#chesterfield sofa set

[the-india-decor]

Upgrade Your Space with Iconic Chesterfield Sofa Sets

Since the 18th century, the Chesterfield sofa—which features rolling arms, equal back and arm height, and a characteristic deep button tufting—has been known for its elegant and sophisticated design. It is a flexible option for any home because of its classic design, which blends in perfectly with both traditional and modern decor.

Read more- https://www.slideserve.com/theindiadecor/upgrade-your-space-with-iconic-chesterfield-sofa-sets

[royaloak-furniture]

What are the benefits of owning a Chesterfield sofa set?

Owning a Chesterfield sofa set has numerous benefits that can improve your living space and lifestyle. Here's why many people enjoy these famous pieces:

Timeless elegance: Chesterfield sofas have a unique, sophisticated appearance that will never go out of style. Their tufted leather and curled arms add an air of grandeur to any setting.

Durability: These sofas are often manufactured from high-quality materials, allowing them to resist daily use and last for many years.

Versatility: Chesterfield sofas blend nicely with a variety of interior design styles, from traditional to modern, making them an excellent choice for any home.

Comfort: Despite its formal appearance, Chesterfield sofas are frequently surprisingly comfortable, providing a lovely place to unwind.

Investment worth: Because of their timeless design and high quality manufacturing, Chesterfield sofas frequently keep their value over time.

Statement piece: A Chesterfield sofa set can be a wonderful center point in your living area, attracting attention from guests.

Variety of options: Although Chesterfield sofas were traditionally constructed of leather, they are now available in a variety of fabrics and colors to fit your preferences.

Easy maintenance: Leather Chesterfields are especially simple to clean and maintain, which adds to their usefulness.

If you're thinking about adding a Chesterfield sofa set to your home, you should check out Royaloak. As a prominent online furniture retailer, they provide a diverse range of high-quality Chesterfield sofas and other furniture items to fit a variety of interests and budgets.

[nismaaya-decor]

In this episode, we delve into the timeless allure of the Chesterfield sofa, renowned for its classic elegance and sophistication. The Chesterfield's signature features, like tufted leather upholstery and rolled arms, have made it a luxury symbol for centuries. Despite its traditional roots, the Chesterfield has evolved to suit various interior styles, from classic to modern, making it a versatile choice for any space. Nismaaya Decor offers a selection of stylish Chesterfield sofas to elevate your decor, perfect for both residential and commercial settings. With its timeless charm and comfort, the Chesterfield sofa stands out as a perfect choice for any room.

[urbanwood23]

[urbanwoods56]

How to Choose the Best Chesterfield Sofa Set

Urbanwood offers a diverse selection of chesterfield sofas, including chesterfield sofa sets and modern chesterfield sofas. These sofas are crafted with attention to detail and quality materials, ensuring both style and durability. Whether you're looking for a classic chesterfield design or a contemporary twist on the iconic style, Urbanwood provides options to suit various preferences and interior decor themes. With their range of wooden sofas designs, you can find the perfect chesterfield sofa to elevate your living space. Explore Urbanwood's collection to discover timeless elegance and comfort for your home.

[sofas2024]

French Nordic Living Room Sofas Modern Minimalist Luxury Sectional Living Room Sofas Europe Lazy Fauteuils Salon Furniture

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[escapismbook]

ESCAPISM CHAPTER TEN

Chapter Ten | Wonderland

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female)

→ AUs: non idol!au→ Genre(s): dark romance, smut, mature, mafia

→ Trope(s): professor-student, forbidden romance, dark, sin-evil, passion, slow-burn, seductive, mafia

→ Rating: mature/explicit (this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.)

→ Word count: 6.3k

→ warnings + triggers: explicit smut, (female) OC is innocent and pure and Yoongi is desperate for her. Drug use, Strong language, Explicit scenes, Mentions of S.A, Violence, Dark Themes, Crime Elements, Alcohol, Club setting, Obsession, Possessive, Protective Love, Emotional.

→ Author’s note: Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden. This story contains mature themes, including:   

This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.

Dedication: Reaches out to cup your cheek, "now be a good girl for me."

(Don't forget to like and comment.)

A small note: When you see the italic font, it means they are speaking in Korean.

SONGS FOR CHAPTER |

DJ Khalid, Rihanna & Bryson Tiller • Wild Thoughts RAYE • Escapism 

The weeks passed quickly. Yoongi taught, Aalia studied. But almost every day, he made her stay behind during breaks, always with a reason so pointlesss it was almost amusing. He would skim through her submissions with the same meticulous precision. A misplaced comma, an unnecessary word, a phrase that could have been structured differently—details that did not matter, but he used them as exuses to have her close. To watch her brow furrow in frustration, to hear the way she exhaled softly when she disagreed but knew better than to argue. She was brilliant, but it didn’t stop him from finding reasons to linger in her presence.

Tonight the Min family’s hotel was nothing short of regal—a testament to old wealth, its history woven into every stone, every towering column, every gold-gilded frame. It stood in the heart of the Seoul like an untouchable empire, its grand façade lined with wrought-iron balconies and cascading marble staircases leading to polished mahogany doors. A doorman, clad in pristine livery, tipped his hat to each guest, pulling open the heavy doors to reveal a world untouched by time.

Inside, the air was thick with sophistication. Chandeliers, dripping with thousands of hand-cut crystals, bathed the opulent lobby in a golden glow. The ceiling stretched high, painted with Baroque frescoes that whispered of old secrets, of whispered conversations between kings and emperors. The polished marble floors gleamed, reflecting the glow of wall sconces, their intricate gold filigree casting delicate patterns across the room. Plush Persian rugs softened the footsteps of those who entered, and towering arrangements of fresh roses and white lilies stood in tall vases, their fragrance mingling with the faint notes of a classical sonata humming from a distant grand piano.

He stepped in with effortless grace, the weight of legacy draped over his shoulders like an invisible cloak. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the crisp cut of his jacket accentuating the sharpness of his frame. His onyx eyes flicked around the lobby, scanning with the instinct of a man who knew his surroundings before they knew him.

But then he stilled, and the world narrowing to a single focal point—the woman seated on one of the Chesterfield sofas near the towering french windows. The soft, warm light of the chandeliers cascaded over her, gilding her in gold. She hadn’t noticed him; her attention was on her phone, long fingers moving with practiced ease over the screen.

The white and ivory beige colour clung to her like an embrace. The dress, silky and elegant, draped over her frame, pooling at the curve of her hips before cascading down to her calves. Her hair, parted at the side, fell in effortless curles catching the light like spun silk. And her golden cross sat just above her chest, bracelet graced her wrist, golden earrings in subtle but devastatingly feminine.

He watched the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way her lips parted slightly in thought, the way her lashes fluttered against her cheek before she glanced at her phone again.

God, she was mesmerizing. A possessive heat curled in his gut, an inexplicable ache that he despised but couldn’t deny. It was different from before, different from the stolen moments in his office, the quiet tension between stolen kisses and lingering touches. This was something else.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk before he strode toward her, his footsteps silent against the marble floor. He carried himself as though he had simply stumbled upon her, as though this was mere coincidence. 

“Fancy seeing you here, darling.”

Aalia’s head snapped up, her wide eyes meeting his. Yoongi made himself comfortable, settling into the armchair beside her. He was at ease, his body leaning back slightly, exuding quiet amusement. He watched her reaction, the way her lips parted in surprise before she masked it with composure.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her phone. “Do you have my location thing on?”

A laugh rumbled from his chest, dark and amused. “No, I don’t have your location tracking on.” There was a short pause as his gaze flickered around the lobby, before returning to her. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Aalia tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Oh?” she mused, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I thought you didn’t want to see me with someone else.”

Yoongi’s smirk deepened, his amusement evident. But beneath it, something darker lurked. The idea of her with someone else—it didn’t sit well with him. “Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he murmured.

Aalia only smiled, her confidence unwavering. She crossed one leg over the other, and Yoongi’s eyes followed the motion, landing on the elegant arch of her foot, the pointed tip of her high heel aimed directly at him.

He didn’t think—he simply acted. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the exposed skin on the top of her foot, tracing lightly over the area with slow, deliberate movements. She didn’t pull away. His touch was unhurried, almost absentminded, yet entirely calculated. He expected her to react the way she always did—shifting away, creating distance. But she didn’t. She was calm. A shift had occurred, one so subtle yet so profound that it made his fingers pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their lazy strokes.

“Why are you sitting in the lobby alone, darling?” he asked, his voice smooth, slightly huskier than before.

“I’m attending an event.”

“An event, huh?”

She nodded. “Mmm. Some business thing. I’m not too sure—but I’m here for the cakes.”

Yoongi chuckled low. “You have your priorities straight, I see.”

Just then, her phone rang. Aalia glanced at the screen before answering, her voice soft as she spoke to her aunt. Yoongi watched her silently, his fingers finally stilling against her skin. She stood, gathering the folds of her dress as she moved toward the large double doors on the side of the lobby to where other people attending were heading. Then, his lips curled slightly. Because now, he saw. She was attending the same event.

The ballroom was just as majestic as the rest of the hotel. Branded with old money opulence, a shrine built for the elite. Towering Corinthian columns stretched toward the ceiling, their gilded details catching the flickering light of crystal chandeliers, each drop of crystal refracting gold and amber hues. The ceiling was a masterpiece—a hand-painted fresco depicting mythological gods in muted pastels, their divine expressions frozen in an eternal dance above the mortals who dined and drank below. The floors gleamed, polished to a mirror’s reflection, the marble swirling in a blend of onyx and jade. Round tables dressed in the finest ivory linens filled the space, each adorned with delicate floral arrangements and flickering candlelight. A selection of drinks and hors d'oeuvres rested on elegant silver trays, a quiet indulgence for the evening’s guests. At the far end, on top of a podeum, a live band played—smooth, low jazz and in he center of this all, the dance floor.

Aalia sat at one of the round tables, surrounded by familiar faces—her cousins, their spouses, their carefully cultivated conversations. Alice leaned in, whispering something about the dress of a woman across the room, but Aalia wasn’t listening. Her eyes had caught something— no, someone.

Across the ballroom, seated with an air of effortless authority, was Min Yoongi. Her breath hitched for a fraction of a second as her gaze locked onto him. At his table, she recognized several individuals, but it was his sister-in-law, who made her stomach tighten in realization. Hye was good friends with Aalia’s cousin Saron, and Aalia felt her pulse quickened slightly as her mind began to piece things together.

She turned back to Yoongi, expecting him to look surprised, or even affected by the unexpected encounter, but his expression was a mask. Yet, beneath that there was a glimmer of something else. Amusement. He was enjoying this.

Aalia grabbed the champagne flute in front of her and downed the entire thing in one go, the cool fizz burning against her throat. Yoongi’s lips twitched at the corners, barely, but enough. He lifted his own glass and took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers. There was something about the way he looked at her. A silent mockery. 

As the event continued, praises of succes were given, the rim of his glass hovered just beneath his lips, golden liquid swirling lazily as he tilted the glass slightly. Yoongi’s gaze darkened. He had been enjoying watching her squirm and try to compose herself under the weight of his presence throughtout the night. 

But then someone entered the frame. He was around the same age as he was, darker brown hair and kissed by the sun. There was an ease to the way he sat next to her, an air of entitlement laced with arrogance. Yoongi didn’t recognize him, and that alone irritated him—he knew most of the men in their world, had kept mental notes of those who mattered, and those who didn’t. But this one? A stranger. His grip on his glass tightened ever so slightly, but he kept his face impassive.

Aalia’s body went stiff the moment when Kang Lee sat beside her. It wasn’t fear that flickered across her expression—no, it was disgust. A scowl tugged at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, though he masked it well behind another slow sip of champage. His eyes remained locked on her. He watched the way she bit down in the inside corner of her mouth as the man leaned in to her side, speaking something. She didn’t turn to acknowledge him, but merely nodded like she was bored.

But Yoongi did not move, nor say aothing, yet, his presence alone was a looming force across the ballroom, a silent storm brewing beneath the calm.

‘Ahh, the bastard is touching her now,’ his tongue flicked along the inside oh his upper lip. He watched as Lee’s hand placed just a little too casually on the back of her chair as he spoke to one of the men at the table. And Aalia remained in her seat, still as a painting, her fingers now tightening around the stem of another champagne glass.

The evening pressed on, and Yoongi casted a quick glance at the watch sitting on his wrist, eight fifty-seven pm. It was time for him to leave.

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, rising to his feet. He didn’t need to stay any longer. There was something else waiting for him—something far from the grandeur of this ballroom, far from the opulent chandeliers and whispered politics of old families. Something that made his blood run hot. But then, his gaze caught sight of Aalia pushing her chair out and made her way through the ballroom, toward the grand double doors leading to the hotel’s lobby. And he didn’t even think twince before following after her. 

Before she could walk towards the elevators, in a swift motion, he reached for her hand and he pulled her sharply toward a door leading to the stairwell. “What the—hey! Let me go!” Aalia tugged against his grip, but he only tightened it, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“No,” he said simply.

The stairwell was dimly lit, lined with industrial steel railings. The echoes of their footsteps bouncing against the concrete walls as he led her downward. Aalia huffed, still pulling against his hold, but he didn’t react. And they fianally stepped into the underground parking lot.

The scent of asphalt, gasoline, and cool night air clung to the space. Rows of luxury cars were parked in pristine lines, their sleek surfaces reflecting the glow of the overhead lights. The occasional sound of an engine revving in the distance echoed against the concrete, a low and distant hum. The entire lot carried an eerie stillness—too vast, too empty, a sanctuary hidden beneath the world above.

And yoongi, he walked with purpose, leading her toward a sleek black car parked in the farthest corner of the lot. The soft click of his key fob unlocking the doors was the only sound between them. “Get in the car,” he said.

Aalia scoffed. “Like hell I am.”

She tried to step around him, but in one smooth movement, Yoongi opened the passenger door and caged her between the car and himself. Her perfume hit him—warm, familiar, intoxicating. The scent wrapped around him like a memory, thick and inescapable.

He looked down at her. “Get. In. The car, Aalia.”

But her chin lifted defiantly. “Move,” she shot back, mirroring his tone.

A slow smirk curled onto his lips like he couldn’t believe the way she was speaking to him. He clicked his tongue once. Then, without hesitation, he scooped her up into his arms. “Yoongi—! Put me—”

He placed her into the passenger seat effortlessly, shutting the door before she could react. By the time she registered what had happened, he was already in the driver’s seat, the engine roared to life and the sound reverberated through the empty parking lot. He shifted into gear and the car rolled forward smoothly while amusement played at the edges of his lips.

She pulled at the door handle multiple times, but it was locked. “This is kidanpping,” she said.

He laughed as he drove out of the parking lot and into the streets of Seoul. “Just sit still and behave, darling,” he said. 

“Stop the car,” she said like non of this was amusing to her. “I am not doing this.” 

Yoongi laughed. A real, amused laugh that rumbled from his chest and filled the car. He only flicked his gaze toward her briefly, his smirk deepening at the defiant fire burning in her eyes.

"Hey, do you understand the capacity of what my parents will do when they find out I am not in my hotel room?!" Aalia snapped, her voice sharp with urgency.

He arched a brow, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Capacity?" he echoed, amusement lacing his tone. "You have a strange vocabulary."

Her scowl deepened. The dim city lights illuminated her face in flickering hues, casting shadows beneath her sharp cheekbones and the faint glow of the dashboard traced the shape of her parted lips. He could see it now—the concern etched into her expression, and it only made him want to keep her with him even more.

He contuntied to drive, but then his jaw ticked and his grip on the steering wheel tightened as the image burned in his mind—the man at the table, his arm slung over the back of her chair, fingers resting just a little too close to her shoulder. It replayed over and over, a flickering reel of something he hadn’t been able to stop. “Who was he?" his voice was low.

Aalia knew exactly who he was refering to. “Oh, that is insolent,” she said sarcasticly. “None of your business.”

He chuckled at her sarcasm, low and smooth, like the purr of an expensive engine idling in the night. "Everything about you is my business, Aalia," he said.

Aalia bit the inside corner of her mouth, an attempt to keep her thoughts from slipping past her lips. It was a habit Yoongi had come to recognize. Her gaze was fixed stubbornly ahead, he knew she was holding back something she wanted to spit at him but wouldn't.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked, breaking the silence. "We've been driving for two hours."

"We're almost there," he replied, voice nonchalant, giving her nothing.

She didn't press further. Instead, she turned her head away and she did not speak to him again.

The glittering skyline of Daegu emerged from the darkness, but it felt like slipping beneath the surface of deep water. The car turned onto an isolated road and then, an abandoned parking lot stretched out before them.

Hundreds of cars lined the space—sleek sports cars with candy-coloured finishes, muscle cars with hoods popped open like trophies on display and motorcycles with chrome gleaming under the flickering overhead lights. Engines purred, roared, and revved, filling the air with a mechanical symphony. Some had their trunks popped open, music spilling out in deep, rolling bass lines that vibrated through the ground. Others stood in clusters, headlights illuminating the figures that moved between them—some talking, some laughing, some dealing in hushed tones.

To the right, a makeshift dance floor had been cleared. The DJ booth was set up on an elevated platform, a neon sign flickering above it, casting a glow over the crowd. Bodies moved to the music, hips swaying, hands raised, silhouettes shifting in the flashing lights. The air smelled of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and something sweeter—perfume mixed with sin.

Aalia looked at Yoongi, her brows furrowing in genuine confusion. "What is this?" she asked, her voice low but laced with curiosity. "Tokyo Drift?"

A laugh rumbled from Yoongi’s chest, deep and unguarded. He shook his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "No," he said. "This is Daegu."

Outside, the air vibrated with the bass-heavy rhythm of music bleeding from hidden speakers, the scent of gasoline and something thick in the atmosphere. Money slipped from palm to palm. The sharp flick of a lighter igniting. Laughter laced with something dark and indulgent. This was his kingdom, and beneath the roar of engines and the illusion of revelry, the real transactions took place—drugs, sex, alcohol, and power shifting hands in the undercurrent of the night.

Jimin ran Kitty Gang, but this was Yoongi’s domain.

Yoongi turned to her, his expression no longer playful nor teasing. It was firm amd serious, carrying the weight of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand. "Aalia," he said her name in a steady and deliberate tone so she knew the gravity of where she was. "I need you to follow a few rules while you're here." Her gaze flickered to him, sensing the shift in his demeanor. He raised a hand, counting off with his fingers. "You stay close to me at all times," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You don't talk to anyone—especially the men. Do not drink anything unless I give it to you."

Her mind pondered for a moment before speaking. "I'm not arguing," she said carefully. "But what if I want water?"

Yoongi knew the kind of things that went on here, the kind of substances that could be slipped into a drink without anyone noticing. He knew which ones were laced and which weren’t. She did not. His gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. "Then I will get it for you," he said. "Do not take drinks from anyone else. Not even water."

Aalia held his gaze for a moment, studying him, reading the unspoken warning behind his words. Then, slowly, she gave a small nod. Yoongi exhaled, his eyes darkening with approval. "Good girl," he murmured, and with that, they both got out of the car.

It was well past midnight now, and the event showed no signs of slowing down. The crowd had thickened, the tension in the air becoming almost tangible as more cars lined up, revving their engines in anticipation for the next round. Yoongi sat off to the side where he usually sat. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes never stopped scanning the surroundings—always watching, always calculating.

Aalia sat beside him, her figure poised in the soft glow of the overhead lights. He had just finished discussing some unsavory matters with a few individuals. But from time to time Yoongi’s gaze shifted to Aalia, his eyes softening as he checked in on her. She didn’t belong here, not in the way the others did. And yet, there was something about her in this environment that drew his eyes. She was like a delicate flower in a wild jungle.

Aalia didn’t seem to notice the way he was watching her. She was too busy taking in the sights, her eyes wide, reflecting the neon lights from the cars and the excitement in the air. Her lips parted in a subtle expression of awe as the cars sped by in front of her. The sound of the engines ignited something inside her. She shifted in her seat, then stood up, but Yoongi’s hand reached out, fingers gripping her wrist, pulling her back down beside him. 

"No," he said, the single word firm, a command that left no room for argument.

Aalia paused, looking up at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and determination. "I promise I’ll be in your line of sight," her voice was gentle.

Before he could shake his head or protest, a figure emerged from the crowd, walking steadily toward him. It was the man Jimin had mentioned a few days ago to him. This was a conversation he did not want Aalia to overhear, not with everything that was about to be said. But with the man now approaching, there was little time to argue with her.

"Fine, but—" 

"I know," she sighed, almost like she was trying to calm both of them. "No taking drinks. I promise."

Yoongi stared at her, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. He saw none. The sincerity in her gaze was undeniable, and against his better judgment, he trusted her. Slowly, his hand loosened its grip on her wrist, his thumb brushing against the soft skin. He nodded, though the unease still lingered at the back of his mind. With one last glance at him, she turned and stepped into the maze of cars, weaving through the bodies and vehicles like she had been here all along.

Aalia continued to walk through the maze of cars, the sound of engines revving and tires in the distnace screeching filling the air as people drifted. She was in awe of the chaos, the organized madness of it all.She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she wandered deeper into the crowd, but stayed in Yoongi’s line of sight as promised. 

The women around her seemed to divide into two camps. Half of them cast curious, almost pitying glances her way, their eyes soft as if they were looking at a lost child who needed protection. Aalia could feel their gazes, their unspoken offer to help her navigate the madness. It made her smile, the warmth of their unspoken kindness like a soft, comforting blanket. But the other half of the women were far more territorial, their gazes sharper, eyes narrowed as they clung to their boyfriends, subtly making it clear that their men were taken and they were not to be messed with. Aalia couldn’t help but laugh under her breath. She had no interest in their boyfriends. She wasn’t here for anyone else’s man—certainly not for the men who saw her like candy in a candy store. 

And then, she collided with someone.

"Am I hallucinating?" She looked up to see a very surprised Jeon Jungkook, his hands perched on his hips like a disapproving older brother. 

Aalia froze, her eyes widening. “I’m not here.”

Jungkook watched her attempt to turn and leave, his eyes narrowing as he quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his tone filled with that protective panic. "Never mind, I’m taking you back to Yongsan. Let’s go. 

“Actually…” she dragged out the word.

Jungkook froze in place, his entire posture stiffening as he waited for her to finish. His brain ran through every possible scenario, and none of them made sense. He knew Yoongi was here tonight, but this… this was a whole new level of confusion. His eyes flicked over her, trying to make sense of it. Then, his gaze shifted to the side, where he spotted Yoongi sitting in his usual spot, still engaged in conversation with the man Jimin had mentioned.

For a moment, Jungkook painced. ‘Did she see him? I hope not’ he thought to himself as he stood there. But her lack of panic made his expression morphing into one of silent and slow realization. It was like a lightbulb flicked on above his head. “Wait,” he mumbled, blinking rapidly like he could unsee the entire scene if he tried hard enough. He stared at Yoongi, then back at Aalia, trying to process this new layer of chaos that had been added to his life. “You and…”

Aalia wished she had Harry Potter’s invisibilty cloak, but she nodded – it was barely noticble, but Jungkook’s expression flickered with everything from concern to exasperation. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. “You with him?” he could not believe this. Not because she was not to Yoongi’s standerds – if anything she was way above. Aalia was smart, witty and she a perosnality, her looks were only a bonus. But it’s the fact that she was the type of girl who would not go out unless she had a few days notice ahead, the kind of girl that no matter her age she was still innocent to the darker ways of the world.

“Just…be careful, okay?” He sighed, not wanting her to explain, knew better than to start a scene right now. “And don’t-“

“Don’t take drinks from anyone,” she said. “Got it.”

“Yes, exactly.” Jungkook nodded vigorously, like he had just imparted some groundbreaking wisdom. “And don’t let anyone try to lure you into any alleyways. I can see that he is watching you, but I will also be keeping an eye on you.” She gave him a small nod and he sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he gave her one last look, his silent warning lingering in the air before he turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

Aalia exhaled, her body still humming with the adrenaline of their unexpected encounter. But before she could take another step, a voice called out to her. "You’re Jungkook’s friend, right?"

Aalia turned—a group of girls standing near a sleek purple car, their makeup flawless, their outfits effortlessly bold. They weren’t intimidating, though; their eyes held curiosity rather than hostility. One of them, a girl with deep brown curls and sharp winged eyeliner, smiled. "Don’t worry, we won’t bite. We just don’t see new faces often. Especially not ones like yours."

Aalia hesitated, glancing back toward where Yoongi sat, still engaged in his conversation. But she had promised to stay in his sight, and this group seemed…safe. Another girl, taller with short platinum blonde hair and a mischievous smirk, nudged her playfully. "You don’t look like you belong here, princess. But don’t worry, that’s not an insult. If Jungkook vouches for you, you’re good with us." Aalia found herself smiling despite her initial nerves. 

The girls introduced themselves—Jiwon, Ami, and Hana—and soon, the conversation flowed naturally. They made her feel welcome, asking her questions, teasing her lightly, but never in a way that made her uncomfortable. The longer she stood with them, the more she realized how different they were from the sharp, territorial glances she’d received earlier. These girls weren’t here to size her up or tear her down. They were simply here to have fun.

Jiwon slung an arm around her. "Come on, if you’re gonna be here, you might as well enjoy yourself.”

The girls led her toward the makeshift dance floor, their energy infectious. The music had shifted into something sultry, the unmistakable beat of Wild Thoughts vibrating through the air. The deep bass rolled through her chest, and Aalia could feel the pulse of the rhythm beneath her skin. The crowd moved in waves, bodies swaying, hands reaching up toward the night sky, neon lights painting their silhouettes in flickering hues of crimson and violet.

At first, she was cautious. The weight of the unfamiliar environment still lingered in her limbs, keeping her movements small, contained. But then Jiwon caught her hand, twirling her playfully before letting go with a laugh. The music climbed, and she let herself exhale, let herself feel the beat. The rhythm seeped into her bones, and slowly, her body began to move with it.

From across the lot, Yoongi watched. He had been in the middle of his conversation when his eyes found her—drawn to her like gravity.  He almost didn’t recognize her at first because she was doing something he had not expected.

‘I don’t feel comfortable dancing in placed like this,’ her voice echoed in his head from a month ago, and it made him smile. He took a slow sip of his drink, his expression unreadable, but his fingers curled slightly around the glass as he continued to watch. So this is what she looks like under the pulsing lights. He should’ve known. She looked beautiful.

The music pulsed through the air as each song played, thick and sultry, a slow burn that seeped beneath the skin. Yoongi couldn’t hear her. Not over the roar of engines, not over the bass that rattled through the air, not over the chaos of the night. But he could see her. She had lost herself. He could tell in the way her she moved, untamed, unapologetic. Her head swaying from side to side, the neon lights catching on her skin. Her lips parted, forming words he couldn’t make out.

Sleazin' and teasin', I'm sittin' on him

All of my diamonds are drippin' on him

I met him at the bar, it was twelve or somethin’

I ordered two more wines, 'cause tonight, I want him...

A little context if you care to listen…

I find myself in a shit position…

The man that I love sat me down last night…

And he told me that it’s over, dumb decision…

Yoongi exhaled slowly. He knew Aalia had never experienced anything the song described—never drowned herself in liquor to forget, never once entertained the kind of thoughts currently clawing at the edges of his mind. He had always known restraint, understood patience. And he had no desire to be careless with her. The dark part of him wondered what she would taste like if she let herself lose control the way she danced. She didn’t even know what she was doing to him and how unfair it was—the way her lips formed each word, the way her fingers dragged absentmindedly along the column of her own throat, the way her waist twisted, her body surrendering to the rhythm.

Min Yoongi was not a religious man, but watching her like this, he was praying for strength. He reached for the lighter and pull out a ciggaret.

‘And I'm already actin' like a dick, know what I mean? 

So you might as well stick it in.

He took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled, the smoke curled around him. She whispered the lyrics like a confession to the night itself.

Just a heart broke bitch, high heels, six inch In the back of the nightclub, sippin' champagne—

His fingers twitched. His mind was mocking him—fuck, he couldn’t help but imagine the way she would tilt her head, exposing the soft curve of her throat, the way his hands would fit perfectly around her waist, guiding her onto his lap, making her feel every inch of the torment she was putting him through right now. 

And she was so fucking unaware of him, of the way he was watching her like a starving man at a feast he wasn’t allowed to touch. And maybe that was the cruelest part of it all—the fact that she wasn’t even trying. She wasn’t some woman trying to make him sweat, she wasn’t aiming to entice, to seduce. She was just there, lost in the music, lost in the night, lost in everything but him.

Give it to me, baby!

He took another drag from his ciggaret, the most filling hia lungs beore he exhaled, chest rising and falling. Fuck, he could hear it now, the way her voice would break, the way her lips would tremble, breathy and desperate, he could hear her gasping them against his lips, beneath him. How she would look up at him with those wide, pleading eyes and let him ruin her with his name on her tongue.

His head tilted back slightly, exhaling a slow, measured breath, but it didn’t fucking help. The image was already there, carved into the back of his mind like a burn driving him to the edge. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t, not when she was right there, not when she was moving like that. 

She raised a hand to her lips and laughed as if she was wiping away something. 

'mmmm, lipstick smudged like modern art 

I don't know where the fuck I am or who's drivin' the fuckin' car 

Speedin' down the highway, sippin' 

Mixin' pills with the liquor 'cah fuck these feelings 

I left everyone I love on read 

Spilling secrets to the stranger in my bed

I remember nothing, so there's nothing to regret

Other than this 4-4 kick drum poundin' in my head

Aalia stumbled off the dance floor, breathless, laughing, cheeks flushed from the heat of movement. She was still buzzing, still floating from the high of it all as she made her way through the crowd. And Yoongi sat waiting. His dark eyes burned into her, but he kept his face unreadable, despite the fact that every muscle in his body was wound tight with restraint.

She reached him, and before she could say a word, he held out an orange juice box toward her. Aalia blinked, surprised, before recognition flickered in her gaze and his words rang in her ears, ‘don’t drink anything unless I give it to you.’ She took the juice box from him, her fingers brushing over his. He was sticking to his word. 

As it was nearing two am, Aalia asked Yoongi for his car keys so she could wait inside for him. And after a while, when everyone had left, Yoongi moved through the space with a quiet authority, peeling off a stack of bills from the money earned that night and passing it to the DJ and a few of the other workers who had stayed late. Once business was settled, he finally stepped outside, inhaling the crisp night air as he made his way to his car and he tapped on the window for her to unlock.

He sat in the driver’s seat, but found it amusing how her brows were slightly furrowed, her gaze locked to the dashboard clock. She was still worried—he knew this was the latest she had ever been out, especially alone with a man. The thought sent a wicked kind of satisfaction through him.

Yoongi rolled up a stack of money between his fingers, watching her. Then he reached out for the thin strap of her dress. Aalia smacked his hand away without hesitation. He laughed, a deep, husky sound that filled the confined space of the car. Undeterred, he reached for the strap again, slipping the rolled-up bills beneath it, letting his fingers graze the silk of her skin. Her eyes burned into his, sharp and unyielding. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled the money out and held it back to him. "I don't need, nor want your money."

Yoongi said nothing. Instead, he started the car, the engine rumbling to life as the city lights stretched out before them. Aalia sighed, sinking into the seat as they pulled onto the highway back to Seoul.

"You know, when we first met, you said you didn’t dance," Yoongi remarked, his voice smooth. She didn’t respond. Her arms folded tightly over her chest, her long hair falling over one shoulder, the shorter pieces framing her face. He glanced at her, taking in the way exhaustion softened her features, the remnants of the night still clinging to her in the form of smeared lipstick and flushed cheeks. "You’re even more beautiful when you’re mad."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes before reaching down to remove her heels. Pulling her legs up under her, she shifted in her seat—her knee accidentally hitting the glove compartment. It popped open with a soft click. Aalia froze for a moment before glancing down. Her eyes landed on a piece of fabric tucked inside, and she let out a dry laugh. "I see you have a lady-friend, sir."

"That’s yours, darling."

She blinked, and realization dawned in her expression. Tentatively, she reached for the cardigan, running her fingers over the soft material before pulling it into her lap. Without a word, she draped it over her legs, not because she was cold, but because the slit in her dress felt suddenly too revealing.

By the time they reached Seoul, dawn had begun to break, painting the sky in muted blues and pinks. Yoongi pulled into the parking lot the ame hotel. He parked, cutting the engine, and Aalia stirred, stretching slightly before pushing open the door. The cardigan was now wrapped around her shoulders, her high heels swinging from her fingers as she walked barefoot towards the entrance.

Yoongi followed, his steps slow, measured. She remained ahead of him, never once looking back, even as they stepped into the elevator together. The soft ding of the fifth floor echoed in the quiet space, and as the doors slid open, Aalia stepped out first, her exhaustion evident in the slow drag of her feet. Yoongi watched her, his gaze never leaving her. There was an overwhelming urge to take her to his suite, to keep her there, safe and untouched by the rest of the world. But he resisted. It wasn’t time yet. So, he turned, walking down the hallway in the opposite direction as she disappeared into the other end of the corridor, the ghost of her perfume still clinging to the air.

Don’t forget to like and comment.

You can read the entire book on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64009903/chapters/164201557

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Welcome to Villa Barton built in 1993 and remodeled in 2006. The villa is located in Straffan, Co. Kildare, Ireland. It has 5bds, 6ba, and is listed for €4.5M / $4,903,078.50. I don't know how to describe the decor, you just have to see it for yourself.

The tour begins with this very large room lined with wood paneling, and travertine floors.

If you like this carpet, good news, b/c you'll see it again.

Like here, in the sitting room with red walls to match. Note that the bar is quilted in red leather to match the Chesterfield sofas.

Quite a large bar with plenty of space for bottles.

The room also has an ornate fireplace.

This is my favorite room, big, white, and perfect for showing off the best feature of all- the big gold legs screwed into the ceiling.

This is some big dining room. It appears that the carpet is framed by the floor. This table seats 16.

Initially, I thought, what is a kitchen set doing in an office? But, it's the kitchen, which is so large, but so disappointingly sparse. They don't even show the stove or anything.

More hall, more carpet.

This is a very cool home gym. Barbie would love it.

Purple walls with the red carpet wouldn't have been my choice.

I think that this may be the empty wine cellar.

This is one of the bedrooms, and it's quite spacious. Could be a guest room.

The matching en suite has a big jetted tub. Does the floor match the wall? I've never see anything like that.

This palatial white, black & gold bedroom is the primary. You can see that it also has a large sitting room.

It has an en-suite, with that carpet. The shower seems awfully high off the floor.

Wow, look at the office. I've never seen computer screens attached like that. What the listing photos don't show, and I wouldn't expect them to, is the home's safe room, in case of a home invasion.

Look at this patio and garden. It's like in a movie.

The outdoor grounds are stunning.

The bad news is that the nearby golf course was designed by the famous golfer Arnold Palmer, and there is a mandatory yearly service charge and membership fee of €5,244.26 / $5,714.88.

https://www.daft.ie/for-sale/detached-house-villa-barton-1-churchfield-straffan-co-kildare/5723217

[quiet-saint]

"𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞"

Pairing: Vergil/fem!reader, android!vergil/reader

Cw: nsfw/+18, spanking, some light degradation, a little angst, comfort at the end. Reader is a bit touch-starved, didn’t have a good childhood. I think that's it?

Summary: You were assigned an android by your father against your will. Vergil wants to make the situation better for you both but you don’t make it easy.

A/n: Y’all this is pure self-indulgence again. Idk I kinda don't like the way it turned out but i’m throwing it into the void anyway bc i spent way too much time on it. Not really proofread.

ִ ࣪𖤐

It's been a little over a month since your father–whom you haven't had contact with in years—assigned an android of his own creation to you. A combat android, built for protection and fit for bodyguard work. Part of the Sparda line, of which there have only been four created before the entire project was scrapped. Deviancy seemed inevitable.

Vergil doesn't talk much about his brothers and refuses to tell you about Sparda, the first android of their type. Whatever. You don't much care. You don't care much for anything these days, really.

Prior to Vergil's arrival, you lived alone. Apathetic in a shitty apartment on the outskirts of Red Grave City, away from your father's technological empire. You tried for years to get in touch with him but he left you to be raised by tutors and nannies that came and went. As you got older, you didn't want anything to do with him or his advancements in technology. So much so when you turned eighteen you never touched the money your father put into your bank account. Changed your last name and moved away. Thought that was the end of it. Didn't think you'd have anything to do with him ever again.

But here you are, living in a luxury apartment with the android your father assigned to you without your permission. Vergil's very presence dredges up years of resentment and abandonment you thought you buried so deep within you they ceased to exist.

It's no wonder then, why you begin to backtrack to your room as soon as you catch sight of Vergil seated on the couch in the dark living room. You turn on your heel, biting your tongue. You only spent time around him if you had to and even then you tolerated him.

You take a step back toward your room, being as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw the android's attention.

"Come here." Vergil says and you still, inwardly cursing. Of course he heard you. Android hearing and all that. You're certain he knows what your heart rate is right now, your temperature. You take a deep breath and turn back to face the living room, glaring at the back of Vergil's head as he flips a page in his book, continuing to read. Unaffected by the lack of light. Casual and relaxed.

"What?" You say sharply, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration, unable to resist the slight rocking back and forth on your feet.

"I want to talk. Come here." He repeats, with that same low, gentle tone he uses to get you to eat. The windows of the highrise apartment are blacked out, blocking out any potential prying eyes yet giving you a clear, if less bright, look at the large buildings of the city.

"I won't tell you a third time." You drop your arms to your sides and fight the urge to stomp over like a child throwing a tantrum. Slowly you patter over, hallway carpet giving way to smooth wood flooring. You come to stand in front of Vergil. He closes his book with a faint thump, sets it down on the armrest of the blue velvet chesterfield sofa. He then pats the space beside him. "Sit." Spoken like an order. You bite the inside of your cheek but comply, keeping some space between you two. The little lamp on the side stand comes on and you know it's Vergil's doing. You blink a little as your eyes adjust to the change in lighting.

"Okay. Talk." You mumble, glancing over at him. Unfair how he can look so impeccable. He's dressed in a white button up shirt and black slacks. The top two buttons are undone to reveal a bit of his pale throat and clavicle. His silvery-white hair is slicked back in his preferred style.

Vergil's shifts to face you, his knee a hair's breadth from bumping your thigh. He has an elbow resting on the back of the sofa, two fingers along his temple. "Oh? Two words this time. I didn't know you were capable." He says with a teasing lilt.

Your nails dig crescent moons into your right palm. "Did you ask me to sit here just to torment me?"

Vergil chuckles, the sound low, incredibly human and unexpectedly pleasant. "No. I... want to make things easier for you and I." That catches you off guard, your eyebrows pulling together slightly in a mix of confusion and surprise. Vergil is being nice, and you hate it. Hate the way he uses that gentle, patient tone. Hate the way it makes you want to give in and drop your carefully crafted detached demeanor. Hate the way hearing that tone makes you crave his approval. Your knee begins to bounce as you cross your arms over your chest. You huff in frustration as you turn your head to look at him. "Like anything will make it easier to be babysat by a fucking machine?" You snap.

In a flash Vergil grips your jaw, thumb along one cheek and his fingers pressing into your other, forcing your mouth into a pout. "Careful." He whispers leaning in, artificial breath warm as it fans lightly over your face. You can't speak clearly with the way your lips are pressed into an unwilling pout. Your eyes narrow as you catch the faint upturned corners of his mouth, anger flaring at the sight. His grip on your jaw lingers a moment longer before releasing.

"I don't need a hunk of plastic to—" You're cut off by Vergil's right hand fisting the collar of your shirt, exposing the warm soft skin of your tummy. You gasp in surprise. Vergil wastes no time in using his hold on your shirt to haul you over his lap, draping you over his thighs with ease. The action knocking a bit of air from your lungs. Your hands press flat along the rough area rug of the living room, your socked feet slip a little as you attempt to push yourself up and off his lap.

"I was wondering when you'd break." A warm hand comes down to press at your lower spine, resting just above the waistband of your jeans, the tip of a pinky slipping teasingly below the denim. The small skin to skin contact makes you dizzy, causing you to still, heart stuttering in your chest as your breathing becomes shallow. "W-what the hell are you doing?" You ask, craning your neck and pushing up on your hands to try and look at him, hair getting in your face.

Vergil's free hand reaches down to wrap delicately around your throat, not applying any pressure. No squeezing. His touch is soft, near feather light. Grounding, even. Vergil removes it in favor of giving your hair a brief stroke as if you're some pet in his lap and not a grown adult. He leans down a little.

"You," he begins voice quiet and a little rough in the low light of the living room. "Are going to say Yamato if you feel unsafe. Or if this gets to be too much."

Your breath catches in your throat, heat pooling in your stomach immediately even as your brain is slow to piece this all together. "W-what?" You ask in disbelief but there's heat low in your tummy and Vergil's hand on that bit of exposed skin above your waistband. Comforting, teasing, and intoxicating all at once. "I want you to say it now." Vergil's voice is a coaxing purr. You swallow, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Y-yamato." You stammer, face hot as you hang your head.

"Good." Is all you get before Vergil's hands go to your jeans, fingers hooking in the waistband and pulling the denim halfway down your thighs. Swift and rough. You gasp, fingers digging a little into the area rug below you. Vergil runs a hand up the back of your right thigh, thumb brushing along the crease where your ass meets it, just below the edge of your underwear. You begin to squirm.

"I've been wanting to correct your behavior for a while now." He says and you huff in indignation. "M-my behavior is fine."

Vergil scoffs and pinches your ass cheek harshly. You jolt, a squeak tumbling forth. "Excluding the rude insults from a moment ago, you're rather... polite most of the time, yes." Vergil replies, running his palm over the area he pinched soothingly before giving a light squeeze. You moan softly. Embarrassment and molten want swirl in your stomach, your senses in overdrive. Vergil snickers. "But even I get tired of one word answers and sulking. I think I might have more of a personality than you." He says dryly as he grips the waistband of your underwear, bunching it up and pulling the cloth taught against your slit and you can feel how slick you've become. You press up a little on your toes, gasping as he pulls the fabric tighter, nearly wedging the fabric in your middle.

"Ah, wet already." Vergil all but purrs as he ghosts his thumb over the damp spot with his free hand. Your breath catches in your throat, heart beating wildly against your ribcage. He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. "I've hardly done anything, dear. A few touches and a pinch really get you that worked up?" You whimper in humiliation as Vergil tugs the material down to rest under the curve of your ass.

Without warning Vergil's palm connects with the soft skin of your right cheek, stinging and sharp and aching. You cry out in surprise. "H-hey!"

"I want an apology." Vergil states coolly, rubbing and gently squeezing the reddening flesh of your rear. Your mouth struggles to form words, head full of want. Vergil scoffs and smacks harshly against your left cheek this time. Once, twice, three times before doing the same to your right. He hits sharp and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. You've never been spanked before, haven't received any real physical discipline growing up. Your nannies and even your father in your early years opted for isolation. You wonder if you'll bruise. The thought shouldn't make you ache and leak but it does, hole clenching around nothing. "I-I'm sorry!" You squeal, panting as your arms tremble from holding a bit of your weight up at the awkward angle. He could have laid you over his lap on the sofa but you suspect Vergil wanted the position to be a little uncomfortable.

"Oh you can do better than that."

You swallow and collect yourself as best you can. "I'm sorry for calling you a hunk of plastic and a machine." You mumble, slumping a little, head hanging once more, hair hiding your face. Humiliated and turned on, out of your element and overwhelmed. The word yamato rests in your throat at the ready but you don't want to say it. You don't feel as if you need to.

Vergil hums as if in thought. "And? What of your behavior?" He asks, soothing his palm over the pink heated skin of your ass. You nod in understanding. "I'm... sorry for that, too. I-I'll stop... sulking." You stammer, the words awkward on your tongue. When was the last time you had to apologize for anything? When was the last you actually had anyone to apologize to?

"Better." Vergil murmurs, pulling the fabric of your underwear back up to cover you and you whine, aching and needy. Vergil hushes you as he pulls your jeans up to your rear. He taps your hip and helps you stand. His pale fingers tug at your belt loops, pulling you close to stand between his spread legs. Your hands go to his shoulders for support as your knees feel a tad weak.

Vergil looks up at you from his spot on the sofa, maintaining eye contact as he pulls up your pants the rest of the way. An unnameable intensity in his pale blue gaze. He smooths out your shirt, however the collar of it is stretched from Vergil using it to haul you over his lap.

"Sit with me." A soft command. He leans back against the blue velvet sofa, draping an arm along the back of it. The ache between your thighs begins to fade. You've never been in this sort of situation before. Fuck. You've hardly had a meaningful conversation with Vergil and you certainly haven't been spanked until tonight. Although it wasn't much. A million questions flood your head but you don't have the energy to ask them or word them properly.

Overwhelmed you fall back on simply listening. You settle onto the cushion beside him, ass aching. Vergil moves his arm from the back of the sofa to pull you further into his side. He tucks some of your hair behind your right ear.

"Are you alright?" Vergil asks and you nod as you stare at your lap. He sighs and his free hand comes up to gently grab your chin so you're forced to look at him. His brows are knit together, mouth set in a slight frown as he looks you over. "Come here." He says, not really waiting for an answer before reaching and pulling you into his lap, his arm moving from your shoulder to wrap around your lower back. Your left side grows warm as it's pressed to his front and his right hand rubs over your hip in a soothing manner. Unsure of how to respond to Vergil's affectionate physical contact you stiffen momentarily. You haven't been hugged since... when? You can't remember.

Gradually, you will yourself to relax, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. You'd expect an android to smell like plastic but Vergil smells good. Like sandalwood and vanilla with the faintest hint of something metallic. Does he wear cologne? You wonder. Vergil's hand not on your hip goes to your hair, stroking softly, palm sometimes grazing your cheek. It feels good to be held. It's warm here. Safe. Secure.

A lump forms in your throat. Heat creeps into your cheeks as your vision blurs. A soft, broken sound leaves your throat as your lashes grow damp and spikey from tears that slide down your cheeks to trail down your chin. Vergil sighs again and you sniffle. A small strained "'m sorry" leaving your lips. Vergil shakes his head, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears under an eye. "Don't be. I was prepared for this sort of outcome." You huff a quiet laugh against his shoulder that's more air than anything. "H-how did you know I'd cry?" You ask, sniffling as you blink back more tears. Vergil resumes stroking your hair. "Going off your behavior and your history, there was a high probability you would react this way."

"You can... calculate that?" You whisper.

Vergil hums. "Not accurately." He answers but doesn't bother to elaborate further.

Tired but not as overwhelmed, the gentle stroking of your hair and the warm hand on your hip has your limbs growing heavy.

"It's alright." Vergil murmurs, lips near your forehead. "You can sleep. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow."

As much as you try to fight sleep in an attempt to drag this moment out, to stay here, held and warm and wanted, it's impossible. Your body grows lax and your eyes fall shut.

"Sleep well." Vergil says, low and whisper soft against your hair.

ִ ࣪𖤐

Y'all idek...

[drarry-reccage]

Notes on a resurrection by newleaves (126k, M)

Tags: Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Bring back Black, Secret Relationships

The Potters stop arguing, for the moment. They look over, their expressions matched in steely irritation. Thankfully, for Draco’s nerves, they’re easy to distinguish besides this. Harry is full of storms, as usual, on his feet as he paces the rug not far from the door, shoulders up around his ears. His father is leaning artfully against the honey-brown Chesterfield sofa, one foot crossed over the other and hands in his pockets, all clean lines and angles. It’s not clear why they’ve been keeping each other company, but Draco supposes that Harry at least can’t resist throwing himself at a problem until it’s either solved or successfully killed him. “Masters and Mistress,” drawls Kreacher, living for this moment. Draco’s often thought that it’s a cruelty, the way that Harry and the others so frequently refuse to let Kreacher express himself. “Mr Potter. May Kreacher present Mr Malfoy…” The pause is exquisite. “And his guest.” This is Lupin’s cue to come out from behind the doorframe, and Draco gets the impression that he’s very nearly run off again. “Just me, I’m afraid,” he says with half a wave. There is the requisite pause as the room takes him in, but then it’s James Potter who reacts – or, more accurately, erupts. Collapsing away from the sofa, he lights up like nothing that Draco has ever seen, breaking into an ebullient laugh, storming movement and a bellow. “You fuzzy cunt, Moony – what?!”

My notes are under cut, containing what could be considered spoilers (though the big plot points I mention didn't come as a surprise to me while reading).

(rec by @dontthrowsticksatme)

I LOVE the characterisations in this fic. The way the marauders are portrayed are *chef's kiss*.

I especially love how Harry is juxtaposed with his posh, happy-go-lucky dad. Who, after finding out their old friends Frank and Alice Longbottom have been in St Mungo's all this time, suggests they should have a barbecue. For Neville. If the weather's nice.

Or with cute Lily and her thick accent, and the way her love for Harry sparkles off the screen immediately and in every way. Or little shit Teddy meeting his dad, and the way Draco only encourages him by setting up a prank the day the two meet.

Drarry is almost - but not entirely - secondary to all these family relationships, but their love is a very sweet one, sketched in moments woven throughout the story.

Draco's character comes through in subtle ways, throwaway lines, funny actions and mostly the way the other characters look at him, interact with him. He has the worst blind spots for how much people like him.

And you cannot help but love Harry through Draco's softly adoring eyes. I want to wrap him in my arms and hug tight. Actually, I want to wrap all of them in my arms and hug tight.

[yorithesims]

[L-sims]Butler&Kids PosePack

Tumblr Only Sharing ☆Kids Poses Self Convert ( age conversion )

Poselist / No Poselist 2file Include. 5Poses(+Other body types)

DOWNLOAD

SFS / MediaFire

Credit：I recommend♡ ・SYL Chesterfield Sofa Set (Armchair) ・Buckley’s OMSP Resizers(70％ Resizers)

@sssvitlanz♡

[wanderingsimsfinds]

WanderingSims Fave CC - Seating

HydrangeaChainsaw - Sticker Set Artsy Cushion Seat

SimplyStyling - Jope Living 05 Chair

Angela - Arezzo Living Chair (TSR)

Milla - Coronett Corner Living Chair

Nynaeve Design - Allie Bedroom Bench (TSR)

Ray_Sims - Modern Black Sensation Loveseat (TSR)

pyszny16 - Denver Living Room Loveseat (TSR)

sim_man123 - Atlas Loveseat (TSR)

Milla - NMS Chesterfield Sofa

Milla - Slox Krema Living Sofa

HydrangeaChainsaw - Comfy Space Puffy Couch

pyszny16 - Delano Outdoor Set Lounge Chair (TSR)

pyszny16 - Delano Outdoor Set Sofa (TSR)

sim_man123 - Grant Patio Chair (TSR)

Milla - Gift 30 Wood Bench

Milla - BillieJean Advents Lounge Chair

[startledplatypus]

intentionally horrid art by... me

Indyoni Crowley and the Temple of the Jade Egg

By @startledplatypus and @wingsofopal

Rated: E; Words: 8.3K; Genre: crackfic

CW: none, but being an April Fool's fic, "Dead Dove: Do Not Eat" is in effect

Summary:

Aziraphale receives an unexpected gift from the new shop on Whickber Street and asks Crowley to help him figure out how to use it. Since they're both already a bit pissed, what would have been a weird evening anyway goes completely pear-shaped... or, in this case, egg-shaped.

Involves the improper use of a yoni egg, tampons, lubricant, and fire. Involves the dubious use of French and a lisp, but not a French lisp. Trauma is arguably enacted upon a Chesterfield sofa as well as one desk and its entire contents.

Also be advised that there are two regrettable but noble deaths: Aziraphale's trousers and Crowley's vintage Bob Marley tee.

Excerpt (Read the entire story on ao3):

Aziraphale hiccoughed loudly.

“Think y’ve had enough, angel,” Crowley drawled, perched on the Chesterfield’s arm and barely hanging on to his coffee mug. They’d decided to get drunk enough that they shouldn’t use the crystal tonight.

“Crowley, dear, I am completely sober!’’ squealed the angel, almost sending his teacup airborne. By the grace of Someone, he managed to grab hold of it instead, using it to indicate the desk at which he sat. ”There is something I wanted to show you – I am not sure what it means, exactly. Maybe you can help me?’’

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I received a package recently, and it contained the most bizarre thing!”

This time Crowley hiccoughed. (The demon would’ve insisted that he belched. Crowley did not hiccough, according to Crowley.) “Wot is it?”

“Well, they seem to have been sent to all the Whickber Street shops. There’s a new…” Aziraphale realised his teacup was seriously askew and carefully set it on his desk. “What was I… oh! There’s a new shop on the corner. A… Sex Shop,” he enunciated, as if it might be a Clue.

*~*~*

Special thanks to our beta readers @theravenmuse, @spookysexy, and @cheeseplants as well as to the continual support of the awesome community at @goodomensafterdark!

[calummss]

Kylo Ren Blurb: A Little Twirl, Sweetheart

masterlist

summary: kylo wants to see the clothes you bought

pairing: fem! reader x kylo ren

words: 600

a/n: inspired by this gif. SO PLEASE WATCH THIS GIF BEFORE READING!! LIFE CHANGING

“I’m back.” You called into the hallway as you struggled to close the door, multiple bags hindering you from turning around, forcing you to close the door with your butt.

You slipped out of your black Mary Jane heels and quickly tiptoed towards the kitchen table to relieve your arms of the weight you were carrying. Turning around you saw Kylo sitting on the sofa, a nice cut suit hanging off his frame.

“Where have you been?” He asked, his arms stretching over Chesterfield's sofa back, an old-fashioned glass in his right hand. The amber colour of bourbon waiting to warm his throat.

You made your way to him, bracing yourself on his knee as you climbed up to his face, kissing him. “Shopping.” You smiled.

“Alone?” He caught your lips again, the faint taste of alcohol seeping into your mouth.

You kissed him back once more before lowering yourself on his knees, your arm starting to throb.

“No, I was with Arienne for a while but I had a lot to get through my list so I only really spent the last hour alone. Well, besides Hux who is always there for me. Bodyguard and all…”

Kylo’s eyes attentively sat on your figure as you talked about your shopping.

“Show me what you bought.”

“Like a little fashion show?”

His index finger curled under your Vivienne Westwood choker pearl necklace, pulling you towards his face. “Just like a little fashion show, sweetheart.”

You felt him on your lips again, your hand resting close to his cock, innocently rubbing your thumb against the rough fabric.

“Not only does it make me incredibly horny to see you swoon over me but the fact you get turned on by it gets me very wet,” your other hand gently holding his jaw.

“I like seeing you dressed up,”

“I bet you do,” you leaned away from him, your fingertips not-so-accidentally grazing his cock as you sat up from his knee and walked over to get your bags before disappearing inside the bathroom to change.

You put on the first outfit: a two piece set from the Chanel spring collection from 1995. A blue cropped double breasted coat with a black skirt and gold chain.

Opening the door you strut towards Kylo, your outfit fitting like a second skin.

“It’s Chanel,” you said, admiring the sleeves with a grin. “1995 spring collection.”

Kylo still sat on the sofa, his glass of bourbon placed on the side table. He was still leaning into the back of the sofa, his legs open. His eyes scanned you head to toe.

“What do you think?” You turned to give a full view of the outfit.

“The colour suits you and the skirt makes your legs look good. I like it.”

Walking back into the bathroom you changed into a black Chanel dress. A 1992 Haute Couture Spring/Summer show, a rare item you managed to buy. It felt like wearing a winning lottery ticket.

You walked out again, this time with a set of black heels you had also bought, the sound bouncing off the walls.

Kylo leaned forward, bracing himself on his knees as his eyes darkened.

“Can you do a little twirl for me, sweetheart?”

You turned, giving him a full view of the dress.

“This is my favourite piece I have ever bought.”

“I agree.”

“So you like it?”

“Love it.” He stood up, coming closer. His arms wrapping around your waist. “Keep it on.”

“As you wish,’ you combed through the back of his hair, your lips inching closer. “Sir.”

[sofas2024]

Simple Nordic Modern Sofa Chair Relax White Storage Recliner Lazzy Sofa Chair Lounge Designer Canape Lit Apartment Furniture

Git it now

[zeehasablog]

Chesterfield set

In 2015 Immortelle made this chesterfield sofa and armchair - there were 6 versions of each, for each of the swatches. Since 2015 there's been some changes in coding etc. and when trying to place the sofa in game, it caused issues and didn't want to work!

I have, therefore, taken the swatches and combined these so there's one each - with the colours: Black, brown, antique blue, olive, purple, and red. I have also ensured that these work perfectly in game! Not bad for cc almost 10 years old!

From what I can tell, Immortelle (or Brial-Immortelle?) hasn't made Sims 4 cc since 2016.

Apparently Lord Phillip Stanhope, the 4th Earl of Chesterfield (1694-1773) commissioned the first leather couch and settee. I'm not sure what shape the original Georgian chesterfield would have looked like - there's several different versions; all I can say, is that these were definitely around in the Victorian era.

Download the couch and armchair on my Patreon!!