#solid oak nest of tables.

[toopeanutcrown]

Official Presentation Oak Furniture UK

Oak Furniture UK supply quality furniture for your home at our lowest prices every day. You will see many styles of dining and living room furniture, bedroom furniture, home office furniture and more that are manufactured by expert furniture manufactures to high standards from sustainably sourced wood.

19-21 Guard Street,Workington,Cumbria,CA14 4EN

01900 871006

customerservices@oakfurnitureuk.com

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 13

Glorious Magnificent Goddess | Loki x Reader

You and Loki retreat to his hideaway to recouperate after your run in with Lugh. Loki helps you practice your magic again as well as rewarding you for your bravery. But how far can you really escape a God?

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, lots of praise, possessive Loki, making out, teasing, oral ( f receiving), p in v, cockwarming (if you squint), dirty talk but also…angst, emotional hurt/comfort.

A/N: This is mostly smut but there's definitely some plot there too. Please don't judge me for my terrible prophecy writing.

Also this chapter wouldn't have been written with nearly so much smut in it if I hadn't been so sexually frustrated reading @lokisgoodgirl 's The Lakes series. There's no little Tesco here and we're far from The Lakes but this chapter is dedicated to you :)

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

—

Somewhere between your sheer terror of being kidnapped and Loki’s sweeping rescue of you from the floor, you’d passed out. When you woke you were lying on a sofa in front of a roaring fire, the logs crackling merrily in time with the soft low hum of Loki’s voice. 

You turned your head to see him moving deftly around a small kitchen, pouring steaming soup into a bowl while he sang quietly. At first you didn’t recognise the words, but the more you listened and allowed the song to wash over you, the more you understood. He sang of home, of love and comfort, songs that spoke to the very bones of you until you melted into the cushions and blankets, at peace. Somewhere deep down your memories hummed back, even if you couldn’t remember the words yet. 

He turned, still singing the last of the tune, and smiled gently. In the firelight he looked shockingly ethereal compared to his domestic surroundings, his hair glossy and dark, tumbling about his shoulders in almost cherubic curls. The shirt he’d worn under his suit was now only loosely tucked into his trousers, the collar undone and his sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. 

“You’re awake,” he knelt next to you, cupping your face in his hands and drawing you close, kissing you so tenderly you thought you might still be asleep, dreaming of being awoken by Prince Charming. 

“Was I dreaming? We went on that stupid mission and it was awful -” you scrunched your face the memory. “Do you think it’s always that chaotic?”

“It wasn’t a dream, Darling, unfortunately. We were intercepted by someone.” 

It came rushing back, the man’s hands grabbing at you, the blinding light he seemed to be able to control and the spear he wielded. But then, you’d had a spear too, and armour, silver and velvet and flame. You looked down at your clothes, the armour was gone and in its place was one of Loki’s soft cotton shirts. 

“I knew him, I think. I saw a memory with him in, and my mother, they were friends. He said his name was Lugh and we were in his home, it was snowing - But I was younger then. And I saw one of the men who - who -” 

Loki placed a steadying hand on your arm, remaining by your side, his eyes darting over your face and searching for any trace of pain or suffering. “Hush, darling, let’s not talk of it now. You’ve had a trying time, rest and we can talk of it in the morning. 

“But I’ve seen him before, Loki, I have and-” You sighed, falling back on the sofa. “I wish I could just remember.” 

Loki kissed your cheek and moved back to the kitchen, “well, this Lugh, he frightened you and I will not tolerate that. Here, I made you soup, you should eat and get some strength back.” He placed the tray on an oak coffee table and piled cushions onto the floor for you to sit on. 

Sliding down onto the nest of pillows, you allowed yourself to look around the room, it was small but cosy, furnished with solid oak and thick, luxurious fabrics in velvet, knits and heavy wool plaid. Large cushions backed the sofa and chairs while the walls were lined with books old and new.

“Where are we?” You asked, blowing on the warm soup before taking a small sip from your spoon. 

“A secret place, a cabin. We’re still in America, if that’s what you were wondering. Those ridiculous spangled idiots showed up and blew our cover so I needed to retreat quickly. I can teleport, but not very far, and this was the nearest place I could drive to after we were far enough away.” Loki said, matter of factly, before joining you on the floor and dunking a thick crust of bread into your soup. 

“Hey, that’s mine,” you reached a foot out to kick him gently and he laughed, pulling it into his lap.

“Share, Ásynja , don’t be selfish,” he smiled, dipping again but offering you the bread between his fingers. 

“I didn’t know you lived anywhere else.” You’d always imagined that when he wasn’t at the compound Loki retreated to some icy fortress covered in black and green furnishings. Something dramatic and luxurious, you certainly hadn’t imagined a cosy log cabin. 

“I like to have a few retreats, a few bolt holes here and there. Plus Brunnhilde uses them from time to time when she’s on official business, hotels aren’t really her style, she prefers to deplete my stores of whisky and mead.” Loki didn’t look upset though, he seemed pleased to be able to offer somewhere comfortable and inviting. 

“I would’ve thought showing off in the lap of luxury would be right up your street.” You teased, Loki liked the finer things in life and there was no way you were complaining when he extended such luxuries to you too. But there was something so satisfying about teasing the god of Mischief. 

“Oh, yes, it is,” his smile morphed from playful into predatory, his voice dropping an octave into that rough rumble that made you melt, “but it’s the privacy we enjoy. We’re in the middle of nowhere, my Darling-” 

“And no one can hear me scream?” You joked, raising your eyebrows. 

“Exactly.” He tugged on your leg again, before reaching forwards and pulling you into his lap. Beneath the wool slacks he was already hard, the firm length of him straining against the zip. His shirt was loose on you, rucked up around your waist to accommodate your spread legs and you were mercifully bare beneath.  

“Loki,” you breathed, pressing yourself down into his embrace, moulding your bodies together. Between your thighs he throbbed, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, reigniting your adrenaline. 

Loki’s large hands slid up your back, one splayed wide cupping your waist, the other on the back of your neck, tipping your head down so he could growl against your lips, “I love when you say my name,” he nipped at your bottom lip and you kissed back, sucking his tongue into your mouth like you were ravenous. “My Ásynja , take what you need my darling, I am yours, at your mercy, my breathtaking Goddess.” 

Together you fell backwards onto the rug, Loki breaking your fall and gently laying you down beside him. His hands ghosted down your side, barely touching you while his magic melted your clothes away leaving you both glowing in the firelight. 

“You were magnificent tonight, a true goddess of the Aesir, I -” His hands fluttered over you, his eyes trying to take you all in at once. 

You had never seen Loki lost for words before and it was a glorious feeling, knowing that you had reduced him to this. 

“I have to have you, darling, can’t keep my hands from you.” He growled, touching every inch of your bared skin. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you though, Loki.” You assured him, kissing along his broad shoulders, inhaling the rich scent of him, so close. 

“Ah, my darling one, I did nothing.” He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of you, each kiss like a butterfly's wings brushing against his skin. 

“Wait-” You sat up, “you didn’t do anything?” 

“No, did you think I had some part to play?” He looked at you quizzically, “you think I conjured a burning spear? Silver armour?” 

“Well - I -” He curled an eyebrow at you, encouraging you to complete your thought. “I did that? That was me?” 

“Of course” he laughed out the words, surprised that you weren’t already aware. 

“Well. Okay.” You lay back on the rug and stared at the ceiling, unabashed in your nakedness, and Loki fought the urge to simply climb on top of you. 

“Hmmm, indeed.” Instead he traced his finger over your sternum and between your breasts, down to your belly button and then over your hip. Tingling goosebumps erupted in his wake and you watched as he skipped from your hip to where the bracelet he gave you still circled your wrist. “Besides, if I had created armour for you, it would be in green and gold.” He murmured, bending to place a kiss on the delicate skin below the bracelet. 

“Would it now, have you thought of how you’d dress me for battle?” Now it was your turn to lift an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you show me how you’d prepare me for battle.” 

Loki gave you a predator’s smile before pulling you closer. “Too many clothes required for battle, darling, how about we practise the celebration instead?”

As you drifted in and out of sleep the memory of Loki’s hands on you followed your sleeping thoughts, his hands spread wide on your thighs, squeezing and kneading while he feasted on you, his body supplicant before you, worshipping as he’d promised. You writhed, rolling closer to him and hooking your leg over his. There was still a deep ache within you, a roiling of your magic needing release and bubbling to the surface in your whimpers and bucking hips. 

Loki stirred beside you and pulled you closer, your naked body was bed warm and soft compared to his perpetually cooler constitution and it felt good to be thawed by your presence. He cupped your cheek, turning your sleeping face so he could look over your features. There was still a tendency for your eye colour to shift without you realising, but everything else had settled and now every time he looked at you the same beautiful face shone back. 

He kissed you on your forehead, revelling in the gentle smile that spread across your lips, he kissed your cheek and nose, moving across your face until your eyelashes fluttered and you snuggled closer, fingers digging into his sides. Slowly, so slowly, he moved down your neck, pressing kisses onto your collarbone and nuzzling into the swell of your breast, he laved wet kisses onto your nipples, blowing cold air over the sensitive flesh just to watch them pebble and tighten before him. 

Loki’s kisses were featherlight, meltingly soft but you needed more, craved more. Light flared within you and, behind the grate, the fire crackled in response, burning blue and filling the room with light. 

He lifted his head watching you with lust blown eyes. 

“Incredible, my darling goddess, do it again,” he encouraged, kissing lower until he could nip at your soft belly, his thumbs pressing into your hips to stop you from lifting upwards. “Do it again and I’ll give you anything you want, name your price.”

“I can’t,” you whined, giving up on struggling in favour of looping your leg over his muscular shoulder. 

“You can,” he traced his nose lower, lower, the point of his tongue guiding him until he hovered over your aching core. “You can do it, Ásynja , you are powerful and strong, you control the fire, you control the light, show me, make me tremble before you.” His words were a whisper, a prayer, his eyes locked with yours despite the lewd poke of his tongue from between his pink lips. 

Frustrated you dropped your head back onto the rug and the fire roared again, the candles dotted around the room flickered. Between your legs Loki smiled again, murmuring something in the same old norse language that you were still trying to remember. But it was hard to care what he was saying when he was teasing you so deliciously, his tongue writing every sinful thing he wanted to do. 

“Please, Loki.” You hummed, tugging on the long strands of his silky hair in an effort to move him. 

“A moment more, my darling one.” He cooed, sucking on the inside of your thigh while his fingers entered you slowly, curling into your fluttering walls. 

“You promised me anything,” you gasped, heat pooling between your legs, Loki marvelled as your arousal slicked down his fingers. 

“I did, and what does my most wonderful Goddess require of me?” He asked, his voice hoarse with lust. 

“Fuck me, Loki- ugh,” he felt you clench around him, so soft yet so strong, and he knew he needed to have you just as much. “Fuck me like you mean it, I’m your Goddess, yours, take me, worship me, and make me yours.” You reached down and squeezed his hard cock as you spoke, watching his mouth fall open at the pressure.

With a growl, Loki prowled up your prone body, hooking your leg around his waist as he settled over you. All you could see was the curtain of his hair, the sharp lines of his face and his glittering eyes. The swell of his cock between your legs was hot and heavy, a tease of what was to come. It felt like it had been so long since you were alone together that you were desperate, clawing, inching your hips up until he was notched at your entrance, waiting. 

“Please,” you begged, breathlessly and he slid home in a single thrust, filling you to the brim and binding you together. “Oh! Loki!” 

“Yes, that’s it my darling,” he began to thrust, rolling his hips to rub against your clit with every movement. “Say my name.” 

“Loki, Loki, Loki.” His name became a chant in time with each thrust. “I’m yours, oh my god, never let me go.” You buried your face in his neck, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin as he ground against you, locked together so tightly he could barely pull back before you were bringing him closer again. 

“Never, I’ll never let you go, you’re mine now. All mine,” he panted, the feel of your lips and teeth a blissful pain, “and I’m yours, all yours.” The flames roared, their reflection catching in the glass of the lamps artfully dotted around the room, painting the walls in jewelled colours, emerald, sapphire and ruby red. 

He sat back, pulling you into his lap so he could kiss your chest and hold you closer. You moved together, riding towards your release as if you were charging into battle, never close enough, never fast enough, chasing your pleasure while Loki looked at you in awe. 

With a final roar he buried himself inside of you and the banked fire of your desire burst forth consuming you both. In the fireplace the flames licked out onto the hearth, the candles flared and blue flames encircled you both. 

Loki pulled away, his eyes tracing over your face as he always did, checking that you were happy and safe and smiling giddily as he was. And then he saw the flames, swirling like ribbons in the wind. 

Guiltily you tried to pull away, but he held you firm, still deep inside of you and as he caught your gaze again you felt him throb against your sensitive walls, “magnificent,” he murmured, before tipping you back against the carpet and continuing his worship. 

The morning came too soon, the mist that danced between the trees faded as it got closer to the cabin windows and you let out a puff of hot air against the pane. You set your cup of coffee on the side and drew a heart in the condensation, smiling as it turned green and gold as the rising sun beyond touched the tops of the pine trees in the valley. 

On silent feet, Loki crept up on you, circling his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder where your shirt slipped away from your collar. Here he planted a wet kiss, squeezing you tighter when you giggled from the sensation. Between you both, you wondered if you’d ever have need to go clothes shopping again. With a flick of his wrist Loki had sent his suit into oblivion and had manifested a surprisingly sensible pair of dark jeans and a sweater. To his own surprise, try as he might, he couldn’t make it green and instead the fibres continued to insist on a rich, dark blue colour instead. 

“Loki,” you chided, but you didn’t push him away, your body sought him at all times, reaching for his touch, so you allowed him to set his feet between yours and settled his hands on your hips. 

“Darling, we should talk about what happened, now that we’ve had time to rest.” 

Loki led you both out to a small covered porch at the back of the cabin, it’d been too dark to see your surroundings when you arrived but now you could see over through the trees to an open vista. A lake took up the majority of the valley, tailing away into a rushing river at its furthest point. Both sides of the valley were covered in dense trees, golden brown patches in the late autumn and dark green pines knitting together the amber canopy, the mist still rose from them while you settled into an old swing chair. The view was incredible, stealing your breath and your words as Loki settled beside you. 

“It reminded me of Norway,” he said, casually, “and so I had to have it. Especially as things became so -” he waves his hand, “messy, in Asgard.” 

“It’s beautiful, I could stay here forever.” 

“As could I, darling, but we must address what happened. This isn’t the first time you’ve been attacked and I grow concerned it could happen again.” Loki was rarely so serious, even in the early days of your training he had been playful and coy, teasing your abilities from you. 

You sat in silence, sipping your coffees while you thought of how to proceed. 

“So, I suppose we start with the obvious, we know one of the players in this game now,” Loki said, decisively. “Lugh, it is not a pantheon I know well, though my father was always respectful and my mother knew various members. Though it is possible when my memories were taken, I forgot about other gods as well.”

“I suppose... I don’t know why he’d pretend to care now when he had me happily locked away like some fairytale princess.” You huffed. 

“He mentioned your mother? That they were friends? With your mother gone, we could assume he is trying to act on her behalf, protect you as she would.I know my father often behaved in such a manner, keeping secrets when he ought to have told the truth, and then calling it protection, kindness.”

“Do you think - do you think he was the one who kept me locked up as well? Despite it all he didn’t seem like he wanted to be violent, I can’t understand how anyone working for him would be violent when he could have killed us both there and then. And then there’s the boy.”

Loki looked at you, his head tipped to the side. “The boy?” You had mentioned the boy earlier as well, but he had thought you were simply delirious. 

“When he touched me, Lugh, I saw a memory of us together. My mother and I were at his house, he was kind and gentle. He encouraged me to go outside and play with a boy, it seemed like I was - happy?” You stared into the trees, hoping some clarity would emerge inside you to stop the churning feeling in your stomach. 

“I learnt a lot from my father and one of the most important lessons he ever gave me, well, I don’t believe he intended to teach this as a lesson. But I learnt to never trust his mood. One minute he would love me and call me son, the next he would send me away for decades at a time. I would counsel against trusting Lugh, if he’s lived as long as Odin, the time has eaten away at what’s left of his sanity and I don’t doubt he would be kind to you in one moment and lock you up in the next.” Loki shrugged, melancholy at the memory of Odin, and then took a long drink from his mug. 

You looked over to see a sad smile tugging at his lips, as if making fun of Odin was easier than the honesty of his statement. 

“Perhaps - but, I recognised his eyes, the boy. I saw him again, he came for me. After I got away from those Asgardian’s, he tried to get me to go with him and I refused. He told me to stop using my magic, just as Lugh did, and then I was taken again by - hmmm.” 

“If he warned you against the magic and then you were taken again, perhaps it was not Lugh who kidnapped you.” Loki raised his eyebrows and you nodded, silent and contemplative, already wondering the same. “Perhaps he really was trying to protect you?” Loki still hadn’t told you about the sigil he’d seen, about how he knew who your last captors were. How would he explain to you that your betrothed was out to find you? He had no memory of that war between the Aesir and the Vanir, how could he spoil what was growing between you with a fear like that. 

“Perhaps. I just wish there was something in my past I could trust and believe in.” 

He felt sick lying to you, even if it was by omission.. Loki had promised himself that he would protect you and he would, for now you needed comfort and peace more than you needed the truth. 

You lapsed into silence, finishing your coffee and setting it onto the wooden porch floor. The quiet washed over you, the sound of the water and the rustling trees, even the calls of the birds felt perfectly placed to put you at ease. 

After a while, Loki spoke again, quiet and low with that same serious voice that was so unfamiliar. “I still loved him, Odin, though he kept many things from me. Just because things are confusing now, doesn’t mean your happier times are forgotten. You used to speak of your Grandfather and now - well - there has been no mention of him for some time. You are allowed to miss him, and your life before this. It is no slight against me for you to have enjoyed happier times with others. I only wish for you to be happy again now.” 

Emotion welled within you, “I do still think of him. I miss him so much, even if - I know, I know he wasn’t real. But he was real for me. He was kind.” You stuttered, reaching out for Loki’s hand to ground you. 

“I’m glad.” Loki squeezed back, tangling your fingers together and he held you as you cried “ I think we should consider going back to Tønsberg , to show Brunnhilde what you saw. Perhaps she has some more answers, now that there has been time to think.”

“I thought we were supposed to rendevouz with the team again?” You sniffed, wiping the tears from your cheeks, “won’t they be looking for us when we didn’t meet to swap cars?”

“Well that’s what we were supposed to do, but they’ve got their item now, I thought we could enjoy some time together here and then, when you’re ready, I shall take you home.” Loki put his arm over your shoulders and held you against his side, the deep scent of amber still lingered on him, mixed with the crisp, clean, scent of pine. You tucked your feet up onto the seat, leaning your weight into his warm, strong body and allowed yourself a moment of peace to think of it, a home for you and Loki.

You hadn’t felt as safe and secure since you first left your flat, any time the God was in your presence you felt at peace, content with the world and your place in it. Loki was right, you needed some time together, and practising your fire skills was exactly the kind of cosy activity the glowing hillside and crisp air required. 

You whiled away a few more hours, snuggled together in the early winter air, Loki created a small green fire that glowed in front of you while you practised sending blue sparks dancing around the edge. 

Inside the cabin the fire smouldered, warm and inviting. Wood stacked by the fireplace shuddered and a single log rolled off onto the floor surrounded in white light. 

Distracted outside neither you nor Loki watched the divine woodwork taking place inside as the log slowly became smaller and smaller, leaving chips of wood in it’s wake. Finally, after an hour of craftsmanship, the light faded and left behind a small wooden box. It grew hot, as it sat before the fire and opened, revealing a misty mirror inside, and a swatch of delicate lace wrapped around a glass sphere. 

The lace unravelled, allowing the marble to roll away from its container, bumping against the back of the sofa and coming to a stop before the fire, heating up and then cracking, releasing the secret inside. 

A soft voice escaped, “I saw a vision of a flock divided, a tup of pure chaos and a ewe of love, a ram standing watch, a singular lamb frolicking, a lamb with a fiery fleece. It has burnt the farm. But from the ashes rises lush land, strong crops and healthy babes. I have told this vision to my husband, and Lugh, he does not believe me when I say she is no threat, he believes this to be a prophecy of Ragnarok, he cannot see the verdant land beyond the fire. You must hide the girl, my friend, I can protect her no longer.” 

Frigga’s voice, lost to the mortality that even the seemingly infinite possess, faded into the quiet of the cabin. 

And outside your chatter continued obliviously, happy and full of love. 

<< Part 12

Part 14>>

[simarjeet12]

Choosing the Perfect Square Nest of Tables

Many homes choose square nest tables because of their space-saving design, practicality, and aesthetic appeal. To make sure the ideal square nest of tables set fits your demands and blends in with your home's decor, there are a few important factors to take into account. To help you make the best decision, here is a guide.

1. Establish Your Goals

Think about the use you intend to make of your square nest of tables. Will they be used as a platform for décor, as side tables for snacks and beverages, or a combination of the two? Factors like durability and material will be influenced by your intended application.

2. Pick the Proper Substance

Your tables' appearance and longevity are significantly influenced by their material:

Wood: Perfect for a cozy, traditional look. For a more classic vibe, choose oak or walnut; for a more contemporary look, choose lighter woods.

Glass: Gives small areas a sleek, modern appearance and enlarges them.

Metal: Easily maintained and adds a minimalist or industrial feel.

Mixed Materials: Creates a distinctive, eclectic look by combining various materials (such as metal and wood).

3. Take Space and Size into Account

The space where your nest of tables will be placed should be measured. Make sure the area is not overcrowded so that the individual tables may be pulled out when needed. Square tables are perfect for making the most of available space because they can be placed neatly next to sofas or in corners.

4. Align with Your Interior Design

Make your tables blend nicely with the current furniture style and color scheme:

Contemporary Homes: Select tables with simple, clean lines.

Traditional Areas: Select tables with a traditional finish or elaborately carved wood.

Eclectic Styles: Combine different designs or choose tables with distinctive inlays or patterns.

5. Give Functionality Priority

Seek out tables that provide more than simply visual appeal. Certain square models of tables include extra features like drawers or storage spaces, which are helpful for tucking away things like magazines, coasters, and remote controls.

6. Sturdiness and Quality

Make an investment in long-lasting, well-made tables. Look for a sturdy structure, strong legs, and good craftsmanship. To prevent frequent replacements, it's usually worthwhile to spend a little more on high-quality materials.

7. Maintenance Ease

Select materials that are simple to keep and clean. While wooden tables could need polishing or certain cleaning agents, glass-topped tables are easy to clean. Think about your way of life and the amount of work you're prepared to invest into maintaining your table.

8. Design Flexibility

Choose tables that may be used in a variety of settings. Nesting tables are incredibly adaptable; they may be divided and utilized as decoration pieces in an entryway or as side tables in a bedroom.

9. Portability and Weight

Take into account the weight of the tables if you want to move them around a lot. Although they are easier to carry, lightweight tables composed of particle board or aluminum may not be as sturdy. Although they are less portable, heavier, solid-wood tables offer greater stability.

10. Financial Aspects

A variety of price points are available for square nest tables. Whether design, material, or brand are your top objectives, establish a budget accordingly. For premium tables at a lower cost, check for sales or take into account used alternatives.

Conclusion

By adding both design and functionality, a square nest of tables may completely change a space. You may select the ideal set that complements your living environment and will last for many years by taking into account your unique needs, home decor, and available space.

[spacesavingfurnitureuk]

Furniturebox UK Set of 3 Wooden Nesting Tables - Eden Solid Wood Nested Tables - Pale Oak Veneer Tops Cream Legs - Modern Farmhouse Traditional Living Room Furniture - Solid Rubberwood

[thatgirlwithfeels]

Navigating the Chic World of Coffee Tables: A Look at M&S, Next, and John Lewis

When it comes to furnishing a living space, a coffee table is more than just a place to set your drink; it's a crucial component that can define the room's aesthetic and functionality. Among the plethora of options available, prominent UK retailers like Marks & Spencer (M&S), Next, and John Lewis offer a variety of styles that cater to diverse tastes and needs. In this article, we will explore their offerings and also touch upon alternatives from Habitat, DFS, and Sofology, ensuring you find the perfect centerpiece for your lounge.

Marks & Spencer Coffee Tables

M&S offers a range of coffee tables that blend classic design with contemporary appeal. Known for their quality and sustainability, the coffee tables at M&S are crafted to add elegance to any home. They often feature durable materials like solid oak and have options that include additional storage, such as drawers and shelves, making them not only stylish but also practical for everyday use.

Next Coffee Tables

Next is celebrated for its trendy and versatile furniture pieces, and its coffee tables are no exception. With a focus on modern designs, Next coffee tables come in various finishes, including glass, metal, and wood. They tend to embrace more contemporary shapes and styles, which make them suitable for a modern living room setup. Particularly popular are their nesting tables, which offer flexibility and space-saving features.

John Lewis Coffee Tables

John Lewis stands out with its wide range of high-end coffee tables. From traditional wooden pieces to modern minimalist designs, the retailer provides options that can suit any decor style. John Lewis coffee tables are renowned for their craftsmanship and durability. Many models feature innovative designs, such as adjustable heights or integrated technology, blending functionality with style seamlessly.

Alternative Options: Habitat, DFS, and Sofology

While M&S, Next, and John Lewis offer excellent choices, other retailers like Habitat, DFS, and Sofology also provide noteworthy alternatives.

Habitat Coffee Tables: Known for their artistic designs, Habitat offers coffee tables that often feature eclectic, bold styles. They are perfect for those looking to make a statement in their living space.

DFS Coffee Tables: DFS is typically associated with comfort and durability, and their range of coffee tables is designed to match their sofas perfectly. Often larger in size, these tables are ideal for spacious rooms and come in a variety of styles from classic to contemporary.

Sofology Coffee Tables: Sofology focuses on delivering luxury and comfort. Their coffee tables usually match their luxurious sofas and are designed with comfort in mind. Expect plush materials and soft edges, ideal for those who prioritize comfort over formality.

Conclusion

Whether you prefer the timeless appeal of M&S, the modernity of Next, or the luxury of John Lewis, there is a coffee table out there to suit every home and style. Moreover, exploring alternative options like Habitat, DFS, and Sofology can uncover unique pieces that might be the perfect fit for your living space. Ultimately, the choice of a coffee table should complement your lifestyle and enhance your home's overall charm and functionality.

[choicefurnituresuperstore]

THE VERSATILITY OF OAK NEST OF 3 TABLES IN MODERN HOMES

In today's modern homes, space is often at a premium. Furniture that can serve multiple purposes is becoming increasingly popular. One piece of furniture that has been trending recently is the oak nest of 3 tables. These tables are a versatile addition to any living room or bedroom, providing ample surface area while also taking up minimal space.

Oak is a sturdy and durable wood that is known for its beautiful grain patterns and natural color variations. The nest of 3 tables is usually crafted from solid oak, which makes it a long-lasting investment for any home. Additionally, oak is a sustainable and environmentally-friendly material, making it an excellent choice for conscious consumers.

The design of the oak nest of 3 tables is simple yet elegant. The tables are designed to fit snugly inside one another, creating a space-saving solution that can be easily stored away when not in use. The tables come in various sizes, allowing them to be used separately or together as a set. They are perfect for use as side tables, coffee tables, or even as a temporary workspace.

One of the greatest advantages of the oak nest of 3 tables is its versatility. They can be used in a variety of different settings, from modern to traditional. They can be paired with different decor styles, and their natural beauty makes them an excellent accent piece in any room.

The oak nest of 3 tables is also a practical choice for families with children. They are easy to clean and maintain, and their solid construction makes them sturdy enough to withstand the wear and tear of everyday use. They are also a great option for small apartments or rooms with limited space, as they can be easily stored away when not needed.

In conclusion, the nest of 3 tables is a versatile and practical piece of furniture that is perfect for modern homes. Its solid oak construction ensures durability and sustainability, while its design offers a space-saving solution for small living areas. With their natural beauty and versatility, these tables are a must-have addition to any home.

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[theresacrossbcu]

My final main board has the view of the rippled sea that I always wanted. It was from a photo I had.

The curtains I added were advertised on eBay and were light in colour with a wavy rippled effect on them. eBay (2022). The table was a lovely curved oak oiled table from Nordic Nest. Nordic Nest (2022). I loved the design and thought it looked sleek. The base was s solid piece and curved in structure and a different from a normal table leg or support. I added cushions and stool at an early stage but ended up changing them around. The cushions are different but all have some sort of watery rippled effect on them. I think they help to add a feeling of comfort to the room. Redbubble (2022). Wayfair (2022). The vase was from the WGSN AW23 trends page where I first chose the teen I was going to do. It’s a lovely piece by artist and glassblower Lucas Novak. It contains the blues with marbled sand colour running through it and was the inspiration for the whole trend. The rug is a cream white with beige swirls running through it. It looks plush and comfortable and is in keeping with theme of water movement. Rugvista (2022). The chair is from John Lewis. I wanted one with a high back and changed my original choice of chair to this on as I felt it looked a better quality chair and having the wooden legs went better with the rest of the board and look I wanted to achieve. Lewis, J (2022). I changed the clock too as I thought it looked a better quality clock and went well with the vase and one if the cushions. Lewis, J (2023). The big blue water swirl in the background eludes to the water theme and was from a stock picture online.

[echotzzz]

Azriel brought Bryce to the Townhouse

The main places in the Townhouse consist of foyer + dining room + sitting room ( black marble fireplace, wall bookshelves, liquor cabinet) + near the kitchen

Front door in the Foyer + warmth

HOSAB

A door creaked open. Warm air greeted her, then the door shut.

The front door in the foyer opened, and multiple people rushed in, males and females, all speaking that strange language.

ACOMAF

I missed the cozy warmth of the town house to welcome me in from the crisp winter,

ACOWAR

a knock on the front door sounded. I glanced to the clock in the sitting room across the foyer.

He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door.

From the front door + stairs

HOSAB

A door creaked open. Warm air greeted her, then the door shut. He said something she didn’t understand, and then she was toppling forward— He gave no warning as he hauled her over a shoulder and tromped down a set of stairs before entering somewhere

ACOMAF

I made for the stairs—at the top of which now stood Nuala and Cerridwen, wincing at the front door.

Wood Floorboards covered with carpet cushioned (cr to @psychee92 this post)

HOSAB

  Floorboards groaned beneath his boots,

solid ground, carpets cushioning her feet.

  Dark oak wood floors and furniture. Rich, velvet fabrics.

  The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet.

ACOMAF

town house foyer—and we both collapsed to the wood floor, spraying sand and water on the carpet

ACOWAR

The foyer carpet cushioned the impact as I sank to my knees.

ACOFAS

swept up pine needles we’d scattered over the carpets, and generally shook his head at everything.

ancient wood floorboards creaking beneath my boots

Noted that Both floorboards in HOSAB and ACOFAS made sounds

Floorboards groaned beneath his boots,- Hosab

ancient wood floorboards creaking beneath my boots - Acofas

Noted that Riverside house has pale marbles/wood floor

ACOSF

The riverfront “house” was actually an estate, and so new and clean and beautiful that Nesta remembered her shoes were covered in stale wine precisely as she strode through the towering marble archway and into the shining front hall, tastefully decorated in shades of ivory and sand.

The faelights in each nest-shaped orb cast shimmering reflections on the polished pale wood floors,

ACOFAS

The faelights in each golden orb cast shimmering reflections on the polished white marble floors,

Black Marble Fireplace + liquor cabinet + bookshelves wall

HOSAB

A crackling fire. Books on the shelves lining one wall. A cart of liquor in crystal decanters beside the black marble fireplace.

ACOMAF

black marble fireplace, lots of comfortable, elegant, but worn furniture, and bookshelves built into every wall.

while his other hand idly gripped a glass of some sort of liquor, a crystal decanter full of it set on the table before him.

ACOFAS

Elain had plastered a smile onto her face as she led Nesta not toward the fire as she’d promised, but the liquor cabinet.

The sun was sinking toward the distant sea beyond Velaris when Rhys stood at the black marble mantel of the town house sitting room and lifted his glass of wine.

Foyer + dining room + Near the kitchen

HOSAB

And through the archway beyond the winged male, a foyer and a dining room.

entering somewhere … nice-smelling. Roses? Bread? I consider bread and roses came from the kitchen and the garden which are nearby with each other following “I observed rather pointlessly, peering out the kitchen window at the garden beyond as I rinsed off the plate, fork, and cup.”- ACOFAS

ACOMAF

what was unmistakably a foyer of someone’s house.

I assumed would lead to a kitchen. A town house.

ACOWAR

His metal eye whirred, while the other warily scanned the rooms flanking the foyer: the dining room and sitting room

We stood in the foyer, Nesta lingering at the dining table behind me.

ACOFAS

But two massive figures filled the archway of the dining room, and Rhys paused.

Elain looked over a shoulder at me as we entered the foyer, then turned left—to the dining room. In the sitting room across the way, all conversation halted at the smell of food.

Elain met me halfway to the kitchen, bearing a tray of jam tarts toward the table in the dining room.

Bonus: Elain x Garden in the townhouse

Acomaf: the sleeping winter garden

It faced a walled, winter-kissed garden in the back of the town house, the large windows peering over the sleeping stone fountain in its center, drained for the season.

I took in the clothes, then the room, then the winter garden and the slumbering fountain beyond, and Rhysand’s earlier words clicked into place.

Acowar: Elain started to tend the garden but still have no obvious result

I stood at the kitchen window, staring at the garden in full summer splendor, not quite seeing the blooms Elain Archeron had tended these weeks.

Acofas: Elain again working on the garden preparing for the winter. She even have sketches to expand the garden

Elain had already readied the garden for winter, veiling the more delicate bushes and beds with burlap.

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

Hosab: Elain’s garden had finally shown the result

entering somewhere … nice-smelling. Roses? Bread? They ate bread in Hel? Had flowers?

Bonus: Elain x Baking in the townhouse

Acowar: Elain start to learn how to bake from Nuala & Cerridwen

Elain stood between Nuala and Cerridwen at the long worktable. All three of them covered in flour. Some sort of doughy mess on the surface before them.“We’re making bread.”

She was … doing something. Learning something. “We’ll leave you to your baking.”

Acofas: Seems like Elain is already a certified baker

Elain straightened from the piping-hot loaves of bread she’d hauled from the oven, her hair half up, the apron over her rose-pink gown dusted with flour.

Elain met me halfway to the kitchen, bearing a tray of jam tarts toward the table in the dining room. Where an assortment of baked goods had already begun to take form, tiered cakes and iced cookies. Sugar-frosted buns and caramel-drizzled fruit pies. “Those look pretty,” I told her by way of greeting, nodding toward the heart-shaped cookies on her tray. All of it looked pretty.

Hosab: Petition for Elain to have her own bakery

entering somewhere … nice-smelling. Roses? Bread? They ate bread in Hel? Had flowers?

[nestoftablesuk]

Original Rustic Solid Oak Nest of 3 Tables

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Hallowood Furniture Cotswold Oak 2 Nest of Tables in Light Oak, Solid Wooden Side Tables for Bedroom, Coffee Table, Small Table, Lamp Table, Nesting Tables for Small Spaces

[kryetara]

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓.     𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬.  𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧  𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭,  𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 ;    𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝚆𝙾𝙻𝙵.       you’ve never set foot inside before,  as it usually emits quite the  intimidating  aura ;  this time the dare is set.  you’re pulled in before you’ve the words to protest.  as soon as you make entry through the narrow,  glossy black and peeling door frame,  you realise it’s not the  glaring bouncers  lurking at the entrance that cause such unrest.  it’s the pair of watchful men that share a couple of old leather sofa’s tucked into the furthest corner of the bar,  both nursing glasses of liquor,  that well up such an  atmosphere.   you can’t exactly make our their expressions,  nor their features ;  but you’re more than aware  they’re watching you.            //            a dissection of the infamous blind wolf bar.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅   is a small bar / nightclub located on postway mews,  ilford.  the street is a one way affair just wide enough for a car or taxi to slip through,  with scratched double yellow lines on the concrete,  doorways to the backs of houses and shops,   litter perpetually dusting up the corners where the road meets brick wall.  there are no spaces for parking,  save for two small slots for the owners,  and the outside of the bar is painted a dark grey,  with usually one or two bouncers posted at the entry.  they have no identification,  and don’t seem to be wearing any official representation of formal training.  at the small hours of the night that break into morning,  there is usually a small crowd gathered outside with plumes of smoke coiling about them,  and the music is played loud enough to mark presence a number of streets away.

once inside the doorway,  you will find that the blind wolf was once a well loved,  well respected,  tucked away club,  but has gone uncared for for a number of years.  the floors,  walls,  ceiling,  almost all the furniture,  is the same shade of dark coal grey that the outside is painted in,  and it has no homely feel to it whatsoever ;  strips of cyan blue neon lighting attached to all the corners of the ceiling.  the bar itself is wide and tall,  and windows to the outside world are layered up so well that even during daylight,  hardly a scrap of sun breaks through.  the centre of the room is a glittering but tired dance floor,  and set up in the corners are tables,  chairs,  and a number of weathered booths.  in the far right hand side of the room sits a long,  l shaped bar,  again painted charcoal grey,  and lit with cyan neon.  the choice of drinks is fairly extensive,  but nothing is immediately accessible ;  the catwalk of the bar is usually empty,  save for the tall pumps,  as the crowd that frequents the place is the sort of crowd to knock things off and break them.  a strip of glasses line the ceiling,  but are coated visibly with a layer of dust,  ironically shown up by the strip lights above.  behind the centre of the bar is another neon sign,  reading  ‘  𝙷𝙾𝚆𝙻 !  ’.   the room is littered here and there with scratched beer mats,  shards of broken glass, and standing in one place for too long will cause the soles of your shoes to become temporarily stuck to the sticky black tile floor as a result of spilled drinks left uncleaned.  the carpet around the corners isn’t much better ;  again,  dark grey,  but home to unending amounts of stains.

looking to the far left of the room,  you will find two small,  two person black leather sofas,  a low,  glass coffee table,  and a large black leather armchair.  this part of the room is elevated,  one step above the rest,  and has black wooden fencing ;  this section is off limits for the general public,  and is the throne of the club’s owner,   𝙺𝙴𝙻 𝙼𝙴𝙷𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙸,   where he sits with others of the albanian clan mehmeti.  most evenings the spot is home to a simple pair of them,  usually kel and murrat,  but is the hub for them all ;  patrons of the bar must fear when all mehmeti siblings are in the nest,  for their beady eyes are always watching.  many approach this exclusive corner,  many are then led out the back through a doorway beside the bar by one of the family,  many dealings of all forms are to be had here. when the corner is empty,  and no mehmeti is present that night,  the walls can breathe a sigh of relief.  but these times are short lived.

the doorway to the back of the bar is small,  and adjacent is a set of creaking wooden stairs.  ascending one flight and you will find a number of ominous bedrooms ;  one more flight,  and you will come across a white wooden door with a lock.  beyond this door is a small box sized room,  with one tall window,  a desk,  chair,  and most importantly,  a safe.  the space is largely empty of personal effects,  but evidence presents itself that one  𝙸𝚁𝙰 𝙳𝚄𝙽𝙷𝙰𝙼   frequents the room ;  one of his coats draped over the seat,  a green plastic lighter in a small dish by a computer screen.  this room is off limits to all bar the mehmeti’s,  and their money-man.

directly behind the bar through the back doorway sits a larger office,  with a desk,  sofa,  bookshelves,  and many sets of drawers.  there are no windows in this room,  and the door again sports an ominous lock ;  it feels as though it’s removed from the rest of the place,  as though entry will plunge you into a different part of the world ;  it feels just as much an interrogation room as it does a workspace.  it is lit by a hanging bulb in the centre,  and has old,  oak furniture,  that perhaps give glimpses as to what the place used to look like before the mehmeti’s bought it out ;  perhaps at one stage just a simple local pub.

the blind wolf has an infamous reputation among the locals for being a  ‘rowdy’  place,  unsettling at best ;  often on the radar of police,  who creep past in the small of evenings almost daily,  tipped off once or twice at unsavoury behaviour.  the mehmeti’s are good at covering their tracks,  however,  and as of yet the only one of the family with a criminal record is kutjim,  sentenced to comitting abh a number of years ago.  as a result,  kutjim spends the most amount of time away from the bar,  so as to try to minimize suspicion.  fights break out a startling amount usually in the street outside,  but the walls aren’t strangers to the occasional thrown glass,  punch thrown,  or hair pulled inside ;  almost a spectacle for some of the family ;  harshly punished by kel,  whenever it presents itself.  they can’t afford any attention drawn to them.

on quieter nights,  when the only people who come in are either friends,  family,  or a number of regulars,  it’s not uncommon to find our dunham behind the bar,  serving drinks.  he will on occasion stand in for staff who don’t show up on busier nights,  even after working for hours upstairs ;   perhaps a more solid means of continual distraction.

with every passing day,  ira grows more and more at home in the place.  he starts making small repairs here and there,  and begins to inject some much needed care in the blind wolf ;  beginning to feel more possessive over it as time wears on ;  much to the distaste of some of the mehmeti’s,  kel included.

[choicefurnituresuperstore]

WOODEN TABLE LOOKS AMAZING IN ANY LIVING ROOM ENVIRONMENT

A nest of tables made of solid wood looks amazing in any living room environment. What is the ideal wood for a nest of tables, you might be wondering, with so many different sizes, styles, woods, and accessories available? By assisting you in selecting a solid wood nest table that will look fantastic and endure for many years, we would love to help you find the solution to this issue. The details you require are as follows:

Popular Wood

Mango: You guessed it—the mango tree is the source of mango wood! Another hardwood that works well for a nest of the table is mango wood, which is widely available in regions like South Asia. A mango wood nest of tables has a good resistance to water, which may be bad for wood tables. This is one of its best attributes. On its own, mango wood often has a medium appearance with a gold/brown gradient.

Benefits of a nesting table made of mango wood

The use of mango wood for nesting tables has several advantages:

Durability: Mango wood has a strength that is equivalent to oak and ash, making it a sturdy hardwood that is ideal for custom Nest of table designs. You may rest easy knowing that your nest of tables will last for many years because it doesn't wear out easily and ages nicely.

Sustainability: Because mango trees are grown for their fruit, they are incredibly sustainable. Considering that they are hardwoods, the trees achieve maturity after just roughly 15 years of growth. At this stage, they may cease producing fruit completely or start producing less. Mango growers maintain a sustainable cycle of plantation and harvest by planting new trees every 7 to 15 years, before the older trees become barren, with only the less "fruitful" plants being cut down for wood.

Affordable: Mango wood is more inexpensive than that hardwood trees since mango trees are so sustainable. Once the tree has been cut down, there is not much processing needed, which also helps to keep costs down.

Aesthetic: Mango wood furniture is a fantastic alternative for people searching for something genuinely unique due to the different texture and patterns, as well as the lovely wood grain. You are assured to receive a unique piece of furniture since the color of the wood varies.

[anantradingpvtltd]

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[peachyteabuck]

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." -  THOMAS C. FOSTER 

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat. 

Good news: you accept the gift. 

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it.  enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start.  “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.  

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.  

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.      

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having  been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

 //

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter seven

Like I’m not made of stone

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six

Chapter summary: In which there are ups and downs, food continues to be an issue and Alfie loses his patience once or twice. 

Pairing: Alfie/Tommy

Warnings: suicidal ideation, disordered eating, insomnia, hallucinations, mentions of force feeding. 

Wordcount: 4400

”Sir, perhaps you could move him to the bedroom tonight?”

The voice wakes him up. But it’s an odd way of waking up, one he’s not used to anymore. Rather than being violently startled awake or just floating from one nightmare to another, he’s left in more of a soft, warm darkness, limbs heavy and only barely hearing the voices. Familiar voices, but not the bad ones, the ones everyone keeps telling him aren’t real.

”I’m not fucking carrying him around,” Alfie grumbles. He does that a lot. Makes his voice come out as that low, rumbling noise. Tommy likes that. “If he wants to sleep in the armchair he can fucking sleep in the armchair. Seems to have worked out fine the last… three days. It‘s better than not sleeping at all, innit?”  

”Yes, but he always wakes up sooner or later, and I really think he might manage the whole night if-” there are footsteps, and the voices fade. He sinks a bit deeper into the cushions. It’s okay, he won’t have to go back to that room. He’ll get to stay here, where it’s warm and safe and there’s no door that can be closed.

The darkness pulls him under again.

…

It’s quiet when he wakes up the next time. Quiet and much colder than before and his legs ache from being pulled against his chest for so long. He stretches them out, reluctantly facing the darkness as he opens his eyes and looks around, spotting the usual things in the room that always remind him of where he is. The shelves full of books and odd trinkets, the painting of a grassy landscape, the armchair where Alfie sits when he reads in the afternoon. The book is there too, on the table with a piece of paper sticking out to signify where he left off.

The silence of a house where everyone else is asleep is different from any other. And the room that has begun feeling almost safe at any other hour of the day suddenly feels all wrong. It’s too quiet and too dark and too cold.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a glimpse of white fabric. He grabs onto the blanket and digs a hand into the pocket of the too large trousers, fingers clasping around the chestnut. Closing his eyes he tries to sort among the shards in his head, put enough of them together to find something real to focus on, remember what’s happened.

They went for a walk, and then Alfie read a book, and then he fell asleep. They’ve done that- how many times, just once?

There’s a sound somewhere in the room. Fabric swishing. He breathes, tries to push away all the other thoughts and just focus on the round smooth surface of the chestnut in his hand. Tries to recall what’s happened in the book, but it’s difficult because he fades in and out of it. Sometimes everything else is too loud and all he really hears is the sound of Alfie’s voice itself, without being able to decipher the meaning of the words… But he did read, of that he’s sure. And they went for a walk.  A bit further than the chestnut tree this time, to gathering of thorny rose bushes without leaves. And the day before that Alfie showed him a large oak with a hole in it. Tommy thought that perhaps the crow lived there until he remembered that crows build nests.

The room is empty when he opens his eyes, but it still feels like someone is there just right outside his field of vision.

Esther told him he could wake her up…

“My room is through the kitchen and then to the left. I’ll leave the door open and if you need anything, anything at all, if you get scared or hungry or just need a bit of company, you can wake me up. Alright?”

He nodded when she told him, but he won’t wake her up, doesn’t want to be more trouble than he already is. But he can’t stay in here, that’s all he knows, so he gets out of the armchair, bringing the blanket along with him. It’s always so cold everywhere at night. As long as Alfie and Esther are awake there’s always a fire burning somewhere.

He’s a little dizzy, so he has to hold onto the wall for a moment before venturing out into the hallway and slowly making his way to nowhere in particular. Maybe he could go to the kitchen, just to see if it’s warmer there?

And somehow it’d feel safer, because Esther wouldn’t be as far away.  

Alfie’s house is big and full of things. Bookcases and shelves full of odd trinkets. There are animals there as well. He doesn’t like those. They stare at him with their glassy eyes, reminding him of the crow that still hasn’t returned.

But it seems odd that Alfie would have a crow. That doesn’t make any sense. He tries to fit the pieces together. Something blurry resurfaces, Alfie holding that bird and-

“It’s fucking stuffed, alright?.”

But he saw it move and fly and then it came to his window. Tap tap against the glass.

That doesn’t make any sense either, birds don’t do things like that, and no one would have a crow as a pet, not even Alfie. Tomorrow he should ask Alfie about it, or maybe Esther. Esther wouldn’t get angry.

He reaches out and touches the smooth feathers of a raven on top of a cabinet. It stays still on its perch, glassy stare and cold to the touch. It’s real but it’s not alive, just like the others, that makes sense. There’s a fox next to it and he hesitates for a moment before letting his fingers brush through the soft fur.

He continues carefully running his fingers along the objects on the shelf as he walks. Soon he passes the guestroom but he doesn’t go inside, because he doesn’t like it, it’s quiet in a bad way and the corners are so dark…

Then there’s the door to what must be Alfie’s bedroom. He stands there outside of it, listening. Some light snoring comes from behind the door. Feels strange to think of Alfie asleep in a bed. An image of him sprawled out on his back, taking up the entire mattress with his large frame appears in his mind and he- he wants to knock on the door, wake Alfie up and ask if he will read to him, or just be there, real and solid and filling the silence with his voice.

He quickly moves away from the door, continuing down the hallway. The floor rocks ever so slightly underneath him.

“You shouldn’t wander around, Tommy.”

Lizzie carefully puts a hand on his shoulder, so light that he can barely feel it. “Let’s get you back to bed. The doctor says you need to rest.”

He hugs the blanket tightly to his chest and just breathes. This is real, not the other things. He tries to pick those pieces out, sort them away, just focus on the ones he knows are real; Alfie, the walks and the trees, Esther coming in with tea, Alfie’s voice being a gentle, distant rumbling and the fabric of his shirtsleeve soft and warm under his fingers…

When the voices fade, he begins moving again. Down the corridor to what might be the kitchen, he’s never been in this part of the house before.

Suddenly he’s hit by another wave of dizziness and grapples for something to hold onto, stumbling and just barely catching himself against a shelf. It shakes, and there’s a loud crash. It sends his heart racing and makes his breath catch in his throat.

He looks down to find the floor full of broken shards, sharp and glimmering in the faint moonlight spilling in through the window. Like a sea of crystals or-

“Sapphires maybe?”

The shards are blue, but it must be the moonlight, it’s just glass, nothing else-

He picks one up, has to touch it, just to make sure. The sharp edges gleam.

“You could make a necklace for yourself, Tommy, like the one you gave me. It’d be pretty. Match your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to look at the glass anymore, but he doesn’t dare turning away either, afraid of what he’ll see. His pulse thuds dully under the thin skin on his neck, right under his jaw, pumping blood through the veins so close to the surface-

“It’s so easy. And quiet too.”

No, no it’s not real. He doesn’t have to listen.  

But the glass is real, it’s just glass but it’s real and if it’s real, he has to pick it up, or someone will be angry. He starts gathering up the shards in his hands, carefully putting the small ones in a larger piece so he won’t cut himself.

“Tommy?”

The shards clatter to the floor as he flinches. He scrambles to pick up the pieces again and footsteps approach. Lizzie comes toward him, a worried wrinkle between her eyebrows.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, and he can never answer, because what is he supposed to say?

That no one ever comes anymore. And the room is so quiet and the bed is cold and he just didn’t want to be alone. But it’s a selfish and stupid thing to think. “Aren’t you enough of a burden on this family already? Do you need to be waited on at all hours too?”  

He shakes his head, focuses again on gathering all the glass up. Lizzie will be angry, like she was after the mirror-

“Oh, put those down, love, I’ll take care of it.”

It’s not Lizzie standing there before him, it’s Esther, calm and steady as ever with just a small extra wrinkle between her eyebrows. She crouches down next to him and soon the blanket is draped over his shoulders.

“Go on, so you don’t cut yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to-“ he whispers as he puts the glass back down, surprised to hear his own voice.

“No, no of course not, accidents happen. Now come here, we don’t want you stepping on it.”

He lets himself be moved backwards a few steps, eyes fixed on the glass.  

It has lost its bluish tint and Esther appears by his side again with a broom. He reaches for it.

“I can-“

“Nonsense, I’m a professional after all,” she says and the dimples are back in her cheeks as she starts sweeping the glass into a pile. “Honestly this was for the best. An absolutely awful vase, that-

“Is it too much to ask for one fucking night of undisturbed sleep? What’s going on out here?”

Tommy flinches even though the gruff voce is familiar.

Alfie’s hair is sticking out at odd directions and he’s clad nothing but his shorts as he comes down the hallway, limping ever so slightly. He somehow looks even bigger without his clothes, large muscles and expanses of warm skin... For some reason Tommy finds himself staring at his broad chest, eyes transfixed on all the new things.  

“Oh, nothing Sir,” Esther says. “Just a little accident.”

Alfie looks at the glass as Esther sweeps it all up in a pile, then at Tommy, eyes narrowing.

“An accident, eh?” he comes closer and towers over him. The heat seems to radiate from his skin and he wishes he could lean into it. “You sure about that?”

He grabs his wrist -maybe to give him another chestnut?- but no, he just bends his fingers up to inspect his palm.

“Mister Solomons what-“

“You got any of it hidden away, hm? Figured this would be an easier way out than the bloody sea?” Alfie looks into his other hand and palms his thigh in search of a pocket. It’s all too much suddenly and a pathetic whine escapes him. Alfie pins him with a hard gaze. “I fucking swear, Tommy, if you broke that fucking thing on purpose, I’m going to make it easy for you and wring your bloody neck right this second.”

“Mister Solomons, that’s quite enough!” Esther says sharply and takes two determined steps towards them, grabbing onto Alfie’s arm. Alfie is still staring at him with those wide eyes but he takes a step back. Tommy averts his gaze to the floor, to the blanket that’s ended up there again. He wants to pick it up, but he’s afraid another dizzy spell will come over him.

Alfie is already angry, he doesn’t want to make it worse.

Esther huffs, “You could at least have made yourself decent before storming out here to yell at our guest.”

Alfie makes a noise of offence but she just puts her hands on her hips puffs her chest out. They stare each other down. Then, Alfie throws his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, why don’t you fucking handle it? I’m going back to bed.”

Tommy finds himself staring at his broad, retreating back. The muscles around his shoulders ripple as his arms move.

“But I swear if he ends up bleeding out on the carpet somewhere I’m not fucking dealing with it,” he barks. “And stay away from the one in the living room, I like that thing.”

The door to Alfie’s bedroom slams shut.  

Esther snorts and picks up the blanket, draping it over Tommy’s shoulders again.

“The manners of that man, honestly,” she mutters and glances at the clock standing on one of the shelves. “Know what, it’s almost morning anyway, so there really is no point in going back to bed now. How about you come with me to the kitchen for a bit?”

Tommy finds himself being led through the dark corridor before he can figure out an answer.

He’s never been in the kitchen. It’s nice. Reminds him of the kitchen at Watery Lane, but larger, cleaner. Maybe it’s just the feeling of… home it exudes. Seems like an eternity since that was home.

“There we go,” Esther says and puts a cup of tea down in front of him on the table. “Now, I’ve had a dough proving overnight, so it should be right about done.” She sets a large bowl down onto the table and rolls her sleeves up.

Soon, the room is warm from the heat of the oven, and Esther is standing up to her elbows in dough.

“So, love, is there any food you like?” she asks, wiping across her forehead with her wrist and leaving a white trail of flour there. “See, I’m nothing if not stubborn. And it’s good that you can manage the soup, but we really should try getting some solid food into you.”

Tommy rubs his stomach. Thinks of the dirt filling every cavity.

“Maybe something your mum used to cook when you were little?”

One time, dad came home with strawberries. And had it been up to him, the rest of his siblings would’ve made a away with most of them. But mum took them and distributed them equally- She gave him an extra piece of bread too, with butter, which was a rare treat. “You go ahead and eat this too, sweetheart. You’re smaller than John.”  

He shakes his head.

Esther hums and starts forming the dough into loaves. “Well, we’ll figure it out eventually.”

The door opens and Alfie enters, clad in trousers with the suspenders dangling by his sides and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up.  

“Thought you were going back to sleep, Sir,” Esther says cheerily and begins arranging the loaves on a sheet tray.  

“Impossible to fucking fall asleep at this hour,” Alfie mutters and lifts the lid on the teapot to look inside, muttering something incoherent as he goes to fetch a cup. “If certain people could just fucking stay put instead of wandering around the house like some restless bloody spirit it’d make all of this much easier. I could use some undisturbed sleep.”

“Well, Sir, you have all day to sleep if you’d like to,” Esther says and covers one of the loaves with a towel, setting it aside. “Or would that get in the way of any important obligations?”

Tommy freezes. But Alfie just glares and pours tea into his cup.

“Remind me again why I hired you.”

“Because no one else would put up with you, Sir,” Esther quips and covers the second tray.

Alfie grunts something unintelligible, but sits down by the table. Tommy thinks he can see the corner of his mouth twitch, and he feels something stir in his chest. Something besides the dull ache that usually resides there.

The kitchen is quiet for a while, but right then, none of the voices come back.

Esther refills the teacups, and Alfie flips through a paper, occasionally humming and muttering things to himself.

Soon, the room is filled with the scent of warm bread.

“Now, if this doesn’t help that appalling appetite of yours I don’t know what fucking will,” Alfie says and nods towards the bread when Esther takes it out of the oven. “Think you might be a lost cause then.”

Tommy wraps an arm around his stomach as he watches Esther cut the bread into slices. She sets a piece down before him. He’s not sure how to explain the mud, that he can’t eat because of it. They’ll think he’s crazy, tell him it’s all in his head. And it is. Must be, because it’s not- people can’t be full of mud like that, can they? But what does it help telling himself that when he can feel it filling up his insides like a cold, heavy lump?

He rubs his stomach. It feels like the mud goes all the way up the back of his throat, making it impossible to swallow.

It’s not really there. It’s just like everything else, not really there. And he has to eat.

Lizzie tries to explain it to him the first time the men show up.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, but this is the only way-“

But then she leaves the room, and it’s just the doctor and those men in the white shirts left.

He shoves weakly against all the hands as they force the tube down his throat. It hurts and he can’t breathe, it won’t fit, and all the mud is in the way. Lizzie comes to stand in the doorway and he tries to reach for her, she won’t let them do this, she’ll tell them to stop- But she just looks at him with sad eyes.

He picks up the bread and takes a small bite. It seems to grow in his mouth but he chews and swallows. His throat closes up around it.

“There we go, that wasn’t so bad now, was it,” Alfie chuckles. “Don’t have to look like you swallowed a fucking insect.”

He takes another bite and tries to chew it more this time.

The faces around him are all set in nothing but cold determination and it makes no difference how hard he fights them. Tears trickle down his cheeks and he gags around the intrusion in his throat.

“Please, Tommy, they’re only trying to help.”  

He tries to swallow, but the bile rises in his throat. Gagging, he slams a hand over his mouth and somehow makes it to the nearby sink before he’s vomiting. Bile and blood and mud from the field…  

He just wants the tube gone, but they won’t listen, just keep forcing it down his throat no matter how many times he gags and chokes around it.

Again and again he retches, even when nothing except bile comes up.

“Oh, of course that’s what we’re fucking doing now. Fucking hell, it’s too bloody early for this bullshit. I’ll just leave you to it.”

Dishes clatter, a chair scrapes, and then Alfie’s muttered curses fade along with his footsteps. A door slams.

Tommy is vaguely aware of the humiliation burning in the pit of his stomach and a sob escapes him before he can stop it.

“Well, Mr. Shelby, if you start eating on your own we won’t have to do this,” The doctor says when they finally remove it and he coughs and weeps and-

His legs give in.

-and when the hands finally let him go he curls up into a ball under the covers, arms over his head and hearing his own sobs as some distant echo in his ears.

The hands come back, but they’re softer this time. Fewer.

“It’s alright. We’ll take it slower. You don’t have to force yourself into anything,” Esther says and rubs his shoulder. She hangs the blanket over him too. But he can’t face her. Can’t face anyone he’s-

“Pathetic, useless-“

Maybe if he digs the bullet out-

“No, no none of that,” Esther takes his wrist firmly in her hand, pulling it away from his head. “Nothing will get better with you hurting yourself.”

It’s not there. His head is just damaged anyway. Can’t be fixed.

“Alright?”

He nods and Esther releases him. There’s a bit of movement.  

“Here’s some water. I’m putting it next to you, so you can drink it when you’re ready.”

Esther gets to her feet but doesn’t leave the kitchen. She potters around, humming to herself and whistling occasionally. He focuses on all of those sounds and none of the others.

The shame has turned into a dull ache in the pit of his stomach and right then, it feels impossible to ever look up again, he just wants to stay like this. But finally the darkness under his arms become too much so he peers up just a little to see what Esther is doing. She’s washing dishes, and as if she senses his gaze she glances over at him and smiles.

“It’s okay. We’ll stick to the soup for a bit longer. No point in eating if it’s making you feel like this.”

He nods and can breathe a little easier, taking the glass and washing away the taste of bile in his mouth. Esther nods too and goes back to the dishes.

“I know he might not seem like it, but he’s worried, that’s all,” she says suddenly. “Mister Solomons. Sure he might hide it under a lot of… gruffness and cursing, but he cares. Just doesn’t always know how to show it.”

Tommy hears the words but they don’t make sense. Alfie has no reason to care.

He stays there on the floor until Esther finally comes and leads him over to a chair. And then he sits there instead, quietly watching her. Until the kitchen door suddenly opens.

Alfie is standing there, clad in a coat and with a hat perched on his head. He clears his throat and scratches his beard. Then he tosses something at Tommy. A second coat.

“Figured we should stick to the walks,” he says. “You know, keep the routine and… what not. Mind you if you decide to start fucking vomiting over that coat-“

Esther clears her throat loudly and Alfie glares, before gesturing at Tommy.

“Well, go on, put it on.”

Tommy finds himself obeying.

It’s cloudy outside, and the field is swept up in fog as if some of the clouds have fallen out of the sky. Alfie talks as usual and he sticks close to him, gravitates towards him without understanding why. Maybe because Alfie is solid and real and there and if he’s close enough maybe that will be enough to ground him, keep the voices at bay…

No one wants him this close, it’s annoying and clingy. But Alfie doesn’t seem to mind. He minds plenty of things, but not this.

He’s brought the chestnut along and he holds that in his hand, squeezing it tightly.  

“I got you something,” Alfie says suddenly and digs a hand into the giant pocket of his coat. “Or, well, Esther did, really.”

Tommy stops in his tracks and stares down at the packet of cigarettes.

“Got them while she was into town, yesterday. Really shouldn’t be fucking indulging this habit of yours. Smoking is for people who fucking eat. But things can’t exactly get any worse so I figured this wouldn’t make a difference. Go on.”

Alfie holds the packet a bit closer, before sighing and picking one out himself. Tommy flinches when he shoves it against his lips and latches onto it out of pure shock. Alfie grins and his eyes crinkle at the corners. His eyes are kind when he smiles like that, even the hazy one- He lights the cigarette without asking and when the scent fills Tommy’s nose, it’s as if his body acts on its own accord, sucking the smoke into his lungs, fingers pulling the cigarette from his lips as he exhales it into a cloud. Reacting on some half forgotten instinct, he rubs the cigarette over his lips before putting it back between them and the gesture makes something spark in his chest because it’s real and normal and the first normal thing he’s felt in so long and-

Alfie is staring at him with an odd expression on his face. Then he makes another one of those grunts that could mean anything, and starts walking again. Tommy follows. Gathers himself and focuses on making his voice work.

“Thank you.”

This time it’s Alfie who stops in his tracks and Tommy steps on his heel, flinching when he turns around. He waits for an outburst of some sort.

Alfie just blinks and clears his throat. “Yeah, well, it‘s just fucking cigarettes, innit?”

Then he continues walking. Tommy tries to keep some distance as he follows this time.  

Without a word, Alfie turns, grabs onto his coat sleeve and tugs him closer.

“It’s better if you stay there. Don’t want you wandering off somewhere, right? Could lose you in this fog. Not to mention the tall grass.” He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

Tommy frowns.

Alfie laughs again, looking incredibly pleased with himself.  “Oh but would you look at that? Could almost pass as a glare, that. Nothing compared to your usual glower but it’s getting there. Who would’ve thought cigarettes were such a good medicine?”

It’s hard to keep frowning when Alfie’s face looks like that, all bright and happy. So Tommy just takes another drag on the cigarette and walks a little closer to him.