kisses your pussy. Making out with it, his tongue darts out, shy at first. Sending hot licks of pleasure up your stomach. his palm presses flat, against your hip spreading pink and red there. His hand smooths down your knee, and Jimin-

The thing about jimin is that even though he loves giving oral he's never explicitly liked the taste of cock. It was more the fact that it was Tae’s dick that made it good, or Namjoon’s or anyone else’s, that made him love the act of oral so much. Enough to beg for it during rut, to spend countless hours on his knees. To fall asleep during a rut with a soft length in his mouth, mostly Yoongi's, Jungkook's, or Jin's because they're on the smaller side. Happy to have them make his jaw sore.

There is no more complete show of devotion than an alpha getting on their knees for their pack. by comparison, kissing your pussy feels selfish.  

At the taste of your, the grating buzz that’s always in his brain- the mental background noise of overstimulation. Like His awareness of the feeling of his knees sliding against the rough cotton drop cloth, the tacky feeling of the paint on his back drying, the tickle of his too-long hair brushing his ears. The vague soreness and hunger in his stomach from eating something that wasn't right earlier. All of that which usually grates on him, that which usually takes from him- all of it goes quiet when your slick hits his tongue.

Jimin's scent thickens, goes so thick it smells just as potent as it does when he's in rut, vanilla cloud covering you, making you leak more.

The second that your slick hits his tongue, the world fades into bliss. The bliss of clean black sheets, the bliss of fuzzy socks on a cold day, of Hobi's sweatshirt that's worn just right at the cuffs or Jin's nest after everyone's slept in it exactly 3 nights after changing the sheets, just enough for it to smell like them and not enough for it to feel dirty.

Your slick tastes like the buzz that fills his head when he touches Tae's hair, like comfort incarnate, when he touches her skin. He leaves his tongue in soft licks, licks that are more about tasting more than giving you pleasure. You don't really notice the difference.

You try to squirm away, clit still sensitive from cumming earlier, but leashes a snarl. Fisting your love handles. His nose brushes your pubic mound, eyes rolling back. Purely animal when he holds you and pin’s you. Fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises later. 

Maybe they shouldn't have underestimated what 'addictive slick' really did meant. Because this jimin- is another monster entirely. 

His senses, usually friable and bright, like sour candy- go sweet and soft and blissfully quiet. consumed with the quiet of you you you, your slick, hot and sweet on the back of his throat, your warmth, your skin your everything. 

jimin wants to keep you right her, right under his tongue, forever. 

he pushes your knees up roughly keeping you open and prone for him. You yelp, his teeth teasing at sensitive bits, “Minnie- fuck-”

The growl he lets out is possessive, loud, and echoic in the quiet house, vibrating pressed against your clit. It doesn't end, echoing until his voice goes hard and small.

Your clit is so hard and small. The perfect little nub for Jimin’s lips to toy with. they circle and mouth at it mindlessly. Sucking with gentle pressure just to feel it squish against his tongue. It twitches a little again.

Dicks and clits, they’re not all that different. Only this one- this one doesn’t make Jimin’s jaw ache, doesn’t cut off his breathing. This one's so small it lets him let out soft huffs pressed to slick skin, his hands go hard around your fluffy thighs, spreading pink. When he sucks again your hand goes from a puddle of white paint to his hair, painting it.

 “Fuck- Jimin-”

All too soon you’re shaking, Jimin’s soothing growls making your pleasure spike wildly, especially when he looks up from between your thighs, eyes wild and hair messy, 

You cum against his mouth. But this time when you try to squirm away Jimin pulls you back by your hips. You try to twist away, but Jimin doesn't let you go, yanking you back by your knees to bend over his face, keeping your cunt right where he wants it. His voice sounds darker, rougher- than you've ever heard it, "squirmy little omega, let alpha taste you. don’t you want to be good for me?" 

Maybe you should have been more careful, but even at the rough treatment you drip onto the canvas, and you wonder if your slick will stain it too. You can do little more than rest your face against a piece of dry canvas and try not to cum again so soon. You don’t have the brain cells to respond, not when Jimin licks you like that.  

Jimin continues to snarl, throat raw, “Poor little thing, like alphas tongue so much that it made you a little fucked out huh? A little dumb omega? You don’t have to worry pup, alphas got you. Alpha doesn't mind if you're a little messy, I'll take care of you.”

It takes you another orgasam before you're squirting. Your pussy's hot beneath his tongue, ravished and licked so much you can hardly keep your knees under you. Half supported by Jimin's hands as he keeps you on his mouth even as you try and squirm away and save yourself from the embarrassment. The hot gush of slick misses his mouth, trickling down his throat and wetting his collarbones. You'd be embarrassed if you weren't trying so hard not to pass out. 

Jimin is going to turn making you squirt into a fucking art form. 

But surprisingly, you’re just hiccupping not crying yet. So he keeps going. One orgasm bleeds into another, as one hour becomes two. Sometimes when you squirt, it's just a trickle, other times, it's wet and messy and almost /loud/ for the way that Jimin snarls. He tries every angle, palm pressed to your stomach, fingers inside of you pressing up just under his tongue, lapping at your clit like a lollipop, all of it. 

even pressing in deeper, rubbing gently at the spot where namjoon bread you barely last week, a spot so deep that only your alphas have touched, that jimin strokes over just to hear you squeek. his mouth runs an endless trail of filth, sometimes it’s “you’ve got such a cute little breeding hole, so sweet i have half a mind to keep you plugged and full all the time, such a cute hole deserves to be kissed and fucked” other times it’s "give it to me, fuck- please- i need it-"

Your legs are jelly, trembling uncontrollably and Jimin's fingers are Pruny by the time it truly starts to get too much. He’s slick drunk and crazy on the drive to wrench one more orgasam from you. His cock lying hard and unattended against his thigh, dripping thick white cum. The pleasure fading from good to painful, one orgasm wrenched from your body after another, unyielding. 

our clit is so sensitive that even his pressing the flat of his tongue and lapping at your clit makes you see stars, makes you scrabble against the paint-colored floor and try to get away.

"Can't take anymore," you whimper, "please alpha- s'too much." 

Jimin pulls back, giving you a second to catch your breath, before he presses a hand to your lower back and forces you back down. "That's not a safeword pup. If you really want me to stop. Say it." 

You hiccup, but you can't you can't safeword because you know deep down- you really do want him to make you cry. You really do what to see what lies over the next cup, the next minute he spends taking you apart. 

It's the pussy spanking that finally takes you over that edge.

He's unrelentingly diligent with taking you apart, alternating between rubbing tight circles and tapping your clit as he suckles at your hole, wrenching another few drops of slick from you with every tap, until he pauses, and drags his teeth over you. You're already jerking away from sensitivity when he pulls back and lands a hard spank over your sensitive clit. 

You think you actually might pass out for a second. 

When you come too, there's not only a puddle underneath your hips- but also wetness on your lashes, your mouth, hiccuping sobs as the pleasures finally stopped, and Jimin, wet cheeks and all, licks your tears from your face too. “good omega, alpha loves you so much, such a good little pet for me.”

Jimin licks your slick from his lips, wet and messy from you, glossy almost, he bends down, prostrate, kissing the pink splotch on your tummy, “I swear to fucking god-”Jimin does swear to God, in the confines of his own head, that unless Tae gets that surgery in particular, your pussy will be the only one he ever tastes. 

He pulls himself up to your level, answering the weak twitch of your arms with his own around your middle. You’re hiccupping too much to speak and shivering too hard to stay still. Your alpha is hot beneath your touch, the mess of your body and his body, not just paint but slick and sweat and tears, all pressed together like a balm to everything. The tightness in your chest released, you sob and it’s a good thing. 

Something wretched and broken slips out, Jimin presses a kiss over your heart, covering you with his body, with no foe as witness, when there is nothing to protect you from.

The kiss Jimin presses to your mouth is just as soft as the ones he pressed to your pussy. You grimace at the taste of your slick, but Jimin is having none of it, cupping the back of your neck and soothing your cries with a few more kisses. 

“Can you give me one more sweetheart?” His cock is pressing up against your hip, hot, dripping, and insistent. You sniffle but nod. You just want him close.

He pulls your hips through the mess of your slick, turning smudge of red paint all pastel-ly and more watercolor than acrylic as it bleeds. 

He feeds his cock into your hungry entrance, still clenching hard around nothing. It feels like you’re still cumming. You don't know if Jimin kept track or if you could put a number to your orgasms if you tried.

You sniffle. And he tugs you along the warm line of his body. Nosing along your cheek. Keeping your bodies pressed close as he rocks his hip deep. Jimin’s stamina must be endless, each roll of his hips is punishing and firm, grinding the head of his cock in deep. He grinds more than thrusts, nudging the sensitive spots he explored with his fingers. 

Jimin pulls your hands away from your face, looking down, fixing you with a look as he does it again, encouraging another weak pulse and hot clench.

Jimin gets more and more mouthy the closer he gets, he almost talks like Namjoon did in rut when he gets slick drunk. “Gonna fuck you so deep you feel it for days, gonna fuck you so deep there's no way it doesn't take, fuck- you’re mine- you’re fucking mine.” you let out a broken mewl and Jimin tucks his face into your shoulder. 

Jimin doesn't need any schooling, he just needs to love Tae just like this, and they'll be fine.

Jimin grinds his hips in at just the right angle and it forces a rough brutal noise from your throat. A sob that he kisses away. He holds your hips using them for leverage as he breeds you. Hair hanging over his eyes and tickling your brow as he works you closer and closer. The canvas slides against the plastic, but even if you have rug burn later- it will have been fucking worth it. 

“Fuck- I’d do anything for you.” You know it’s true. Despite what happened before. You know now all of that has changed now. 

Your fingers leave red splotches against his stomach, and Jimin trembles. His body over sensitive from all the pleasure, from keeping his orgasam off for so long 

“Would you kill for me?” You ask quietly. Jimin doesn’t stop his pace, doesn’t stop his movements.

You think about Yoongi and that night more than you’re willing to admit; You think about his face, bruised and screwed into a snarl, holding the gun to Geumjae but unable to pull the trigger. You know he couldn't for more than one reason; both because killing him could have killed you and because it was his brother.

But at the same time, You don’t know if one day the memory will ever make you feel anything but emptiness. A bleak almost disappointment. Sure- he’d been willing to bind his soul to yours to keep you alive. He’d devoted himself to you wholly and completely since but-

But maybe that was partially to ease his guilt. Guilt and love. Love and guilt. Are they really so different? Yoongi loves you. You know this as surely as you know that the sun will rise tomorrow. But even he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. You had to do it instead. 

"I'm proud of you for killing him, I know it must not have been easy"

Watching Jimin fuck you within an inch of your life, you decide you don’t know if that makes Yoongi a better man than Jimin, or a worse one. 

Jimin leans his body low over yours, grinds his cock in deep, and presses his lips to your ear. “Kill for you? I’d do worse.” Jimin drives his cock deeper. Chasing his own release now, not just yours.

 “For you and Tae, I’d do fucking anything.” 

You squirt around his knot, just a trickle of it as it starts to inflate. He doesn’t stop fucking it back and forth, simple millimeters that tug more squirt from you as it fills you up and tugs at your sensitive entrance.  You wet the red on his stomach with how hard you clench down making it dribble. 

There’s even a splotch of red on his shoulder, milky white and crimson. Both of you are absolutely covered in paint. 

 Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever going to get tired of it as he takes a bit of your slick and presses it to his tongue. My sweet pup. our sweet pup the voice devoted to Tae reminds him in his head. Of course, she deserves the most delectable omega in existence, of course, this sweetness is worth protecting.  

Of course, I’d kill for you.  

It's your taste that drives him over the edge that makes his knot twitch and cum start to fill you up, locked deep inside of you. Your abdomen tightens against his as he cums. You’re so warm and wet, so comfortable as he rocks into you. knot too inflated to yank it out.  

The instinct to breed and claim there as he drags his teeth up the Column of your throat and makes you keen. Your hand buried in his hair, the other resting between his shoulder blades, nails resting against his skin, tired of scratching although you’ve already left your marks on his skin. Up and down his back 

Afterward, it’s comparatively quiet.

He flips you over so that you can rest against his chest. He’s warm and hot underneath you. Warm enough that you don’t feel the cold or lack of covering. Knotted together as close as you can be Jimin lets your sniffles quiet. His fingers paint mindless circles over your lower back as your breathing slows. Pressing kisses against the top of your head, your cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat slow. 

Even though you’re quiet, your mind races. Slowly treading toward dangerous territory. Tae’s voice, the memory of Tae’s words- “Minnie. I don’t think I want you to touch me right now, please just- please don’t”

It’s you who dares to punctuate the quiet. “Did you want to do this because of what happened during Namjoon’s rut?”

“Maybe.”

You lift your head, “Have you and Tae talked about it yet?” Jimin tips his throat up towards the ceiling, the cracked plaster that Yoongi hasn’t yet fixed. Avoiding your gaze. He just ate you out, but he can't look at you when you ask about this.

Jimin’s hand continues its endless circles across your sternum, winding down and down.

“To be honest, I don’t know if we’ll ever talk about it.”

 ~-~

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[kpforpresident]

Good Vibrations AU

Lexa is staring particularly hard at the one penis-shaped water stain in the damp ceiling, trying her absolute hardest not to eavesdrop on the couple that was standing a stone’s throw away, arguing hotly next to a hot pink, two-foot-long dildo that Lexa would hazard a guess at being at least as large around as her forearm. The girl, a tiny petite thing with platinum blonde hair fiddles with a bullet toy on the nearby display while the boy, a walking embodiment of a mountain dew and Cheetos gamer, gestures emphatically at the monstrous toy that dangles by the girl’s shoulder. Lexa can practically feel the toy staring at her with its bulbous head, the massive silicone ball silhouette gleaming softly in the dull fluorescent lighting. 

“Babe, I’m just saying, I think it would fit…”

Lexa bites back a shudder as she fastidiously scrubs away an invisible speck away from the display case that houses a frankly staggering array of lubes, both flavored and plain. 

One more year and I will have enough to pay outright for my master’s degree loans, and I never have to step foot in here again, Lexa finds herself thinking with the fervent hope of a thousand suns as she stares unseeing at a strawberry lube bottle that boasts an eye-wateringly bright green label that promises a “Sweet, Slippery Good Time!” 

“You have no issue with my dick, this isn’t that much bigger-” 

Lexa, fighting every demon known not to let out a cackle at the exasperated look on the blonde girl’s face, ducks her head to chew on her lip before moving from the safety of behind her glass and metal counter. Walking purposefully by the duo, she innocently straightens a lacy thigh-high garter that sits proudly in the slightly-frosted windows, just opaque enough to squeak by the city’s stringent guidelines but transparent enough to barely hint at what lay behind the metallic doors of Good Vibrations, Polis’s self-proclaimed best and largest sex shop. 

Kane, the town’s local eccentric but entirely affable billionaire had opened the shop three years ago must to the abject horror of the local evangelical group, led by the most fervent of the bunch, Charles Pike. 

Kane staunchly maintained that the shop existed to promote sex positivity and awareness in a world increasingly fraught with misinformation or staggering layers of prudish beliefs on the topic of sex education. Seething with barely contained hostility, Pike and his acolytes were ordered to cease their weekly prayer circles outside of the front door as Kane managed to find the largest, glittery, rainbow flag with a bedazzled uterus on it and set it flying proudly outside of their front door. 

Much to everyone and no one’s surprise, Good Vibrations does a rip-roaring trade in sex toys and accessories, with customers ordering online from around the world, business pouring in after young and scrappy student journalist Lexa Woods wrote a piece about the story of the local business for a university writing course. She, of course, had expected it to go no further than the boundaries of the sleep little town of Polis, assuming that many students would read the piece and make a note of the store as a place to stagger into when their sweet new girlfriend texted them that yes, they did really want to use the fluffy pink handcuffs, or no, of course, the vibrator wasn’t necessary and her boyfriend always made her O but the girl just figured it would be fun to try the Satisfyer Pro 2. You know, for science. 

Kane had laughed uproariously and framed it when the New York Times picked it up as an opinion lifestyle piece, hanging it just inside the front door with pride. He then offered young Lexa a job. Desperate to fund her dreams of global journalism and international affairs studies, she seizes the chance to work a flexible job with good pay and weekends off. 

Hence why she was currently furiously chewing her cheek again the onslaught of laughter bubbling up in her throat as Gamer Boy makes a show of jiggling the pink monstrosity of a toy near his own nether regions, minutely hip thrusting in the girl’s direction.

The girl rolls her eyes as she wanders away to examine some kinky position dice, leaving Lexa to contemplate the vast and confusing world of heterosexual encounters.

Her rumination on this topic is cut abruptly short by the cheery little chime of the shop’s front door, a high-pitched noise that automatically has Lexa pivoting away from the couple that is now arguing by a pair of furry, neon green garters, and towards the entrance. 

Only to be completely way-laid out by a wide-eyed blonde barreling towards her at high speed, brandishing something oblong and bright purple in her right fist. Completely nonplussed at this strange girl who was clearly on a mission, Lexa cocks her head and squints at the object in her fist, cursing the fact she forgot her glasses today. 

At least it’s not a weapon, Lexa finds herself thinking as bright blue eyes, sparking with indignation, are moving closer by the second. Hang on, is that—?

Skidding on the recently mopped hardwood in front of Lexa, courtesy of a curious frat boy and an exploded bottle of body glitter, Lexa has approximately 4 seconds to react as the girl slips, cartoon-like, feet flying out from underneath her as she fails to find traction on the glistening floor. 

Lexa, acting on autopilot, thrusts a hand forward to try and catch a flailing limb–

Thud. 

The girl hits the ground so hard the glass dildos rattle menacingly in their cases, Lexa’s teeth along with them. The girl peers up at Lexa dazedly, gaze sharpening and seeming to run the full gamut of human emotion before settling into horror. Both sets of eyes were now fixed on Lexa’s right hand, grasping the only thing she managed to find purchase as the blonde fell. 

A purple vibe fits snugly into her right hand, lights flashing at random as the toy gives a feeble bzzt of protest, seemingly in response to being manhandled in their owner’s fight with gravity. 

A strangled “What the fuck?” roughly 4 octaves higher than normal is all a startled Lexa can get out in response, a very gay part of her brain flashing loud rainbow lights as if to alert her that by some strange twist of fate, she has ended up being personally given this very pretty girl’s personal sex toy. Said toy vibrates feebly twice more before going dark and silent, as if satisfied that its death toll was in Lexa’s confused hand. 

The blond’s head hits the ground for a second time as she rolls her eyes back to face the ceiling, seemingly resigned to her fate. Then, as if animated by the gay sex gods, she pops up again to snatch the toy out of Lexa’s hand. 

“You-” Lexa can barely lean back in time as the purple toy sails within millimeters of her nose- “owe me an orgasm, Woods.”

[bardicbeetle]

Damask, 2005 - vee the vampire

Angelface had walked away to the back room for something—she’s been assuming it’s a storage room of some kind, hasn’t been back there yet as so far she hasn’t needed anything. And thus far being left alone at a well stocked bar before there are even any patrons has been plenty entertaining. Mainly because she doesn’t get to touch anything otherwise, mostly she washes dishes in the bar sink and listens to Angelface chat up patrons all night. It’s not glamorous, but it’s also not being cold on the fucking street.

Notes from this latest foray into digging through the back bottles: Whatever that green label one is tastes fucking awful, like melted licorice. Disgusting. Conversely, there is something down there that reminds her of toasted marshmallows and that’s making up for the awful one.

The next thing she picks up is in such a dark bottle she can’t even see what’s in it. Which isn’t fully abnormal, some of the bottles are frosted or opaque. Rather than dirtying cups she’s taken to putting the little shot spouts on and then giving them a quick rinse afterwards. It’s saved both time and suspicious dishes.

This time is no different, after double checking that she is still—in fact—alone, she tips the bottle up holding the spout a few inches from her open mouth—she had missed the first couple times but the spout is surprisingly consistent no matter what’s in the bottles, and she learned fast—and gags.

It’s thick like some of the creme bases are but—fuck—it’s salty and metallic and the bottle slips out of her hands with the shock of it and shatters on the tile behind the bar.

Sending bright red spraying across the floor and the bottom shelf glasses.

She doesn’t really process it, busy heaving over the sink.

It’s not until she hears the door open and shut at the far end of the room that she looks back at the floor in panic.

So whatever it was sucked, but it was probably expensive and—

—no.

No that was blood.

Something about seeing the way it’s spreading on the floor. The color it turns as it soaks the bottom of her jeans. The taste. When she wipes a hand across her mouth it paints her skin the same way a nosebleed would, and she’s stuck staring at it, feeling very suddenly like she is going to be properly actually sick—what the fuck.

“Cassidy?”

Her gaze snaps back up to Angelface, who has made it all the way to the little half-door blocking the back of the bar before she even noticed he was there. “I—I didn’t—”

“—are you hurt?”

Relief.

He looks more—amused? Than anything else. But there is genuine concern in his tone. She thinks.

“Was that—that was blood—what the fuck is that doing under—”

“—Cassidy.” That word is sharper. She’s still getting used to connecting it to herself. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. Hop up on the bar, I’ll take care of the glass.”

“Answer my question first.”

“Blood is a medical hazard, Cassidy. Get on the bar.”

She plants her feet, the tile slick under her boots, arms crossed. “No. Answer my fucking question.”

Angelface sighs, stepping carefully around shards of glass until he’s close enough to—is she really that small or is he stronger than he looks?—pick her up and set her none too gently onto the bartop. It happens so quickly that she doesn’t really have time to react until it’s already done. “Ridiculous. It’s like you don’t have a goddamn survival instinct at all.”

The reaction he’s having feels so out of place that she’s struggling to find any sort of response. She just watches him start picking up the larger chunks of glass from the floor, listens to the little plopping sounds as blood continues to drip from the bottom shelf.

In the end it takes until he’s fully cleaned the floor and filled the sink with blood spattered glassware for her to speak again.

“Am I fired?”

He gives her a look. It’s the face he makes every time she asks a stupid question.

She’s pretty sure that isn’t a stupid question though, so she repeats herself.

“Am I?”

“No,” He tells her, “you will not be left alone back here again though.”

It startles a laugh out of her.

“So…” She’s still sitting on the bar, the blood on her jeans has dried dark and stiff. “I’m still waiting on an explanation.”

“You’ll be waiting forever, Cassidy.”

“Is it like—sketchy?” She asks, “Like—is there some sort of black market thing going on—are there organs down there too? Is that what you keep in the back room?”

“It is not like—sketchy,” Angelface repeats, faintly mocking and ignoring the latter half of her question. “and it isn’t your concern.”

“I drank blood,” She insists, “that’s concerning.”

“You didn’t drink blood—you spit it in the sink.”

“I swallowed some of it.”

“And?”

“Didn’t you say it was a medical hazard?”

“Would you like me to take you to the hospital?”

She glares at him, and for a moment both are silent. She’s putting it together though. Between his reactions and the rest. Or maybe she’s crazy. That’s also possible.

“We’re only here after dark.” She says finally.

“It’s a night club, Cassidy. We’re only open at night.”

“There’s blood under the bar.”

“There is. You spilt it.”

“It was there before I did that.”

“Is this little train of thought supposed to be impressive?”

“I don’t think you should be able to pick me up that easily.”

He does look mildly offended by that one. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve read books.” She’s treading dangerous waters now. She knows it.

“I should hope so.” He replies, and maybe she’s imagining the slight quirk to his expression, the sour little smile. “Are you going to start making sense any time in the next few sentences?”

“Promise you’ll answer one question?” She asks, voice suddenly very quiet. “Honestly.”

Angelface gives her an appraising sort of look, like he’s weighing a risk. “One question, Cassidy.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He smiles.

It’s sharper than it should be.

It’s almost like he’s suddenly got too many teeth.

“I certainly hope not.”

[rayraygo1267]

A Gabenath Fanfiction: Threads of Warmth

Note: OMG YOU GUYS! I’VE BEEN GONE FOR SO LOOOOONNNGGGG! I’M SO SORRY!

I’ve had a lot of stuff in my personal life going on and I did kinda lose my motivation for a bit but I’m back now. I do not know if I will be posting daily like I used to, but I will still be posting much more frequently. As a way to make it up to all of you I made this little fluffy gabenath one-shot. I hope you all enjoy and again I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long. 😭😭😭

Rated: K

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,674

Summary: Nathalie and Gabriel find themselves both awake in the wee hours of the cold, wintry night and decide to take a midnight stroll. Some minor angst and fluff ensues.

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The frost on the window was pristine and crisp. A fog trailing along the opaque glass, curling in various designs that reflected out to the sparkling puddles of snow from the outside. 

Nathalie Sancoeur exhaled sharply. It was the first snowfall of the season — the sky was a sea of flying diamonds. She had to bite her lip to prevent a burst of laughter at the small childish desire that coursed through her, the desire to go out and wait for flakes of crystallizing snow to fall on the tip of her tongue and dissolve with a flourish. 

A gust of a windchill met her as she popped the latch of the door. Flurries dashed past, causing her eyes to widen in awe. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen snow before but the first remnants of it never failed to leave her mesmerized. 

She walked on the white powder, her silky slippers crunching in the icy mist. The moon was a balm of white light shimmering down on her, making the small icicles hanging from tree ledges and house fronts sparkle and gleam. 

“I didn’t think you’d be one to go out on midnight strolls,” came a soft intone. Nathalie felt a spritz of shock waver through her system, a poignant gasp leaving her lips. She hadn’t thought anyone else was out, much less at this hour. 

A chuckle reverberated, adjacent to the sound of doming bells. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Nathalie paused and upturned her gaze, her expression regal despite the quick patter in her chest. “I figured you’d already be retired for the night sir.” 

Gabriel Agreste sighed, running a hand through his hair, pushing back the black beanie that obscured his head. He wore a pair of tight knit leggings that perfectly aligned with the outline of his hips and a maroon colored turtleneck sweater that climbed up his chest. 

Nathalie pursed her lips, a small pink flush rounding her cheeks. He seemed to be dressed quite appropriately for a winter night promenade; unlike her who only adorned a light nightgown, which although kept her covered was still quite flimsy, as it draped over her bodice, flowing lightly in the rashful breeze. In short, not the best choice of clothing for an icy outing on her part. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I tried to work on some designs to clear my mind but…” he paused, his throat working as he sighed once more, a puff of air fogging out into the wind. He trained his eyes on the snow covered path ahead of them as he spoke his next words. 

“My thoughts get too crowded sometimes, especially at night.” 

Nathalie was aware of this. As much as Gabriel tried to hide it, Nathalie could see through the dark circlets under his eyelids and the container of empty coffee pouches, accompanied by  the kitchen sink full of various drained coffee mugs, that Gabriel rarely, if ever, slept. 

Not that she could blame him, she herself didn’t get much sleep either. Perhaps that was something they shared in common, in the wee hours of the night their hearts would race and thrum due to the constant whispers of their anxieties and misfortunes daunting them. 

“I understand that. Sleep is…well…sleep is just difficult,” Nathalie chuckled lightly, brushing a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear.

Gabriel scoffed ruefully, “yes, well it doesn’t get much easier when all you can think about is the smell of rosemary poppy lotion and light feather skin…” 

Nathalie could hear the lonesomeness anguish in his voice as he spoke. She could practically feel it seething in her bones. 

He always got like that when he spoke of his flower — his Emilie. 

Nathalie felt the sprinkle of dots of snow dropping on the tops of her own skin, causing a sparse gooseflesh, as she reached out and placed her hand on Gabriel's padded shoulder in a supportive embrace. She knew there were not many words out there that anyone could say to soothe the heartache of the loss of a loved one. 

She knew enough of her employer to know that the torch he carried for his dear Emilie was one that could not be extinguished, in fact it only seemed to grow more vibrant — a pipe of gasoline dousing the remains of a nearly burnt out candle. 

Nathalie’s gaze roamed down Gabriel’s body, right from where her hand pressed on his shoulder, their mingled breath was meshed between them in moats. 

“I know this is your first winter without her sir. I know…” she blew out a breath, “I can see that you’re hurting.” 

She speaks with tenderness almost as if she were trying to coax a wounded animal out of a den. Though in this case she might be the wounded animal considering that Gabriel was known to always be ready to pounce. 

She waited, her heart a soft tick like a hummingbird's wings. 

To her astonishment, Gabriel’s eyes seemed to soften, though whatever thoughts he had on her statement he had chosen to keep to himself. 

He turned and headed down the gilded footpath in front of them, his eyes lingered on her, seeming to signify that he wanted her to follow and despite her lack of proper dressing for the occasion, she couldn’t stop herself from allowing him to guide her. 

They walked on in silence for a while. Their surroundings were too vacated in darkness to differentiate in which direction they were headed, but Gabriel appeared as if he knew where he was going, so Nathalie did not feel the need to comment. 

Her eyes studied the treks Gabriel’s long fur-lined boots made in the sleet. The firm imprint that his feet made in the ground was an easy compass for Nathalie to follow. At some longer intervals Gabriel would stop and look back over his shoulder to make sure she was still keeping pace with him. Although she would find herself taking lengthened strides to match his own, he never made out to rush her. He would wait for her until she stood only a few short feet away from him, the heat emanating from his body washing over her. 

Mixed in with the brisk air, the sparkling icicles  and the illuminated moonlight, Gabriel stood out — his golden hair a shining beacon in a world of shadows. He was a tall man with a firm build, easily recognizable. He always held himself in a stoic manner, one pertaining to confidence which was partly why Nathalie could always spot him in a crowd. He was hard to miss. 

Eventually they reached a small secluded grove, shrouded by wistful bare willow trees. From the tips of the elongated branches hang glacier spears that glistened and sparkled. Muffin-like puffs stuck out, covered in mounds of glitter that was snow. These puffs enlightened into bushes during springtime, but for now they were starry abstract shapes that swayed and danced on a pond of frost that Nathalie imagined had been gilded on by the ice skates of many neighbor children in the past, perhaps even Adrien as well. 

Despite the desolate beauty of the landscape before them, this meadow of crystals still had a cold bite. The adrenaline and the flush rounding Nathalie’s cheeks had kept her aboard and heated earlier but now here, in a stalemate with this whimsical winter wonderland her eyes couldn’t help but drift to the warm concealed body next to her. 

“Emilie and I shared our first kiss here, right in the center of that circle of ice.” He lifted his finger, pointing out where he and Emilie had stood. Nathalie’s eyes drifted to where his finger lay. She can imagine it. A young and dumb Emilie pulling a head over heels Gabriel onto the ice. Emilie’s hair would be voluminous, dashing around in the breeze, her eyes a plume of periwinkle. Gabriel would follow her lead, hanging on her every move. 

Nathalie could see vividly in her mind the moment their lips touched, warm and passionate despite the fierce chill surrounding them. Nathalie felt a prick of an unpleasant indescribable feeling strike her, a flurry, like a jab of ice. 

A poignant, feverish shiver ran down her spine, filling her from the inside out. Suddenly the adrenaline pumping her didn’t seem so potent, as it felt as though a mask of icy glaze was overcoming her. The corners of her vision were clogged, perhaps with flakes of snow or perhaps tears, she didn’t know. Even out and fully alert, her tiresome thoughts did not cease. 

“Are you cold?” 

Gabriel’s inquiry pulled Nathalie from her musings. She shrugged, a crimson coating her cheeks. 

Gabriel’s brows creased, “you’re shivering.” 

Nathalie chuckled nervously. “Am I?” 

Gabriel smiled softly, the corners of his mouth perching up. He placed a warm gloved hand on her shoulder. Her body stiffened and stilled.

“You’re not even wearing a proper coat!” 

His voice sounded as a drumbeat — exasperated. 

Nathalie felt the crimson dotting her cheeks begin to slither down her body like an unforgiving snake. 

“Well I didn’t think we’d be walking this far!” She argued, with a furious, maddening flush that didn’t seem to want to disappear. Gabriel chuckled softly to himself, causing Nathalie’s blush to only deepen. 

“Here,” his hands moved to his abdomen, “why don’t you take my sweater?” 

Nathalie’s brows raised to her hairline. 

“Sir—“ 

She couldn’t even muster another word, before the maroon velvety sweater was sliding off Gabriel’s body. The heated flush consuming her insides was like a replant to the bitter cold. She imagined her skin was as red and bright as the steaming star of mars. Then it was in a flash of a second. Everything seemed to move at the speed of light and then abruptly slow like a hockey puck sliding on withered ice. 

Underneath his sweater, shining out against the droplets of snow was Gabriel Agreste’s chest, though not completely bare due to his clear white undershirt, the contours and flexes of his chest were clearly, unmistakably visible. 

A puff of air that appeared as smoke escaped Nathalie’s lips in a plume as her mouth fell agape.

“I…” she somehow mustered out, though her throat was croaky as full of rasp from her shock. 

“Here Nathalie. Please, I insist,” his hand was outstretched, his arm as light and pale as the balming moon. His bare, naked arm. Nathalie’s breathing shaked, the warm puffs of it in the air quivering like notes rising up a music staff. 

Her fingers twitched and grappled at the texture of the cotton sweater. Her eyes darted down to it. It was long and slim and smelled of cologne and of newly dried laundry. 

Her gaze traveled back up to the eyes of her superior. His steely bluish gray eyes were misty and soft — kind. Nathalie felt as though she were deflating like a balloon. 

“Are you sure about this sir? I don’t want to be of any trouble…” she gulped, her throat closing for a brief pause. “Won’t you be cold sir? That…” she cleared her throat with a forceful swallow, “that is a very light shirt you are wearing.” 

Her rambling ceased though when she felt a gentle squeeze on her fingers. 

“Please Nathalie.” His tone was fierce and sincere however churned with a slight undertone of sternness. 

And yet with the way his eyes were pleading with her and how his grip on her hand did not loosen in the slightest, she could not bring herself to deny him. 

“Yes sir.” 

She didn’t allow herself to think, as she threw the sweater over her head, permitting it to mold with the shape of her torso. Though she should have because her senses were suddenly overwhelmed by a potpourri of stimulants. The cologne and musky scent of Gabriel’s sweat filled her nose along with the cloud of fuzzy warmth that soothed the goosebumps and trembles racking her body. The fringe of the turtleneck coursed around her neck and the fabric clung to her body, complimenting her curves. 

She felt as though she were wrapped in a warm comforting shield that would hold her up so she wouldn’t be blown away from the winter weather wind. 

Her eyes found Gabriel’s again. He stared at her a moment, his lips parted as if he were about to speak but couldn’t get the words out. 

He eventually closed his mouth, choosing not to comment at all. 

“Thank you sir.” Nathalie murmured, not knowing what else to say for this moment seemed so oddly intimate and yet so oddly fragile — a bubble that could pop at any moment. 

After another pregnant pause Gabriel finally spoke, though his voice was in a hush as if he were trying to whisper a secret. 

“Emilie gave me that…it was the first thing she ever gave me.” His fingers played with the lower  hem of the turtleneck, turning Nathalie’s heartbeat from soft pitter-patters to blazing gunshots. 

A sound of surprise and awe left her throat. Suddenly it felt a lot harder to accept this gesture. Gabriel didn’t seem to notice her unease. 

“I had stopped wearing it,” he admitted with a withered, grief stricken sigh. “In fact, I couldn’t  even bear to look at it…it hurt too much.” 

A gust of air left his lungs, a confession finally free from his conscience. 

Nathalie nodded in understanding, her gaze never leaving his. As he spoke she didn’t comment on how she could feel him guiding her forward. She didn’t comment as her feet turned to crystals when they met the ice. She didn’t comment as she felt herself sliding forward into a moonlit abyss. 

Suddenly they were standing in the center of the frozen over pond. 

Right where Gabriel and Emilie had once stood, hand to hand, mouth to mouth. 

Gabriel’s hushed voice returned, the only sound reaching Nathalie’s ears. 

“And then I think to myself…perhaps this sweater that holds so many memories and so much happiness and heartache deserves a new beginning. I am a man of my roots, a fashion designer at heart and I think…” he exhaled slowly, a plume of smoke arising from his mouth. “I think this sweater, fueled with the stitches and threads of Emilie and my love, deserves a new home.” 

Nathalie’s eyes widened, her glasses fogging with her breath and the watery glaze covering her irises. Her heart rate doubled when she fully managed to comprehend his words. 

“You want me to keep it sir?” She murmured, overwhelmed, confused and slightly unsure. 

Gabriel did not hesitate with even a breath on his response. He lowered his head, looking down upon her. His hand found its way around the side of her moisture covered and frost coated cheek.  His hand was warm yet cool at the same time — cold with a warm interior, just like Gabriel Agreste himself. 

He pushed back an errant strand of the scarlet streak in her hair, curling it back behind her ear. 

“Yes…” he breathed, his puffs of breath mingling with her own. 

Could this really be happening? Were they really this close, mere inches apart? 

The warmth of Gabriel’s hand and the comfort of his sweater took everything surrounding them away. Was this how Gabriel and Emilie felt when they were here at this pond? Nathalie pondered. Like they were at the center of this rink and even if they were to fall through and sink to the bottom it wouldn’t matter because they were all that mattered? 

Did that even make sense? 

Did any of this make sense? 

Nathalie decided that didn’t matter. All that mattered was this, her and Gabriel were at the center of this pond, breaths away from each other, surrounded by diamond filled weeping willows. 

It didn’t matter if Gabriel walked off now, even though Nathalie knew he wouldn’t. 

It didn’t matter because she knew his gift — this sweater — concealed with so much history of love and loss would keep her warm. 

Gabriel’s threads of warmth would keep her warm always.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think, I love feedback. Also if y'all have any fanfic requests let me know and I'll get to them as soon as I can! Again I want to apologize for my absence and I hope this little fic will be a good way to make up for it.

[interiordecorationideas]

12 Amazing Wooden Door Designs For Your Home

When you are designing the interior of your home, give some thought to the design of the doors. Doors are primarily a functional element of your home, as they provide much-needed security and privacy from the outside world. The design of doors is also important, as it can add to the aesthetic appeal and enhance your decor statement. We've rounded up the best wooden door designs to give you decor inspiration.

Front doors add character and style to the outside of your home and create the first impression of your home for visitors. They should be in keeping with the architectural elements of your building. Is it classical or contemporary? Would a natural framed door look good, or should it be painted to match the other design elements?

Are you aware of the difference between the wood used to make doors and furniture? If not, this guide will help you make the right choice between different types of wood before investing in furniture and decorative items, crafts, and handicrafts to decorate homes.

Ideas to incorporate beautiful Wooden Door Design in Your Home

1. Contemporary Teak wood Door

Here's a contemporary door in teak wood with a vertical glass insert that allows you to see who your visitors are before you even open the door. You can take, help best interior designers in Noida so they can guide you through this process.

2. Three Side Glass Panelled Wooden Door

This lovely entry door makes a grand statement and is surrounded on three sides by glass panels which add a lovely aesthetic.

3. Teak Wood Rectangular Panel doors with Mirror

Rectangular panels in polished teak wood emphasize this country home's rustic plaster façade, while tall glass panels on one side add functionality.

4. Rosewood Door

This fine rosewood door is embellished with cornice detailing and includes white panels to add visual appeal.

5. Ornamental Wrought Iron Doors

Gorgeous decorative wrought iron sets distinguish the panelling in this mahogany front door that blends in perfectly with the home's exposed brick façade.

6. Minimalist White Wooden Door

Elegant in white, this charming front door is detailed with molded panels that are simple and clean. The side window, even in white, gives a glimpse of the visitors.

7. Functional and Aesthetic Balcony Doors

Balcony doors are the transition between the inside and outside of your home. Large glass French windows can open the view and allow a seamless view of your garden. If you need privacy, use frosted or opaque glass that will still let in light.

Related blog: 15 DIY Vertical Garden Ideas in Budget

8. Glass Bathroom Doors

We love opening these all-glass bathroom doors to a private balcony. The dark wood frame is sleek and minimalist.

Related blog: 15 Bathroom Decorating Ideas on Budget for 2024

9. Wooden Doors with Glass for a Glimpse of The Outdoors

Glass adds a touch of contemporary style to any design and can make heavy doors look visually lighter. Strategically placed glass panels can allow sunlight to flow through during the day, bringing freshness and happiness to your home.

Related blog: How to Build a Gravel Patio: DIY 9 Steps

10. Get Twice the Style with Double Doors

If you have the space, open your areas with more eloquence. Double Door Twice adds elegance and makes a grand statement.

If you want to keep one side short and use only one side as an entry door, the overall width of your double door should be at least 6 feet.

Double doors look better in homes with high ceilings, as the design proportions work better in larger spaces.

Related blog: Types of False Ceiling Lights: Complete Guide

11. Sliding Doors That Are Sleek and Functional

Sliding doors allow you to create privacy when needed in open-plan homes. There are different types of sliding doors, including doors that completely disappear into the wall on either side. There are some sliding low folding doors that stack on the sides of the opening. Sliding doors come with single track (or top hung), and double track fittings.

12. Glass Panelled Doors

This glass-panelled wooden door slides in on both sides as well as is surrounded by glass above, allowing expansive views of the interior.

[seradae]

A Room With A View (Part 1) [FF] [TF] [petplay] [bunnyplay] [breeding] [mdlg]

For months, I could tell you were growing depressed. While I worked from home, you lacked engagement during the day; I sometimes wouldn't see you for many hours at a time and bunnies need enrichment. And so I hatched a plan. I cleared out the room next to my office and then got in touch with some ... speciality contractors.

A few short weeks later, it was ready to go. I sent you a message and told you to come to my office after you stripped down except for your bunny tail plug, white ankle socks, and white leather collar. You knocked on the door and I smiled as you entered. "Hey bunny! I have a surprise for you," I beamed and gave you a kiss.

"Do I finally get to peek behind the curtain, mommy?" I nodded and gestured to the sheet covering much of the wall. You grabbed it and pulled it down gently, exposing a giant, opaque glass wall. "Woah, that's so pretty! I love frosted glass," you said, running your hand over it.

I grinned and pressed a button on my desk. You jumped back in surprise as the glass turned from opaque to fully transparent. "Wha-", you started to say, then your breath caught in your throat as you saw what laid behind the glass. Half the room was a custom cage filled with soft places to lay, toys, and more. The other half included a princess castle, bookshelves filled with your favorites, a cute computer nook, and a loft covered in stuffies.

"I wanted you to have a space just for you, but where I could peek in on you and occasionally join in the fun. I hope you love it, bun," I explained, kissing you on the forehead. I opened the door between the rooms and led you inside.

"Are you kidding? It's perfect," you exclaimed, taking it all in. "There's so much to do in here. I love it so much, thank you mommy!" You gave me a kiss and then started exploring the room.

"Wave to the cameras," I said as I gestured around the room. "I'm likely going to keep the glass opaque most of the time so I don't get distracted, but I'll have multiple views of everything you do in here." I then led you into the cage and showed you the lock -- that you controlled locking and I controlled the unlock, with an emergency release in case -- and then showed you a special little section.

I flipped down a panel on the cage and told you to back up against it. I put one hand through the cage and wrapped it gently around your neck, then the other ran down to your tail plug and your little bunny hole. "When I get distracted during the day, I'll be able to take you here. You won't need to leave your cage at all." With that, I slid a finger deep into you, eliciting a moan. "Aww, it feels like my little bunny girl likes that idea."

"Mmhmm," you moaned as you pushed further against the bars. I pulled my finger out and you whimpered, "no fair." But your complaints ended as I slid my girlcock deep inside you. I could feel the heat coming off you as you milked me like a good bunny should.

I held onto your throat and one of the bars as I fucked you hard and fast, using my little toy like she's intended. It didn't take long before I was filling you up with my cum -- I had been edging for an hour to prepare for this. You moaned as I exploded inside you, then whimpered when I pulled out and let go of you. "Do you want to cum, bun?"

"Please mommy," you whimpered again, turning around to face me. I kissed you between the bars and then pointed to the other side of the cage.

A dildo was sticking out of the wall, on a metal rod. Below it was a plush velvet bench. "You know what to do, bun." You got onto the bench and slid back onto the dildo, moaning as it filled you up. "Feel around on your right side," I instructed and you quickly found a knob. You twisted it and the machine came to life. The dildo took over where I had stopped, slowly fucking deep into you.

"Such a good little bun for your mommy, aren't you? That's right; let it fuck my cum deeper into you." Even at this low speed, it didn't take long before you began to cum for me. I pulled out my phone and turned a dial, causing the machine to fuck you even faster. "I have final control over the speed, by the way," I added with a chuckle as you writhed on the silicone cock.

After the second orgasm, I slowed the machine and then stopped it. You laid on the bench in a daze while I watched you recover when you finally mumbled, "I think I like this room, mommy."

I chuckled again and reached into the cage to take your hand. "Me too, bunny. And there's still much more to see, and much more of you to do."

[lyncotek]

Introduction to Glass Privacy Films In today’s modern world, privacy holds significant importance in both residential and commercial environments. Yet, striking a balance between privacy, natural light, and aesthetic allure poses a challenge. This is precisely where the versatility of glass privacy films shines through, providing a pragmatic remedy to bolster privacy without sacrificing style.

Understanding the Need for Privacy

Why Privacy Matters Privacy is essential for creating a comfortable and secure environment, whether at home, in the workplace, or in public settings. It promotes a sense of well-being and helps individuals maintain boundaries.

Traditional Privacy Measures Privacy concerns have traditionally been addressed using curtains, blinds, or frosted glass. While effective to some extent, these methods often come with limitations such as blocking natural light or detracting from the overall design aesthetic.

Drawbacks of Traditional Methods Curtains and blinds can accumulate dust and require frequent cleaning, while frosted glass may not offer sufficient privacy or design flexibility. Moreover, these traditional methods may obstruct views and limit the feeling of openness within a space.

What are Glass Privacy Films? Thin, adhesive films known as glass privacy films can be applied to windows, doors, or glass partitions to enhance privacy and control light transmission. Available in various designs, ranging from frosted to decorative patterns, functionality and aesthetic appeal are offered by these films.

Definition and Functionality Glass privacy films work by obscuring the view from outside while allowing light to pass through, thereby maintaining privacy without sacrificing natural light. They are typically made of polyester or vinyl material and can be easily installed on existing glass surfaces.

Types of Glass Privacy Films There are different types of glass privacy films available, including frosted films, tinted films, and decorative films. Frosted films create a translucent appearance, while tinted films reduce glare and UV exposure. Decorative films offer a wide range of patterns and designs to complement various interior styles.

The Benefits of Glass Privacy Films Glass privacy films offer several advantages compared to traditional privacy measures:

Enhanced Privacy Glass privacy films provide a high level of privacy without completely blocking out natural light. They obscure the view from outside while allowing individuals inside to see out, creating a sense of security without feeling closed off.

Versatility in Design Unlike traditional curtains or blinds, glass privacy films come in a variety of designs and patterns to suit different preferences and interior styles. Whether you prefer a minimalist frosted finish or a decorative motif, there is a glass privacy film to complement your aesthetic vision.

Natural Light Retention One of the key benefits of glass privacy films is their ability to maintain natural light levels within a space. Unlike opaque window coverings that block light, these films allow sunlight to filter through, brightening up the interior and reducing the need for artificial lighting during the day.

UV Protection Many glass privacy films offer UV protection, helping to block harmful UV rays that can cause furniture and flooring to fade over time. By reducing UV exposure, these films help preserve interior furnishings and prolong their lifespan.

Energy Efficiency By reducing glare and heat gain, glass privacy films can contribute to improved energy efficiency in both residential and commercial buildings. They help regulate indoor temperatures, reducing the need for air conditioning and lowering energy costs.

Applications of Glass Privacy Films Glass privacy films have a wide range of applications across various settings: Residential Use In residential settings, glass privacy films can be used in bathrooms, bedrooms, and living areas to enhance privacy without sacrificing natural light. They are also popular for glass doors and windows in entryways and staircases.

Commercial Use In commercial buildings, glass privacy films are frequently employed in office spaces, conference rooms, and reception areas to establish private meeting spaces without necessitating permanent walls or partitions. Additionally, in retail stores, they can be utilized to enhance store displays while ensuring privacy for employees and customers.

Healthcare Facilities Glass privacy films are ideal for healthcare facilities such as hospitals and clinics, where patient privacy is of utmost importance. They can be applied to windows in patient rooms, waiting areas, and treatment rooms to create a calming environment while ensuring confidentiality.

Factors to Consider When Choosing Glass Privacy Films When selecting glass privacy films for your space, consider the following factors: Transparency Levels Glass privacy films come in various transparency levels, ranging from fully opaque to semi-transparent. Choose a film that provides the desired level of privacy while still allowing sufficient light transmission.

Design and Aesthetics Consider the design and aesthetic appeal of the film, as it will impact the overall look and feel of your space. Whether you prefer a sleek, modern finish or a decorative pattern, there are options available to suit your style.

Installation Process Look for glass privacy films that are easy to install and can be applied without the need for professional assistance. Some films come with self-adhesive backing for hassle-free installation on windows and glass surfaces.

Maintenance Requirements Consider the maintenance requirements of the film, including cleaning and durability. Choose a film that is easy to clean and resistant to scratches and fading for long-lasting performance.

Cost-effectiveness of Glass Privacy Films Glass privacy films offer several cost-effective benefits compared to traditional privacy methods:

Comparison with Traditional Methods Compared to curtains, blinds, or frosted glass, glass privacy films are often more cost-effective to purchase and install. They require minimal maintenance and have a longer lifespan, reducing the need for frequent replacements.

Long-term Savings By enhancing energy efficiency and protecting interior furnishings from UV damage, glass privacy films can result in long-term cost savings. They help reduce energy bills and prolong the lifespan of furniture, flooring, and other interior elements.

Case Studies and Success Stories Real-life examples and customer testimonials showcase the effectiveness of glass privacy films in various applications:

Real-life Examples Case studies demonstrate how glass privacy films have been successfully implemented in residential, commercial, and institutional settings to enhance privacy and aesthetics.

Customer Testimonials Satisfied customers share their experiences with glass privacy films, highlighting the benefits of improved privacy, natural light retention, and energy savings.

DIY vs. Professional Installation When it comes to installing glass privacy films, consider the following:

Pros and Cons DIY installation offers cost savings and flexibility, but professional installation ensures proper alignment and durability. Consider your skill level and the complexity of the project before deciding.

Recommendations For larger or more complex installations, such as commercial buildings or multi-story residences, professional installation is recommended to ensure optimal results and longevity.

Common Misconceptions about Glass Privacy Films Addressing misconceptions and concerns about glass privacy films:

Addressing Concerns Some people may worry that glass privacy films will make their space feel closed off or reduce natural light. However, modern films are designed to maintain a sense of openness while providing privacy and UV protection.

Debunking Myths Myths about the durability, maintenance, and effectiveness of glass privacy films are debunked, highlighting the practical benefits and versatility of these products.

Tips for Maximizing the Benefits To maximize the benefits of glass privacy films, follow these tips:

Proper Maintenance Regularly clean and maintain your glass privacy films to ensure optimal performance and longevity. Use mild soap and water to remove dirt and debris, and avoid abrasive cleaners that could scratch the surface.

Upgrading Existing Installations Consider upgrading existing glass surfaces with privacy films to enhance privacy, improve energy efficiency, and update the aesthetic appeal of your space.

Future Trends in Glass Privacy Films Looking ahead, advancements in technology and sustainability will shape the future of glass privacy films: Technological Advancements Innovations such as smart films and dynamic tinting will offer enhanced functionality and control over privacy and light transmission.

Sustainable Options As environmental awareness grows, there will be a greater demand for eco-friendly glass privacy films made from recycled materials and utilizing energy-efficient manufacturing processes.

Conclusion Glass privacy films offer a versatile and cost-effective solution for enhancing privacy without compromising style. From residential to commercial applications, these films provide benefits such as enhanced privacy, natural light retention, and energy efficiency. With a wide range of designs and installation options available, glass privacy films are a practical choice for modern living and working spaces.

FAQs Are glass privacy films easy to install? Yes, many glass privacy films come with self-adhesive backing for easy DIY installation on windows and glass surfaces.

Do glass privacy films block natural light? No, glass privacy films maintain natural light levels while enhancing privacy by obscuring the view from outside.

Can glass privacy films be removed without damaging the glass? Yes, most glass privacy films can be removed without leaving residue or damaging the underlying glass surface.

Are glass privacy films suitable for commercial use? Yes, glass privacy films are commonly used in commercial buildings such as offices, retail stores, and healthcare facilities to create private spaces without permanent partitions.

Do glass privacy films provide UV protection? Yes, many glass privacy films offer UV protection to help reduce fading and damage to interior furnishings caused by harmful UV rays.

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[catierambles]

Public Relations Ch.1

Pairing: Clark Kent/Superman x Charlotte Danvers (OFC)

WC 2147

Warnings: Eh, none?

lemme know if you want to be tagged

Charlotte walked towards her office, sunglasses on her face and a travel mug of mint tea in her hand to try to combat slight nausea she still had from the last rough couple of days. It had either been a bug or something she had eaten because she hadn’t been able to keep anything down and had had to work from home, rescheduling all meetings as she had had to not stray far from the bathroom. Her stomach was still sore from the constant vomiting, but the light breakfast had stayed down so far and the mint tea was helping.

“Good morning, Charlie.” Her personal and executive assistant said as she approached her office and she gave her a tired smile. “How’re you feeling, ma’am?”

“Ugh.” She grunted and Melissa cooed in sympathy, following her into her office. “What’s on the docket for today?” She asked as she sat down behind her desk heavily, leaning back in the plush chair.

“I kept it light for you today, figuring you were still recovering, but Mr. Rogers asked to speak to you the moment you came in.” Melissa said.

“You’re an angel, Mel, thank you.” Charlotte said, “And you can tell Peter that he can swing by at his leisure.”

“Will do, ma’am.” She said, “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“A new digestive tract would be perfect if you can swing it.” Charlotte said and Melissa snorted.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She said with a soft laugh.

“That’ll be all, Melissa, thank you.” Charlotte said and Melissa nodded, leaving the office and letting the glass door swing closed behind her. Charlotte turned on her computer, waiting for it to come to life with a sigh, leaning back in her chair again. There was a knock at the door and she sat up, slipping off her sunglasses and waving the person in. “Morning, Peter.”

“Good morning, Charlotte.” He looked nervous, which was odd, but whatever. “How’re you…how’re you feeling?”

“Better than I have the last couple of days.” Charlotte said and reached over, grabbing the remote on her desk and pressing a button, the glass door and outward wall of her office frosting over and becoming opaque. “What’s up?” She asked, looking at him fondly. They had been “seeing” each other for the last six months or so, keeping it as private as possible as Peter was married. A severe lack of good moral judgment on her part, she’s aware.

“Can we talk somewhere else in private?” He asked and she gave him a curious look. “Up on the roof maybe? I need some air.”

“Yeah, of course.” Charlotte said and got up from her desk, leading the way to her own roof access door with its helicopter pad. Not a lengthy journey, as her office was on the top floor anyway. The wind was brisk as they stepped out onto the roof and she shivered slightly, pulling her suit coat around her a bit tighter. “What’s up?”

“You were out the last couple days.” Peter said and she nodded.

“Stomach bug.” She said simply, “It’s why I didn’t give you my usual greeting. You do not want what I had, trust me.” He didn’t laugh and her confusion grew. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure it was just a stomach bug?” He asked and she nodded. “You sure it wasn’t anything else?”

“I didn’t eat anything suspect that I’m aware, so it wasn’t food poisoning, at least I’m pretty sure it--”

“Are you pregnant, Charlotte?” He asked, somewhat aggressively, and she blinked at him in surprise.

“No, Peter, I’m not pregnant.” She said.

“Did you take a test?”

“There was no need to and I couldn’t exactly leave my house in my state.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Peter said, running his fingers through his short blonde hair and starting to pace slightly. “Damnit, what was I thinking? How could you let this happen?”

“Peter, I didn’t exactly seduce you.” Charlotte said, “You pursued me, remember?”

“Yes, yes and I’m married, Charlotte.” Peter said, “And now you’re--”

“I’m not pregnant, it was just the stomach flu.” Charlotte said, cutting off that train of thought before it left the station, “Over now.”

“But how do you know?” She hadn’t realized he had been advancing on her until she backed into the short wall encircling the roof.

“Peter, listen to me.” She said, laying her hands on his chest gently. “Listen to me. I’m not pregnant. It was normal sickness, not morning sickness, but if it freaked you out this badly then maybe we should call it quits. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He said, taking her hands in his, “Everything is going to be all right. I’m going to make everything all right.”

“See? That wasn’t so difficult, was--” He shoved her, hard, pushing her over the side wall and the ground tilted out from underneath her feet. She had the insane, irrational, thought that maybe there needed to be a protective railing added before reality crashed in and she tipped over the side with a shout.

The wind whipped in her ears, vertigo making her head spin and she was falling, falling so fast. Looking over her shoulder, the ground was approaching rapidly and she closed her eyes.

An impact made the air rush from her lungs, but not the one she was expecting, and she stopped falling. The sound of fabric in the breeze was the first thing she heard and she opened her eyes, looking around and seeing herself floating in mid-air, a pair of very strong arms holding her in a Princess carry.

“Are you okay?” She heard and looked up at the voice, meeting a pair of the most brilliant blue eyes she had ever seen.

“I--”

“What am I saying?” He asked himself, “You were just falling from a building, of course, you’re not. Let’s get you to solid ground.” They started descending gently and she closed her eyes again, burying her face in his neck and not opening them until his feet met the pavement. “Solid ground.” He said and she found her footing as he set her down.

“Ms. Danvers!” She heard and looked, seeing the head of security running from the building. “Are you okay?! We saw everything on the security cameras on the roof!”

“How did you fall?” Her rescuer asked and she looked up at him.

“I--I was pushed.” She said dimly and shook herself out of it, turning to the head of security. “Find Peter Rogers immediately. He can’t have left the building yet and call the police now.”

“Yes, Ms. Danvers.” He said and turned to the man still standing next to her. “Superman, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Yes,” She said, turning to him, “Thank you, if you hadn’t…I would’ve…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He said, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder lightly. “I was just in the right place at the right time.” The gravity of the situation caved in on her and she started shaking, hot tears rolling down her face. “Whoa! Hey! You’re okay now! You’re okay!” She was pulled against a warm chest, the fabric of his suit smooth under her cheek and she could feel his hand at the back of her head, holding her to him as he whispered comfort words soothingly. Charlotte knew the sight was drawing a crowd, but she didn’t care, couldn’t mentally process that along with everything else. “Do you…” He pulled away only so much to look down at her, holding the side of her jaw. “Do you want me to stay with you until the cops get here?” She only managed a numb nod and he gave her a nod in return, smiling at her gently.

They sat in her office until the police arrived, the head of security dragging Peter into the room by the collar. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, no matter how hard she stared at him. Statements were taken and the security footage was brought up on her computer. Peter tried to make a run for it when they saw him push her off the roof, but Superman reached out without looking, grabbing the back of his collar and pulling him back, keeping him put with a hand around the back of his neck. Between the statements and the footage, it was completely clear what had happened and Peter was summarily arrested and escorted from the building in handcuffs.

“Well,” Charlotte said once they were gone, “I think I’m going to call it an early day.”

“Probably a good idea.” Superman said, “You went through a lot today, no one would blame you for taking it easy.”

“Thank you again.” She said, “If you need anything, anything at all, by all means, reach out and it’s yours. No questions asked.”

“Thank you, that’s very generous.” Superman said, “But that won’t be necessary.”

“Nothing wrong with someone owing you a favor.” Charlotte said, “Just keep it in mind.”

“I will, thank you.” He said and there was a moment of silence.

“Hug for the road?” She asked and he smiled, giving a quiet laugh and crossing the room, pulling her into his arms. She actually returned the embrace this time, her arms encircling his trim waist as he laid his cheek against the top of her head. “Okay, you smell really good.” She said as she pulled away and he snorted, running his fingers through his dark hair as a small, adorable, blush tinted his cheeks.

“I should get going.” He said and she nodded.

“The window swings open if you want a shortcut.” She said with a smile and he snorted again in amusement, shaking his head.

“I was going to use the door, but thank you.”

“Thought I’d offer.” She said and went over to her desk, pressing a button on her phone. “Melissa, please cancel or reschedule the rest of my day. I’m going home.”

“Yes, Charlie, I’ll have the car come around out front. Get some rest.”

“Your assistant calls you Charlie?” Superman asked and she shrugged.

“I insist that everyone who works directly under me not be so formal about it.” She said, “Walk you out?”

“Sure.” He said and they left her office, Melissa wishing her a good day again as she went past. Charlotte knew they were getting looks and whispers as they went through the building. Then again, he wasn’t exactly stealthy with his skintight suit and a billowing cape.

“Oh, hell.” She said, her steps faltering as they went through the lobby and he looked, seeing the news crews outside.

“That didn’t take long.” Superman said and she sighed, slipping her sunglasses back on. The questions and flashes from cameras started immediately as he pushed the door open, holding it open for her to pass by him before following her out. He watched her as she navigated the crush of people, her head held high and her shoulders squared, a small smile pulling at his lips at her show of strength and confidence. Most of the questions were directed at her, but quite a few more were directed at him, microphones and cameras shoved in their faces. She suddenly gave out a piercing whistle through her teeth and everyone fell silent, Superman looking at her in shock and amusement.

“I’m aware,” She started, “That you all have jobs to do. However, this will not be a free for all. If you would like to arrange for an interview on what happened, please go through the formal channels. My Public Relations office will be more than happy to accommodate you based on priority.” He gave a quiet cough into his fist next to her and she spared him a glance, rolling her eyes with a smile. “And, for the love of god, leave Superman alone. He’s got enough to deal with. Thank you, now shoo!” She swatted harmlessly at the few persistent reporters as they made their way through the crowd and he stood by her as he opened the door of a sleek black sedan with a uniformed driver standing outside of it. “Thank you again.”

“No problem at all, Ms. Danvers.”

“My good Sir, you saved my life. It’s Charlotte or Charlie to you.” She said and he nodded with a smile.

“Okay, Charlie.” He said and she reached out, squeezing his arm gently.

“Dear lord you’re like spun steel.” She said it in a way that made him laugh, smiling wide at her and getting a smile in return, still aware that they were being observed. “Have a nice day.”

“You as well, Charlie, get some rest.” He closed the door after she got in and watched the car pull away, following it down the street with his eyes before bending at the knees slightly and taking off into the sky.

[ineffable-kelpie]

Privacy

Rating: G

Wordcount: 623

Prompt: Really long hug

Characters: Aziraphale

A sequel to The Teddy Bear, one of my ficlets for the last hugfest challenge.

-

There was no privacy in Heaven. That tended to happen when you didn’t have walls. That was, admittedly, part of the point: if angels had no privacy, they wouldn’t dare to step a toe out of line, just in case they were being watched. But it was exhausting, walking from meeting to meeting and maintaining professionality all day, never having a moment to oneself. Aziraphale couldn’t be the only one who needed a break.

The archangels were perplexed when he suggested adding some rooms to Heaven. Not too many rooms, of course—not so many that angels would start to feel entitled to privacy whenever they wanted. That would be far too big a change this early into Aziraphale’s tenure as Supreme Archangel. Just a few soundproof rooms, available for reservation, to get the ball rolling.

“Could they be glass rooms?” Uriel asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”

“Er…Frosted glass?” Michael ventured, in a tone which suggested that she wasn’t thrilled with the compromise.

“Solid, opaque walls only,” said Aziraphale. “Including the door.”

“I don’t understand,” Sandalphon complained in his nasally voice. “What would be the point?”

Aziraphale plastered on his usual tight smile. “Well, as an example, suppose I made a decision that you were particularly unhappy with. If you booked one of these rooms, you could shut yourself inside and scream as much as you wanted, and neither I nor anyone else would know.”

The archangels’ confusion turned to interest. They agreed to Aziraphale’s proposal with barely any changes. Aziraphale probably ought to be insulted that his tactic had worked so well, but he could only find it in his heart to be relieved.

Once the rooms were created, Aziraphale set a recurring weekly reservation in his calendar. Once a week, for one hour, he would go into one of the rooms and lock the door. There, safe from prying eyes, he would allow himself a few deep breaths, and then reach into an extradimensional pocket of his coat to pull out a particular soft, well-worn teddy bear.

The bear had arrived in a box brought by Muriel, along with a few things from the bookshop that Aziraphale had asked them to send. He had not asked for the bear. When he asked about it in a whisper, Muriel just frowned blankly and pointed out that the box was much to small to fit a bear inside, and why would they bring a dangerous animal into Heaven to begin with? Aziraphale did not ask any further questions.

He kept the bear hidden in his coat at all times, so that nobody else would ever find it. The last thing he needed was for word to spread that the Supreme Archangel kept a teddy bear. It had been hard enough convincing them that he was anything more than a soft-willed hedonist. If they found out he kept a material object for comfort—a child’s toy, no less—he would be laughed out of his office all the way down to Earth.

He only brought the bear out in that soundproof room, when he knew nobody was watching. And then, for the duration of the hour he had booked, he would squeeze the bear to his chest as hard as he could, so hard that his body trembled. There, with only the bear and God to witness it, he let himself fall apart. It was all that got him through each week without shattering, the only soft and comfortable thing in the cold, white, empty expanse of Heaven.

He would have given up the bear—he would have traded nearly anything—just to have one person in all of Heaven who would hug him back.

[jujulebee]

The coordinates for the party land on the porch of a cozy looking home somewhere near Koreatown in California. For the sake of safety, and not causing a scene when someone demonic looking or, you know, a literal spider shows up, a tented walkway has been set up to the front door. The dark fabric is an opaque purple, lights strung up along the ceiling of the tent to light the night air and lead up to a white door that’s obviously seen some wear and tear, the faint sound of a chill playlist just beyond. 

Stepping inside is… kind of wild, really. 

The house is laid out quite spaciously, with the kitchen just to the left of the entrance with an open view into the large living room. Fabrics of different hues and textures line the walls, ranging from a tropical blue, to a deep violet, to a stunning fuschia, to a lovely shade of pink as it wraps around the massive space. The fabric ranges from a heavy, soft velvet to a sheer, sparkling tulle, some having hand stitched patterns that resemble waves, others with shiny, reflective stars, and others still with delicate flowers sewn on. 

String lights of different shades of pink, purples, blues and whites run along the walls, some behind the fabric that’s been set up to give off a more ethereal glow. The majority of the light for the room comes from standing lamps that have been set up to give off that classic Bi-Lighting™, further exemplifying the color scheme. The living room floor has been mostly cleared, with only the couches against the walls and coffee tables to match, a large heart-shaped rug in hot pink, and a slim TV mounted on the wall—currently displaying a YouTube playlist. 

The couches themselves are set up in the corners of the living room, soft black fabric mostly hidden beneath a plethora of various pillows, several of which are shaped like stars or hearts, all made of different fabrics, delightfully soft and pettable. Most obviously eye-catching among these pillows is a large, bright pink plush shark wearing a flower crown of red, blue and pink roses. These roses are seen throughout the room in various places, bouquets set up along the walls and on various surfaces.

The ceiling must be enchanted, since the deep purple of space twinkles with so many stars that ever so subtly move, like stargazing under a clear sky. 

The kitchen has been completely cleared of any electronics, all available counter space lined instead with a frankly silly number of cupcakes, as well as two options for vegetarian meals. There are four sets of cupcakes, one pink with a chocolate shark set into the frosting, one a deep purple with golden sprinkles and topped with a chocolate feather, one purple fading to white with silver sprinkles and a chocolate crystal, and one with a mix of different blues and purples. At the center, framed with a set of cupcakes is a beautiful, multi-tiered cake, the top decorated with delicate sugar roses and chocolate foliage. 

The door at the far side of the living room has a sign taped up letting people know it’s off limits. To the right of the living room is a hall that leads to a few labeled doors, “Bathroom” and “Quiet Space”. Likewise, to the left of the living room is a door that’s labeled, “Dolls’ Room/Quiet Space”. 

As far as people go, there are five already present. Lounging on the couches are a long-limbed, skater girl with teal hair and shocking red lipstick, a tan-skinned man with glasses, wearing a “pizza should beg to have pineapple on it, it doesn’t deserve pineapple” t-shirt, and Wick, their hair being repeatedly pulled into a braid that won’t stay by the girl as the two of them chat. Leaning against one of the counters in the kitchen is Dolls, her short curls dyed a light pink with streaks of cyan, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands.

And of course, Honey waits front and center, bouncing on her heels in a light blue dress to greet each and every person who comes through the door, the loose curls of her hair freshly dyed a vibrant purple. There’s absolutely nothing but joy radiating from her as she welcomes each guest in to enjoy the party.

[saintsofwarding]

SAINTS OF WARDING; HUNGRY DEMONS

Chapter 2: In Which Children Become Accessories to Violent Crime

He was right. It sure was a service station, a little country place scabbed with peeling paint, belonging to no known chain.

Family-owned, Heisenberg figured. How cute. A pen of goats bleated and jostled out back, shaggy coats sugared in frost. Lights glowed behind windows, and the gravel lot was nearly buried under the thickening snowfall.

The snowfall. Heisenberg glanced toward the low, opaque clouds, then back at Rose, once again sleeping. Was she supposed to be sleeping this much? He had no idea what babies were and weren't supposed to do. He'd never held a fucking baby until a few hours back, much less knew whether they were fucking narcoleptics or not.

Fringes of memory touched his mind. A stutter-flicker, like darkness lit by a camera flash. Painted wooden walls; the smell of gasoline. A woman singing. A woman touching his hair. Not Miranda. This woman's fingers were rough where Miranda's were smooth and unnatural in their perfection. A cry.

A child.

Not him. Another one, a baby with a red, crumpled face. The flash was there, then gone, but he remembered the kid's weight in his young arms, the fear, the way he'd quickly handed the baby back to the woman, as if afraid he might drop it. Too fragile. He'd break at first blow.

Were they his memories? They didn't feel like his. He wasn't even sure they were real. Maybe they were some other experiment's memories, coughed into his mind by the megamycete, the universe's wires getting crossed. Or maybe they were his, a scrap of the life he'd lived before Miranda had put his brain in a blender. He wasn't sure if the flashes of memory were illuminating a closet or a cathedral, what more might be locked inside him.

He gave a low snarl of anger. What the hell did it matter? All those people, the woman with the rough fingers, the baby crying and crying, the boy with his fear- all of them were long gone, long dead. Heisenberg had lived a long, long life, and if he'd ever had a family, they were back in the village, buried under the ashes.

That baby had the bad luck to be born in Miranda's town. It never got a chance.

But Rose?

Heisenberg gave her a little shake. "Kid," he said, then, a little louder, "Rosie."

Her hands clenched, but she didn't wake up. Heisenberg yanked off a glove with his teeth and touched her forehead. She was icy. Mold-girl extraordinaire she might be, but nothing liked the cold. Replacing his glove, Heisenberg took stock of the situation. One battered old truck in the parking lot. Only one person visible in the store, a silhouette hunched at the counter, turning pages in a magazine. He couldn't see anyone else in there, didn't know if he'd have to tangle with more than one.

No problem. He pushed away from the tree he'd huddled against and strode across the tarmac, boots crunching on frozen gravel. A bell jingled as he pushed his way into the service station, pausing as the door swung shut behind him.

The cashier looked up at the wash of frigid wind. A girl, young and stubbled with acne, bundled in a thick sweater. Her eyes widened as she took him in. Little wonder. Heisenberg knew he was a fuckin' specimen on the best of days, and today life had sprinkled him with a little extra sexiness. He was battered and bruised on top of the scars that slashed up his face. The rags that had once been his old trench coat dripped mutagen and blood onto the linoleum, his boots crusted with muck, his clothes shredded courtesy of the lycan attack and from his mutation back in the village.

He grinned at her from under his hat brim, her face cut into dark and light by the cracked lens of his dark glasses. He couldn't help but think of Donna and her doll.

"Hey, buttercup," he said.

"Uh," the girl said, looking like she was halfway to bolting already. She glanced through the window, probably for some kind of vehicle. "Can I help you?"

"You got any hydrogen peroxide?"

"Uh-" She blinked, then pointed. "Back row. By the goat feed."

He touched his hat brim. "Thanks." Rose turned over in his arms, and the girl glanced at her, brow furrowed.

"Is your daughter okay?" she asked.

Heisenberg, already slouching off, paused with mouth open, about to say oh, she's not mine, but with a place like this there was probably a shotgun under the counter and employees with the means to use it. Admitting he'd walked out of the woods with a secondhand baby would escalate the situation a little earlier than preferred.

"She's fine," he said. "Bit nippy out there."

He went to the row she'd indicated and rummaged through the dusty bottles, coming up at last with an armful of what he wanted. He waggled a bottle at the cashier, still watching him, and went to the healthy display of alcohol on the other side of the store. The village had produced pretty piss-poor excuses for means to get wasted; besides Dimitrescu's nasty-ass wine the townsfolk made a syrupy liquor from sour cherries and distilled a potato-based stuff that held absolutely no candles to a giant jug of whisky. He tipped that very stuff into his arms, balanced between bottles of antiseptic, and faced the cashier.

"Anything else I can get you?" the girl said, her voice higher than it had been before.

"Yeah," Heisenberg said.

Power rippled from him, blasting a clean circle around his boots on the muddy linoleum; the windows rattled as the air vibrated, nails screeching from the window frames. Cans crumpled in fountains of carbonation, then shattered, shards of metal whirling around Heisenberg, at his command. The girl slammed back from the counter, against the far wall, her eyes huge, her face blanched. Heisenberg ambled forward, cloud of metal moving around him. Pens flicked free from the cup on the counter; coins flashed silver and copper, drifting past Heisenberg like a school of strange fish.

"Give me what you've got in there," Heisenberg said, nodding at the till. "And make it snappy. Places to be, and all that-"

The girl lunged for the counter. Right about that, too. Heisenberg reached out with his power and sensed the shape of the gun, the long double barrel, the rusty old trigger. One of the coins buzzed toward the girl like some giant wasp; she gasped as it stopped short of her forehead, hovering there, still humming so fast it blurred.

"Now, now," Heisenberg said. "Careful. An inch or two more and we'd get blood all over this nice clean lino. Cash. Now. Get it?"

"I..." the girl managed.

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder.

The gunshot blazed past him; Heisenberg flung himself to the side as the girl dropped behind the counter. The far window shattered; freezing wind howled into the store, sending stock cascading from the shelves. Heisenberg's metal objects buzzed and chittered around him, responding to his spiking heartbeat, to the pulsing agitation of the Cadou nestled just under and behind his heart. He whirled as metal hummed in his proximity, facing the twin eyes of the shotgun barrel point-blank.

An old woman held the gun, white-haired and dressed in ancient sweats, her eyes narrowed as she spat a stream of some unknown dialect at him. Maybe her accent was just really, really heavy. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

She fired.

The world exploded.

The reverberation of the gunshot echoed in Heisenberg's head. Smoke curled around him. As it cleared the bullet came into view. It vibrated in place, pulling against Heisenberg's control a hand's length from his nose. An inch or two more, he thought darkly.

The old woman stared at the bullet, then at him. She stumbled back. No chance of a second shot. The shotgun's barrel was bent in a perfect upwards U. The bottle of whisky in Heisenberg's grip had shattered; he let the remnants fall, then lifted his hand. Rose began to scream, her face scrunched up and ugly, her little legs kicking at Heisenberg's arm. The girl behind the counter started crying, too, terrible weeping from behind hands clenched over her mouth.

"Please," he heard her say, over the hum of the bullet, over the scream of the metal storm still whirling around them. "Don't, please, she's my grandmother, don't hurt her-"

One shard gashed a scar in the linoleum; the girl gave a little shriek as another snagged her hair, taking off a dark lock. Heisenberg advanced, and the old woman backed up against one of the shelves. The gun barrel dipped as she crossed herself, as she began to whisper. A plea, or a prayer. Maybe a curse.

"You hear of me before?" Heisenberg said. His voice was set low, a purring snarl. He towered over the woman. Too fragile. She'd break at first blow. "Maybe from a friend? A sister? Village of shadows, deep in the forest? No little children who wander far from their mother's arms come back from there, y'know. Those woods are full of monsters."

"Don't hurt her!" the girl wailed again, over Rose's cries, over the frantic pulse of Heisenberg's heartbeat. The old woman's prayers became louder; the bullet strained against his grip, kinetic energy held in place, ready to be unleashed the other direction, ready to tear through flesh. She hurt you. She hurt me. You should have gotten to kill her. You should have shown her how much it hurt. She hurt me. You should have done to her exactly what she did to you-

Blood sloshed in his ears. He felt Rose kick at him, felt her struggling. The old woman's stare reflected him, ragged and bloody, hunched around the baby in his arms. Lord of an ash heap. He was the monster in this woman's prayers, the nightmare someone frightened had whispered to her at night. Now what? A tired man, too old, too wounded. Scaring grannies in a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

All at once, Heisenberg was weary. The rage left him and the cold came in. He clenched his fist. The old woman squeezed her eyes shut as the bullet dropped to the floor with a clunk.

He released his control. The coins and nails and pens and detritus cascaded down around him in a glittering rain. The girl gasped at the freezing air as Heisenberg stood for a moment in the aftermath, then sniffed and gathered his armful of peroxide bottles. He picked another fifth of whisky from the shelf, and a couple things of rubbing alcohol in case whisky didn't do the trick. A handful of snack food went into his pockets. A nice knit blanket from a charity bin would work to keep Rose warm. No baby stuff; bunch of paper towels would have to do. Sorry, kid. He turned and went for the doors, then paused.

"One last thing," he said.

The girl whimpered as he approached the counter and leaned across. They were there, wrapped in nice gold foil in a pretty box. Cigars. A little battered, wearing a coat of dust, probably going stale, but Heisenberg nearly wept at the smell of them.

At the door, he glanced at the girl and the old woman, staring at him across the shop.

"Well," he said, with a shrug. "Think of it this way. Now you'll have the best fuckin' story in town."

He left before they could argue his point.

***

Trudging up-road took a cigar and a half. His craving was just about gone by the time the narrow little single-track road took him and Rose to the lights of a proper town. He stopped on the outskirts, cigar smoke unspooling around his head and shoulders, staring. The town stretched before him, nestled into a flank in the foothills, red-roofed and snowed-in.

Streetlamps glittered; silence echoed, broken by nothing but a dog howling in the far distance, lonely and cold.

Heisenberg drew a deep lungful of smoke, feeling the silence. It had been a long, long time since he remembered a place that was truly silent, that didn't have that tension underneath, that didn't have a god sleeping underfoot, dreaming its incomprehensible dreams. Even his Cadou was quiet inside him.

Maybe it was exhausted. He knew he was. Everything was a little too distant, a little too numb, like he'd just gotten off a seventy-two-hour manic experimentation episode. The last time he'd had one of those, he'd made Sturm, and look how the fuck that had turned out.

He should get inside. The stolen blanket helped keep Rose warmer, but she shouldn't stay outside much longer. Still, he couldn't make himself move on, move deeper into the town. All he could do was watch it, drink it in with his whole body. He was out. This place was new. This was a place Miranda had never touched.

Below the wonder- holy, holy- came a bitter sting of fear. Whatever horrors the village had inflicted upon him, it was still the place that had made him. All his memories were there. Everything he was, everything he'd worked toward- none of it mattered outside the village boundaries. What did it all mean when all of it was gone?

You can always go back, he told himself. Castle's still standing. Houses and walls. Someone will go there, some brain-fucked madman looking for miracles. New villagers, new gods. And someone's always gotta be king.

Was that what he really wanted? He wasn't sure. Not right now, anyway. Right now, he was numb from balls to feet and his hands weren't doing so great, either. He stirred, forcing himself to get moving again.

Heisenberg descended into town. Dark windows reflected the glimmer of embers from his cigar, shop-fronts and market stalls closed down for the night, parked cars acquiring pelts of snow. He considered one of these- just rip a door off, hunker down in the relative warm- but as Heisenberg shrugged and began toward one of them, a spike of pressure drove itself into his brain. Golden light, the echo of a cry.

He jerked to a halt. Rose stared up at him, wide awake. Heisenberg peered at her over the rim of his glasses.

"Well, excuse me, ma'am," he said. "Not good enough for you, huh?"

She fussed a little. Tendrils of darkness twined from the snow at Heisenberg's feet, twisting together into a trail down a nearby alleyway. With another glance at Rose and a shrug, he followed. The cigar was a stub by the time they reached the burnt-out building on the outskirts of town. It looked like an old warehouse, covered in crusty green paint and blackened with the char of some long-ago fire. Heisenberg's boots scrunched on broken glass as he snapped the padlock with a twist of his wrist and hauled the corrugated steel door open, ducking into the cold gloom of the interior.

Echoes fanned away and away; wings flapped somewhere in the grimy darkness. In the faint light filtering in from outside, Heisenberg made out crumbling brickwork and concrete, the remnants of makeshift fires on the floor, trash in the corners. A tetanus-aficionado's daydream of rusty metal lay tangled in a corner, bleeding orange trails across the concrete floor. Filth and decay, old gasoline and things best left forgotten.

"Perfect," Heisenberg said. He pinched Rose's chin gently between his knuckles. "You got good taste."

He hauled the door shut again, hung up his hat, and set to work. Rose bundled neatly into a makeshift nest of old metal parts, crumpled into shape by a careless heave of his power. Within an hour, he'd lit one of the firepits and gutted an ancient machine-frame into a lean-to that kept out the worst of the cold. The fire light filled the air with a ruddy glow. Strange shadows danced and flickered over the warehouse walls.

Eyes glittered from the rafters. Pigeons, watching the strange duo below them, keeping their distance even as Heisenberg tore into some of the shitty food like a starving animal. He shook crumbs out of his stubble and regarded Rose alongside him in the firelight.

"And?" he mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate Giga. "Your verdict?"

She met his gaze. Heisenberg suppressed a shudder. Something was different there, something hard and alien. Focused. He didn't freak too easy- side-effect of his whole existence- but this was different. This wasn't the blank gaze of a mechanized corpse, the bloodlust of a hunter, even the mooncalf cruelty Miranda had turned on him a time or two. This was a question.

The shadows coiled and flickered, twining into impossible shapes. Heisenberg stuffed the last of the chocolate horn into his mouth and chomped it back.

"I dunno why, either," he said.

Did she understand? Somehow he figured she did.

"That old woman couldn't hurt us," he went on. "I only destroy what hurts me. That way nothing can."

What about Claudia? You knew. You knew, you old bastard. Her small hand, touching his cheek. Her bright laugh as she'd shown him some dusty old treasure she'd dug up from the depths of the Beneviento house. He didn't love anything. He only wanted, and he needed, and he hated, and he destroyed. But that little girl, those long-ago hours in the garden, Donna knitting from her chair, Claudia alive, alive-

It wrenched at him, then, a hand deep inside him taking and twisting. His shoulders curled in; a laugh escaped him, bleak and raw. It faded, and when he looked up again Rose still watched him, chewing on the piece of Giga he'd given her.

"What are you?" he asked. "'Cause you're on a whole new level of weird, and don't you try and tell me different."

As he spoke he uncapped a bottle of peroxide, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and the bottle of whisky. He tore away the worst of his ruined shirt and began splashing the peroxide over his lycan wound. Rose had held it together pretty good, but it still burned like hell. He punctuated splashes of peroxide with chugs of whisky, then, when that was gone, rubbing alcohol. He'd need more to get well and truly drunk. The Cadou sent his metabolism into overdrive, and by the time the bottles were empty there was only a pleasant hum in his brain and a tingle in the extremities. "You want some?" he asked Rose before polishing off the dregs.

She giggled.

"Don't you try manipulating me, ya little bitch," Heisenberg told her. He scooted his upturned bucket closer, so he faced the baby head-on. "Miranda couldn't shut up about these so-called superpowers you've got. I like experiments. What do you say we conduct one of our own right here right now?"

Rose blinked. She lifted her hands, fingers splayed. Heisenberg paused, then pulled off his gloves and set a fingertip to her palm.

A moment of nothing-

Then,

A spark.

With a rippling heave, darkness doused the fire, the room. The world. The warehouse vanished in a maelstrom of living mold, black and glistening; it cascaded over them, and before Heisenberg could so much as call a nail to his command it took him, and there was only darkness.

[myblogs1]

Creative Glass Wall Partition Ideas in Dubai to Maximize Space in Small Apartments

Living in a bustling city like Dubai often means making the most of smaller apartment spaces. With urban living on the rise, maximizing square footage while maintaining a sense of openness is key. Glass wall partitions offer an innovative solution for dividing areas without sacrificing light or the feeling of spaciousness. Here are some creative glass wall partition ideas to help you make the most of your small apartment in Dubai.

1. Sliding Glass Doors for Versatility

One of the best ways to create separate areas in a small apartment without compromising on space is by using sliding glass doors. These partitions provide a functional, stylish way to divide living areas like the kitchen and living room. Sliding doors can easily be opened up to create a larger, unified space when entertaining guests, and closed for privacy when needed.

2. Frosted Glass for Privacy in Bedrooms

For studio apartments, frosted glass partitions can be an excellent way to separate sleeping areas from the rest of the apartment. Frosted glass adds a layer of privacy without completely blocking natural light, making your apartment feel bigger and brighter. This is especially useful in compact living situations where privacy and light both need to be balanced.

3. Glass Dividers with Shelving

Glass walls can be integrated with functional storage, such as built-in shelves or cabinets. This is a practical way to partition a room while maximizing vertical space. The shelves can be used to display decorative items, plants, or books, adding a personal touch to your apartment while maintaining a modern, open feel.

4. Textured Glass Panels for a Stylish Divide

Textured glass partitions add an artistic element to your home. Whether it's ribbed or patterned glass, these partitions provide both separation and style, making them ideal for dividing rooms like bathrooms or dressing areas. Textured glass offers a subtle amount of privacy while still allowing light to flow through, keeping your apartment airy and open.

5. Mirrored Glass for an Illusion of Space

Mirrored glass walls are a great trick for making small apartments appear larger than they are. Using mirrored glass as a partition not only divides rooms but also reflects light, creating the illusion of a more expansive space. This idea works particularly well in compact living rooms or entryways.

6. Half-Height Glass Partitions for Open-Concept Living

A half-height glass partition is a clever solution for dividing spaces while maintaining an open-plan feel. For example, a half-height glass wall can separate the kitchen from the living area, giving each space its own function without creating a full-height barrier that could make the apartment feel smaller.

7. Pivot Glass Doors for Flexibility

If you want a more dynamic partition option, consider installing pivot glass doors. These can rotate open or closed depending on how much space you want to separate. Pivot doors offer flexibility and a modern design element, making them a great choice for small apartments that require adaptability.

8. Curved Glass Partitions for Flow

Curved glass partitions add an interesting architectural feature to any small apartment. The soft, flowing lines create a unique visual appeal and help to break up the straight lines typical of compact spaces. This is a particularly creative option for dividing living areas from hallways or kitchen spaces.

9. Smart Glass for Versatile Privacy

One of the most high-tech glass wall partition ideas in Dubai is smart glass, which can transition from transparent to opaque at the touch of a button. This versatile option allows you to enjoy an open, light-filled space when you want it, but also provides privacy when needed. It's perfect for bedrooms, home offices, or bathrooms in small apartments where space is limited.

10. Frameless Glass for a Seamless Look

For those seeking a minimalist and sleek design, frameless glass partitions offer a seamless, modern look. These glass walls blend into the architecture of the apartment, creating separate areas without bulky frames. Frameless partitions are ideal for those who want to divide their apartment into functional areas without interrupting the flow of the overall space

[glassrepair-logan]

The Timeless Elegance of Acid Etched Glass: A Deep Dive into Design and Utility

Acid etched glass has long held a special place in the realms of interior design and architecture, admired for its aesthetic appeal and functional benefits. This versatile material offers a unique blend of elegance and practicality, making it a favored choice for both residential and commercial applications. In this blog, we'll explore what acid etched glass is, its creation process, various applications, and the benefits it brings to modern spaces.

What is Acid Etched Glass?

Acid etched glass is a type of decorative glass that features a smooth, frosted finish. This effect is achieved by treating the glass surface with acid, usually hydrofluoric acid, which lightly corrodes the glass to create a matte appearance. The result is a semi-transparent glass that diffuses light and reduces glare, offering a sophisticated alternative to clear glass.

The Creation Process

Preparation: The glass is first thoroughly cleaned to remove any dirt, grease, or other contaminants that could interfere with the etching process.

Masking: If a specific design or pattern is desired, parts of the glass surface are masked using a resistant material, leaving the areas to be etched exposed.

Etching: Hydrofluoric acid is then carefully applied to the exposed glass surface. The acid reacts with the silica in the glass, corroding it to a shallow depth and creating the characteristic frosted finish.

Neutralization and Cleaning: After the desired effect is achieved, the acid is neutralized and washed off, and the glass is thoroughly cleaned to remove any residues.

Applications of Acid Etched Glass

Acid etched glass is incredibly versatile and can be used in a variety of settings:

Privacy Screens: Its semi-opaque nature makes it perfect for privacy screens in bathrooms, offices, and meeting rooms.

Doors and Windows: It allows light to filter through while obscuring the view, making it ideal for entry doors, shower enclosures, and partitions.

Furniture: Tabletops, cabinet doors, and shelving units often feature acid etched glass for a sleek, modern look.

Interior Decor: Wall panels, room dividers, and decorative accents utilize acid etched glass to add texture and visual interest.

Benefits of Acid Etched Glass

Aesthetic Appeal: The soft, frosted finish adds a touch of elegance and sophistication to any space.

Privacy: While allowing light to pass through, acid etched glass obscures vision, providing privacy without sacrificing natural light.

Low Maintenance: The etched surface is less likely to show fingerprints and smudges, making it easier to maintain than clear glass.

Versatility: It can be used in a wide range of applications, from functional elements to purely decorative features.

Durability: The etching process does not compromise the strength of the glass, ensuring it remains a sturdy and long-lasting material.