#wrought iron glass wall
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Photo
Traditional Basement in Toronto Large elegant underground medium tone wood floor and brown floor basement photo with brown walls and no fireplace
#wrought iron glass wall#bar stools#basement#accent brick wall#glass wine cellar#wine cellar#wine photography
1 note
·
View note
Text
#idis' originals#photography#dark academia#light academia#romantic academia#academia aesthetic#academic aesthetic#dark academia aesthetic#gothenburg#göteborg#museum#interiors#stairs#wall murals#stained glass#leaded glass#wrought iron
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
i get rambunctious abt architecture
#the sort of secondary downtown in the town i grew up was all these really charming little brick buildings and there was a ben franklin and#a donut shop that exploded (dw abt it) and really classic signage and the unitarian church which is a really lovely romanesuqe building#from 1890. it's one of the topographically lower points in the area and what should happen a few years back but these giant towering luxury#condos coming up at the highest point in the area. its like a church r smth idk but its fucking hideous in that sort of 80s-pomo-modern#farmhouse way and there arent apartment keys you have to use an app which makes me sick. oh also the library was rebuilt in 1965 and is#this adorable little building which is decidedly midcentury inside but not in the cool way you're thinking but it's PRETTY. there's an#ornamental book on the face of it and a wrought iron gate and it's really cozy. but the wiring is janky and instead of just fixing it they#are gonna knock it down and rebuild it to be one of those hideous glass walled monstrosities that have taken over any public space. see#also how they knocked down the high school which was built in the late sixties after the original burned down and replaced it with this#torture chamber. no character at all just sterile blue furniture white walls and light gray tile. it is cold and soulless and so big it#makes me sick. its also almost entirely open concept. but it USED to be this fantastic 1970 ish brick building w brick walls and multicolor#tile and lockers and a gym with wood panelling and murals of the beatles and calvin and hobbes#anyway rant over but the world is turning to shit
2 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Elegant ceramic tile enclosed dining room photo with beige walls Picture of a dining room with elegant ceramic tile and beige walls
#tone on tone color scheme#custom window design#light sconces#beveled leaded glass#faux finished walls#wrought iron console#custom drapery
0 notes
Photo
Mediterranean Entry - Mudroom Large entryway photograph with a dark wood front door, beige walls, and a tuscan marble floor
#fleur-de-lis#side lights#demilune table#dark stained wood table#wrought iron wall sconce#glass door#large flower arrangement
0 notes
Photo
Idea for a large, contemporary brick wall entryway
#steel windows#charcoal finish#chandelier#full wall of windows#steel frame glass window#wrought iron door#steel frame glass door
0 notes
Photo
Wine Cellar - Traditional Wine Cellar Wine cellar - mid-sized traditional limestone floor wine cellar idea with storage racks
0 notes
Photo
Concrete Slab Patio Medium-sized modern front yard patio photo without a cover
#wrought iron fence#wrought iron gates#glass canopy#front patio design#rendered garden wall#wrought iron balustrade
0 notes
Photo
Orange County Basement Inspiration for a sizable, white-walled coastal walk-out basement renovation
#concrete siding#glass panel railing#concrete panel walls#view of basement cut into hillside#wrought iron handrail
1 note
·
View note
Photo
Los Angeles Patio Patio - mid-sized contemporary backyard tile patio idea with no cover
0 notes
Photo
Seattle Deck Uncovered Example of a large trendy backyard deck design with no cover
#contemporary home style#contemproary#sliding glass door wall#picture framed window#wrought iron lantern#views
0 notes
Photo
Cincinnati Transitional Wine Cellar Large, transitional wine cellar design with brown flooring and diamond-shaped storage bins
1 note
·
View note
Photo
Family Room Enclosed Large elegant enclosed family room photo with a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a tv stand
0 notes
Photo
Uncovered Deck Toronto Deck - large modern backyard deck idea with no cover
#wrought iron deck#decks#glass deck riser#veka vinyl decking#retaining stone wall all#stone retaining wall
0 notes
Photo
Mudroom (San Francisco)
#Large transitional marble floor entryway photo with white walls black white bath tile#grand staircase#glass chandelier#white tiles#carpet stairs#wrought iron staircase
0 notes
Text
Born to Love You Back
summary: a very important question is on the horizon
warnings: none
a/n: some rich!reader for you all
word count: 1.7k
-
The jeweller’s salon is tucked into a narrow street in the 1st arrondissement, down a street so narrow you almost missed it, the kind of place that doesn’t need signage because everyone who matters already knows where it is. The building itself is unassuming but pristine, a five-storey townhouse with cream-coloured stone, wrought-iron balconies, a double door painted a deep charcoal with brass fixtures that gleam in the waning afternoon sun. Outside, a delivery van idles, spilling faint notes of Edith Piaf from its radio as a man unloads crates of flowers: cyclamen, lilies, eucalyptus branches arranged in bursts of green and white. They’ll likely find their way to the salon’s interior within the hour, arranged with almost mathematical precision to evoke a studied nonchalance.
Inside, it’s quiet—museum-like but less sterile, hushed but alive. There’s a balance between the soft hum of conversation from another room and the faint, barely perceptible scent of lilies and leather. The floors are a herringbone parquet, polished to an impossible sheen, and the walls are panelled in dove grey. Everything about the space is designed to whisper money. Even the receptionist, stationed behind a desk lacquered to such a high gloss that it might double as a mirror. She’s mid-twenties, probably just out of university—Sciences Po, perhaps, or one of the Grandes Écoles—wearing a black crepe shift dress that hits just above the knee. Chanel, you’d bet, though it’s hard to tell from here. Her hair is sleek and straight, parted sharply in the middle, her nails painted in Rouge Noir, a colour so iconic it’s practically shorthand for Parisian sophistication. She greets you in French first, then switches to English the moment she hears your accent, though her tone remains precisely the same—warm but not too warm, deferential but not subservient.
Aurélie is waiting for you on the stairs. She’s maybe late thirties, tall, with that certain froideur that women in her line of work cultivate like a second skin. Her blazer is Saint Laurent—black, sharply tailored, peak lapels—and her silk blouse is an ivory so fine it catches the light in a way cotton never could. Her trousers skim the tops of her Louboutin heels—black patent leather, red soles so subtle they barely register. Her jewellery is minimal but deliberate: a single strand of Mikimoto pearls, their lustre so perfect they almost look artificial, and a pair of matching studs. She smiles when she greets you, her lips painted a nude so neutral it could have come from any number of Tom Ford palettes, but you’d guess Casablanca.
“This way, please,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs with a hand that’s manicured in a soft ballet pink, not a chip in sight. You follow her up, noting the faint scent of her perfume—Chanel No. 19, not a popular choice but a discerning one, with its crisp notes of galbanum and iris that feel both professional and unapologetically feminine.
On the landing, there’s a painting—a still life, maybe Cézanne, maybe a very good imitation. You don’t stop to look, but it catches your eye enough to linger in your mind as Aurélie opens a door to the second-floor where Its quieter, darker. The walls are a deep navy—Farrow & Ball, maybe Hague Blue—and the rug beneath the central display case is thick enough to swallow the sound of your footsteps. The case itself is glass-topped and backlit, the kind of lighting that renders diamonds almost supernatural in their brilliance. The rings are arranged by cut and carat, each one nestled in its own velvet slot, the symmetry of the display both calming and slightly overwhelming.
Aurélie steps aside, giving you space but remaining close enough to anticipate your needs. She stands with her hands loosely clasped in front of her, her posture immaculate.
“Take your time,” she says, standing back with the same attentive grace she’s shown since you arrived.
You nod, your gaze already falling to the rings. You’ve thought about this for weeks, maybe months, but standing here, it feels more real, the weight of the decision settling in your chest. Not because you’re uncertain—you’re not—but because this is a moment you’ll remember, whether you want to or not.
The first ring is a cushion-cut diamond, two carats, set in a band of pave diamonds. Platinum, naturally. The proportions are flawless, the craftsmanship impeccable, but as you turn it in the light, you know immediately it’s wrong. Too ornate. Too eager. Alexia would hate it. You imagine her wearing it for a moment, and the thought feels so ridiculous you almost laugh. She doesn’t like excess, at least not in the obvious sense. Her taste is clean, modern, unfussy.
The second ring is pear-shaped, slightly smaller, but with a brilliance that draws your eye. The stone feels alive under the light, its facets catching every subtle movement of your hand. For a moment, you hesitate, thinking about how it would look on her hand, but then you remember something she said once, flipping through a magazine in bed: “Pear cuts are too delicate. They look like they’re trying too hard.”
You sigh, not quite aloud, but enough for Aurélie to notice. She steps closer, just enough to offer a quiet suggestion. “Does she have a preference?” she asks, her tone light, neutral. “For the setting, or the cut?”
“She likes things simple,” you say, the words coming out more clipped than you mean them to. It’s not her fault, this unease you feel. “Classic, but not boring”
Aurélie nods, her expression unchanged, and steps back again. You wonder if she can sense the weight of what you’re doing—if she’s seen enough of this to know the signs. The third ring catches your eye before you reach for it. A round brilliant diamond, 1.8 carats, set in a plain platinum band. No pave, no halo, no embellishments. It’s striking in its simplicity, the kind of ring that doesn’t need to assert itself because it knows what it is. You pick it up, holding it to the light, and as you turn it, something settles in you. This is the one. You don’t need to overthink it.
Aurélie smiles faintly, as though she already knew. “Shall I prepare it for you?” she asks.
You nod, handing it back, and she takes it with both hands, disappearing into a back room.
While she’s gone, you pull out your phone. You shouldn’t call her—she’s probably still at training, her mind on drills and tactics—but you do it anyway. She answers on the third ring, her voice steady but soft, with that familiar cadence you’ve missed more than you’d care to admit.
“Hey,” she says, her voice clear, grounded, with just the faintest lilt of distraction. In the background, there’s a low murmur of voices, the familiar thud of a ball meeting turf, maybe a coach shouting something that’s swallowed up by the wind. You imagine the sun slicing through the Catalan sky, the kind of relentless brightness that makes the whole city shimmer.
“Hey,” you reply, smoothing nonexistent creases from your blazer out of habit, though no one is watching. Your reflection in the polished glass of the display case looks composed, disinterested, but the sound of her voice pulls something taut inside you. “How’s training?”
“Same as always,” she says, and there’s a pause—just long enough for you to hear her exhale softly, almost imperceptibly. You know she’s stepped aside, moved to some quieter corner of the training complex where no one will overhear. She’s careful like that, never careless, always aware of her surroundings.
“Still exhausting?” you ask, and she laughs under her breath—a low, warm sound that lingers longer than it should.
“Mhm,” she hums, the sound of it makes you smile despite yourself. “But it’s a good kind of exhausting. You know how it is”
“Not sure I do,” you tease, leaning against the edge of the display case, its surface cool against your hand. “I can’t say I’ve run laps around a pitch lately. Unless you count running several businesses as exercise”
“Of course,” she says, dry but affectionate, “such an athlete. Truly inspiring”
The corner of your mouth twitches upward. “I aim to impress”
There’s a faint rustle of movement on her end—maybe she’s leaning against a wall, maybe adjusting the strap of her training bib. You picture her in that effortless way she carries herself: shorts sitting just right, socks perfectly rolled down, hair tied back in that half-loose, half-styled way that only someone like her can pull off.
“Where are you?” she asks, not because she doesn’t know, but because it’s the kind of question you ask when you want the conversation to last a little longer.
“Near Rue de la Paix,” you say, keeping it vague. “Finishing up a meeting”
“You’re always finishing up a meeting,” she says, and there’s a lightness to her tone, but it doesn’t quite hide the subtext.
“You’re always training,” you counter, matching her tone, and you hear her chuckle, soft but genuine.
“Buen punto”
There’s a brief pause. In the background, someone calls her name, a voice you don’t recognise, and she responds with a quick, sharp “Un momento.” The way she switches languages so fluidly—it’s seamless—and yet it reminds you, in a small but certain way, that her world is different from yours. Barcelona, with its golden afternoons and relentless sun, its terracotta rooftops and restless streets, feels a thousand miles away from the polished stillness of this Parisian jewellers.
“You should,” you encouraged knowing full well she’ll make no move to end the call herself.
“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks, and it’s a question, but not really.
“Of course,” you say, without hesitation this time.
There’s another silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence you could live in, one where nothing needs to be said because the words are already understood. Finally, she says, “Te quiero,” and you hear the faint click as she ends the call.
Aurélie returns with the ring, now nestled in a velvet box so pristine it looks almost untouched by human hands. You slip it into your pocket, the weight of it grounding you, and leave the salon with a nod of thanks.
Outside, Paris feels sharper, brighter. The air smells faintly of rain and burnt sugar from a nearby crepe stand, and the light is just beginning to soften as dusk approaches. For the first time all day, you feel steady.
#alexia putellas#alexia putellas x reader#fcb femeni#fcb femeni x reader#espwnt#espwnt x reader#woso#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso community
408 notes
·
View notes