#chesterfield sofa set

[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.

[jojoraman233]

Versatile Comfort: Exploring Chesterfield Sofa Sets

Introduction

In the world of home furnishings, the Chesterfield sofa has long been revered for its timeless elegance and unparalleled comfort. However, the versatility of the Chesterfield design extends far beyond a single piece of furniture. Chesterfield sofa sets offer homeowners a unique opportunity to create cohesive and visually striking living spaces that seamlessly blend classic charm with modern sensibilities.

The Enduring Appeal of the Chesterfield

The Chesterfield sofa is an iconic piece of furniture that has stood the test of time, captivating homeowners and interior designers alike for centuries. Its distinctive tufted leather upholstery, rolled arms, and button-detailed back have become synonymous with refined sophistication and enduring style.

What sets the Chesterfield apart is its ability to transcend trends and seamlessly integrate into a wide range of interior design schemes. From traditional, wood-paneled libraries to sleek, contemporary living rooms, the Chesterfield sofa can serve as a timeless anchor, providing a sense of visual harmony and balance to the overall aesthetic.

The Versatility of Chesterfield Sofa Sets

The true power of the Chesterfield design lies in its versatility, and this is particularly evident when exploring Chesterfield sofa sets. These coordinated furniture collections offer homeowners the opportunity to create a cohesive and visually striking living space that showcases the Chesterfield's enduring charm.

Chesterfield sofa sets typically include a range of complementary pieces, such as loveseats, armchairs, and ottomans, all crafted with the same distinctive Chesterfield silhouette and upholstery. By selecting a Chesterfield sofa set, homeowners can ensure that their living room or den is infused with a consistent and harmonious design aesthetic.

Elevating the Living Space

The addition of a Chesterfield sofa set can have a transformative effect on a living space, elevating the overall ambiance and creating a focal point that commands attention.

One of the key advantages of a Chesterfield sofa set is its ability to anchor the room and establish a sense of visual balance. The coordinated pieces work together to create a cohesive and visually striking arrangement, with the sofa serving as the centerpiece and the additional furniture elements complementing and accentuating its presence.

Moreover, the versatility of Chesterfield sofa sets allows homeowners to tailor the arrangement to the specific size and layout of their living space. Whether you have a cozy, intimate nook or a spacious, open-concept living area, a Chesterfield sofa set can be configured to maximize the available space and create a harmonious, inviting atmosphere.

Comfort and Functionality

While the Chesterfield sofa is renowned for its timeless aesthetic, it is equally celebrated for its unparalleled comfort and functionality. When combined in a sofa set, these qualities become even more pronounced, offering homeowners a level of relaxation and support that is simply unmatched.

The deep, plush cushions and the signature rolled arms of the Chesterfield design provide a truly indulgent seating experience, inviting homeowners and guests alike to sink in and unwind. Whether you're hosting a cozy movie night, engaging in lively conversation, or simply enjoying a quiet moment of solitude, a Chesterfield sofa set ensures that comfort is never compromised.

Beyond the seating comfort, Chesterfield sofa sets can also offer additional functional benefits, such as the inclusion of ottomans or accent chairs. These complementary pieces can serve as convenient storage solutions, additional seating options, or even as elevated surfaces for drinks, books, or decorative accessories, further enhancing the versatility and practicality of the overall set.

Timeless Elegance and Enduring Style

The true allure of Chesterfield sofa sets lies in their ability to effortlessly blend timeless elegance with enduring style. The iconic Chesterfield design, with its tufted leather upholstery and refined silhouette, has long been associated with a sense of sophistication and refined taste.

When presented as a coordinated set, the Chesterfield furniture pieces work together to create a visually cohesive and harmonious living space. The consistency in design, coupled with the inherent quality and craftsmanship of each individual piece, ensures that a Chesterfield sofa set will continue to captivate and impress for years to come.

Moreover, the timeless nature of the Chesterfield design means that these furniture sets can seamlessly adapt to changing interior design trends. Whether your personal style leans more traditional or contemporary, a Chesterfield sofa set can serve as a versatile foundation upon which to build and layer your desired aesthetic.

Conclusion

In the ever-evolving world of home furnishings, the Chesterfield sofa set stands out as a truly remarkable and enduring option. By combining the iconic Chesterfield silhouette with a coordinated collection of complementary pieces, homeowners are granted the opportunity to create living spaces that exude timeless elegance, unparalleled comfort, and a cohesive, visually striking design.

The versatility of Chesterfield sofa set allows them to be effortlessly integrated into a wide range of interior design styles, from classic to contemporary, making them a valuable investment for homeowners with evolving tastes and preferences. The consistent quality, craftsmanship, and attention to detail that define these furniture sets ensure that they will continue to captivate and impress for years to come.

Whether you're looking to anchor a cozy den, breathe new life into a formal living room, or simply create a harmonious and inviting atmosphere, a Chesterfield sofa set offers a remarkable solution. By embracing the enduring charm and versatile functionality of this iconic furniture collection, homeowners can transform their living spaces into sanctuaries of comfort, style, and timeless appeal.

[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.

[urbanwood02]

[varunnehra]

Buy Chesterfield Sofa Online @Best Prices in India! | GKW Retail

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[sofas2024]

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Get it now

[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...

[deathblacksmoke]

the gentlest feeling

a dramamine story

pairing: nick ruffilo x noah sebastian

summary: shortly after the conclusion of the original dramamine series, nick and noah move into their first home together.

cw: fluff <3, boys in love, domestic bliss, brief mentions of the afterlife & guardian angels

word count: 825

author's note: it might be a little bit too fluffy but i just wanted a soft thing and i missed writing these sweet boys. minimally proofread.

title from "blue light" by bloc party.

masterlist | taglist form

As he flits about the house — their house — he can’t help but count his blessings that they were able to get here. That Noah didn’t give up on him.

He places their dishes in the cupboard, their spices in the pantry, their toiletries in the shower, their linens in the closet. He makes the bed — their bed — the new queen-size they saved up to split. They’ll wind up squished to one side most nights, because Nick hates to have distance between them, even now, when the Virginia nights are hot and humid. Noah still likes to sleep with a window open and the fan blasting so he can hear the crickets and see the lightning bugs.

They’ll wake up sticky and warm but he wouldn’t want anything else than to wake up like that in the morning — every morning — with the sunlight flickering through the open window and stuck to his sweet boy, an excuse to huddle together in the shower before breakfast.

As odd as the idea feels passing through his mind, he can’t help but think that Jasmine would be proud of him, that she would see him and feel thrilled that he allowed his life to be turned around.

He doesn’t know if he believes in God, but he knows that he still finds her everywhere. She’s in the disembodied laugh he hears bellowing through the bar, the one that can only be traced back to her. When he gets a Jeopardy question right and Noah’s smiling wide and nudging him, they’re back at trivia night at The Rabbit’s Foot, Jasmine whispering the answer in his ear so he can get all the glory. She’s tucked in the corners of every bit of his life and while sometimes the reminders sting, leaving a deep ache in his gut, they usually wrap themselves around him like her warm hugs always did.

He didn’t always believe in Heaven, but for her sake, he hopes she’s somewhere lovely, listening to her favorite records. He feels guided by a gentle hand and knows that it’s her doing, one way or another.

He’s taken out of his thoughts by Noah beckoning him into the living room, a distant Nicky that always sends him excitedly rushing in its direction. He finds his love sprawled on the green velvet chesterfield they plucked off a curb, the perfect find.

“How’s it look?” Noah asks him. He doesn’t have to look around him to know it’s perfect — he blindly trusts Noah’s eye — but he makes a show of doing it anyway. Their listening station has been set up in the corner, and at the sight of their collections mixed, he feels his heart clench. Somehow, that’s what makes this the most real.

What catches his eye the most, though, is the shelf of framed photos that Noah set up in the entryway. Photos of them, of Noah and Autumn, of Nick and Jolly, of Noah and Folio — among all of the little memories they’ve made together in the past 6 months, an old one stands in the middle, drawing his attention the most. The photo from Autumn’s 30th, Nick and Jazz, still happy.

Without asking, and without being asked, Noah carved out a space for her memory in their home. If Nick didn’t know any better, he would think Jasmine sent him.

Holding back tears and nearly failing, he turns his attention back to Noah, who’s lounging on the sofa and looking up expectantly. His feet take him on their own accord, dropping himself on top of him and blanketing Noah’s body with his own. He wraps himself around him, happy to save the remainder of the unpacking for later.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart,” he speaks into the side of Noah’s neck, peppering his skin with delicate kisses. “Thank you for being here with me.”

“Thank you for paying the security deposit,” Noah responds with a laugh, tightening his arms around Nick’s middle. He settles further into the sofa, bringing Nick with him.

He used to believe in one true love. He believes it less and less every day.

He struggles to imagine anything less true than the love he had with Jazz, the safety he felt there and the warmth of her delicate touch. He can’t think of anything less true than the love he has with Noah, the laughs they share, the peace he feels, the warm glow that encompasses everything.

He feels relief, again, for the privilege of a mind gone quiet. He never thought this was something he could have, the freedom to build a home again, the two of them and all of their things — their grief, their memories, and the people that will stay with them.

He runs a hand under Noah’s shirt, a comfort in the feeling of soft, bare skin beneath his fingers. Noah places a kiss to the top of his head, and everything blurs around the edges.

He’s safe again.

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[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.

[teejaystumbles]

Smapril Day 12: "Fuck me, coward."

(also spawned because of discussions on the friend server about Ferdie's/Hob's body shape and that he is no bodybuilder and in fact very similar to Tom in shape - a fact which I absolutely love)

Meeting with Hob Gadling after being late by thirty years does not go as Dream was expecting. The initial smile and casual acceptance vanish quickly as Hob becomes increasingly agitated over something Dream can't quite determine. Hob is fidgeting constantly, pulling his ear and biting his nails and he frowns a lot when Dream relays to him in simple but clear words where he has been the last century and why he could not make their appointment. Dream does not find these habits off-putting but they make him wonder what Hob is thinking. When Dream finally says that he got out on Tuesday, Hob suddenly hits his palm flat on the table and stands. His eyes are dark and he looks furious.

"On Tuesday. This week?" 

Dream nods and frowns. Hob's anger does not make sense to him. Hob's nostrils flare. He turns from the table and says while already walking away, voice tense: "Will you come up to my flat, please?"

Dream, a bit confused but also intrigued, silently follows him up the stairs in the back of the Inn.

Hob's flat is…cozy, if Dream would have to choose a word. It is not overly clean but cluttered in a way that tells stories of the person living here and Dream appreciates that. He has missed much of Hob's life, not just in the last century. His eyes trail curiously over postcards, books and figurines, a mix and match of furniture from several centuries and finally land on Hob, standing in the living room, shedding his jacket. Underneath Hob is wearing only a white t-shirt and Dream feels his throat go dry at the sight. Has he ever seen this much of Hob's skin before? He can't recall. The shirt clings tightly to his frame and Dream cocks his head. Hob's waist. It is…far more slender than Dream thought. Hasn't Hob been more of a heavily set man? He searches his memory of their past encounters and comes up with too dim lighting and clothes with too many layers to discern anything definitive about his friend's body type. Intrigued, he takes a step closer.

Hob turns around and looks at him. He is still frowning but his anger seems to be infused with something like desperation or sadness as well now. 

"Hob. What is the matter?" Dream asks while still cataloging every inch of newly revealed skin and body detail. This is not how he has imagined his friend when he has indulged in idle fantasy while he was captured. For one, Hob is less broad and heavy and for another, a lot more hairy than Dream thought. It makes him reconsider the configuration he has been fantasizing about. Alone in his prison he had dreamed of being taken care of, being loved and taken apart by gentle but strong hands. Now he wonders. Imagines himself clasping his hands firmly on Hob's trim form. Wonders if Hob will bend beneath him. If Hob will let him take care of him.

Dream wants to lay his hands on his waist and measure it, feel if Hob's ribs are discernible beneath his flesh, find out how far the bit of chest hair he can see peeking out at Hob's shirt collar spreads…

Tentatively he reaches out and touches his fingertips to his friend's naked forearm, not thicker than Dream's own. Hob shivers and takes a step back. He opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows. Then he finally says: "You got out a few days ago from being imprisoned for over a hundred years…and you come to me…to ME?"

He seems bewildered. Dream blinks at him, confused. "I was very late. I would not leave you waiting any longer than necessary."

Hob, curiously, shivers again and lets himself fall back on a maroon Chesterfield sofa that compliments the colours and the shape of Hob greatly (copper, bronze, amber, earth - hair, skin, eyes, even scent, all of it warm and comforting). Dream wonders if perhaps he is unwelcome. But none of Hob's behaviour has indicated that he doesn't want him here. 

"Why does that make you angry?" he asks, because that is the question. Hob sighs and pushes his right hand through his hair. Dream follows the motion with his eyes. Hob's wrist looks like Dream can wrap his whole hand around it easily. Dream wants to grab it, feel the bones under his fingers, push until Hob is lying beneath him… The thought makes him flush and, feeling daring, he lets it rise to the surface of his skin. Hob doesn't look up and therefore doesn't see the way he is affecting Dream. 

"I…I guess I think you should properly take care of yourself first? Like, talk to friends, confidants? A therapist?"

Dream slowly sinks down on the sofa beside him and Hob looks up. He flushes, startled at Dream's sudden proximity. Dream gently lays his hand on Hob's and traces the raised metacarpal bones when Hob tenses. The texture of the fine dark hairs on the back of Hob's hand is another thing he carefully commits to memory. The sharp disparity between Hob's masculine features and his almost delicate bone structure makes the heat in Dream's core grow by the minute. He wants.

Dream looks at Hob from under his eyelashes when he answers quietly:

"You are my friend. I came to you. I wanted. To see you."

Hob draws in a sharp breath and blushes. His right hand pulls at his earlobe again and his eyes dart away, to the window, back to where Dream's hand grips his left one, up again to meet Dream's eyes.

"Alright. I'm…very happy you did. It is…surprising, though. I still don't know your name." Hob chuckles helplessly and drops his gaze to their hands again, wiggling his under Dream's. Dream does not let go, instead he pushes his hand up Hob's forearm, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch, relishing the sensation of raised hairs. He touches his fingertips to the soft flesh of Hob's inner elbow, feeling for the soft thrum of his brachial artery underneath the delicate skin. Then he lets his hand slide back down and settles his fingers around Hob's wrist in a more firm grip. Hob's breathing has become quicker and when Dream tightens his fingers around his wrist he lets out a stifled moan. Dream looks up and catches Hob trying to hide his flushed face behind his other hand. When their eyes meet Hob swallows and then lifts his strong chin in defiance.

"Still won't tell me, huh? But you came. You're here. And I've seen you looking the last few minutes. I can see what you want."

Dream tilts his head in question and gives him a tiny smirk. Hob's eyes are burning, just like his cheeks, but he bares his teeth at Dream and says: "Fuck me, coward."

Dream freezes and gapes at him. Hob grins at him, a little wild and unhinged and Dream feels like looking at a daring young human in a smoky tavern in 1389. Should he have introduced himself back then? No. If only to have the pleasure of this moment.

Dream does not grin back but instead looks into his eyes with complete sincerity, as he quickly grabs Hob's other wrist as well and pushes his arms above his head, bearing him slowly down onto the sofa cushions. Hob doesn't fight him, he goes down willingly and arches beneath Dream with a groan. Dream puts his mouth to Hob's ear and purrs: "You may call me Dream…if you need a name to scream, my dear."

"Dream...Dream…yes, please!" Hob moans and arches his back beautifully again and Dream sets to exploring the still unknown shape of Hob Gadling with teeth and tongue and hands and all of himself.

[yorithesims]

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[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!

[urbanwood02]

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