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[enayarugs-blog]

[kalrascottageindustry]

Mughals and Their Passion For Arts and Rugs

It is common knowledge that the Mughals loved almost everything ostentatious and lavish. From their preference in the art to their choice of decor, everything had an air of luxury around it. Needless to say, the beauty of those things was also incomparable.

The Mughals had come from a land whose art was much different from what they got to see in the Indian subcontinent. Babur tried to bring the Persian art style into the structures of buildings and various gardens that he built, but these things did not last. Continue reading to know more click here.

[rugscafe]

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[obtcarpets]

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[astars-things]

“i know you are lying” with Charles Leclerc x teenage daughter!reader. maybe the reader gets caught underage drinking or something and it leads to a big fight.

Charles Leclerc X teenage daughter!reader

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the clock on the wall as it ticked away the minutes. It was well past midnight, and every sound seemed to echo louder in the silence of the house. My heart raced with each passing moment, knowing that any minute now, my dad would walk through that door. And when he did, he'd find out the truth. The truth I'd been desperately trying to hide.

I took another sip of water, trying to calm my nerves. But the knot in my stomach only tightened with each passing second. I knew I had messed up big time this time. The party had seemed like a good idea at the time, a chance to hang out with friends and forget about the stress of school for a while. But now, as I sat there, waiting for the inevitable confrontation, I realized just how wrong I had been.

The door creaked open, and I tensed, my heart pounding in my chest. My dad stepped into the kitchen, his expression tired and worn from a long day at work. But as soon as his eyes landed on me, they narrowed, and I knew there was no escaping it now.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, his voice calm but tinged with suspicion.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, avoiding his gaze. "Just couldn't sleep," I mumbled, hoping he'd buy the lie.

But he didn't. He knew me too well for that.

"I know you're lying," he said, his tone firm.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of guilt pressing down on me. "Dad, I—" I started, but he held up a hand, cutting me off.

"I got a call tonight," he said, his voice heavy with disappointment. "From the police."

My heart dropped into my stomach, and I felt sick. I had hoped against hope that nobody would find out, that I could sweep it under the rug and pretend like it never happened. But now, faced with the reality of my actions, I knew there was no escaping it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?" he asked, his voice softening slightly.

I shook my head, unable to meet his gaze.

"You're underage, y/n," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "You shouldn't have been drinking in the first place."

"I know," I whispered, feeling the weight of my mistake bearing down on me.

He sighed again, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I just don't understand why you felt like you had to lie to me," he said, his voice tinged with hurt.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," I admitted, the tears now streaming freely down my cheeks.

He pulled me into a tight hug, and for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe everything would be okay. But then reality came crashing back down around me, and I knew that this was just the beginning of a long and difficult conversation.

"We'll talk about this more in the morning," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the mess I had made. Maybe, just maybe, we could work through this together. But one thing was for certain: I would never forget the look of disappointment in my dad's eyes when he said those four simple words.

"I know you're lying."

[raina-at]

I owe you another ficlet, so here it is. It was written for the brekfast challenge, and I think there's a longer story in this, so maybe I'll return to this one day. Meanwhile, have a ficlet.

It’s been eleven days since Sherlock Holmes jumped off a building. Three days since the funeral. One since John stood by Sherlock’s grave and begged him not to be dead.

There’s a constant fog of unreality in John’s head. The world seems muffled, far away, slowed down. He has a difficult time telling day from night, dream from waking, truth from fiction. 

The worst thing is the numbness. There’s a well of pain right inside John somewhere, but he can’t feel it. He can’t feel much of anything. 

Mrs Hudson sobbed into his shoulder at Sherlock’s funeral, but John has yet to shed a single tear. He knows it’s self-protection, that something inside of himself has shut down to prevent him from breaking. 

It’s not pleasant, but it keeps him alive. Barely. 

He forces himself to eat when people are around, and he gets a few hours of fitful sleep, but he’s losing weight rapidly and the dark circles around his eyes are getting more pronounced. Nobody’s said anything to him yet, but he knows it’s a matter of time before he’ll get a kindly-meant intervention from Greg, Molly and Mrs Hudson.

He thinks of leaving. Just getting on a train or plane or boat and disappearing somewhere he can waste away in peace. The thought is comforting.

But he knows today will not be this day when he gets a text from Mycroft Holmes summoning him to a breakfast meeting at a coffee shop around the corner of the Diogenes club.

John knows it’s pointless to refuse.

So he goes. It’s a nice day, and he walks. 

He gets there ten minutes late, but Mycroft isn’t here. He gets in line to order a coffee and a scone. If he’s here already he might as well eat. 

He orders, then waits for the barista to make his coffee.

She seems vaguely familiar. Red hair, freckles, tattoos. 

“John?”

He looks up. She smiles at him. Hands over his drink. Holds his eyes. “Here,” she says, winking at him. “I think this is what you asked for.”

He looks down at the cup and sees she’s put her phone number down. He smiles politely. He couldn’t be less interested if he tried.

“Don’t call right away,” she says, winking again, then turns to the next customer.

Mycroft isn’t here yet, so John decides he doesn’t want to wait and leaves.

He sips at the coffee as he wanders back to Baker Street.

The coffee has grown cold by the time he’s back in the flat. He wanders into the kitchen to throw the cup out.

That’s when he notices there’s writing under the phone number.

John

07975777666

And below that, in a handwriting he’d recognise blind, backwards and under water, two words:

Vatican Cameos

The cup hits the floor as John’s knees buckle.

The coffee seeps into the kitchen rug as John stares at the cup, at the two words. He thinks of the barista. He recognises her now. She was one of the people who held him back from Sherlock’s body when he fell.

It takes him ten minutes to realise that he’s crying, that the tears are falling freely now, that the knot of numbness and pain in his chest is finally dissolving. He’s shaking with it, with big, heaving sobs that shiver through his entire body. 

Alive, alive, alive.

Mrs Hudson finds him there, sobbing and shaking on his knees, and she holds him while he cries.

She thinks it’s grief.

He knows it’s relief.

*-*

It’s midnight and he can’t stand it any longer.

He tore the flat apart looking for the Adler woman’s phone because he knows he can’t use his own. His charger wouldn’t fit, so he had to go out and buy a new one, and then let the bloody thing charge.

It’s better this way, anyway.

It’s dark and he’s sitting in Sherlock’s bedroom, on the floor next to Sherlock’s bed.

His hands shake as he dials the number. 

Maybe he’s delusional. 

Maybe the barista just wanted to mess with him.

Maybe nobody will answer.

It rings. He’s nauseous with nerves, shaking with anticipation.

If this isn’t real…. He can’t even think about it.

The line picks up.

A voice he’d recognise anywhere. Uncharacteristically hesitant. “John?”

John’s breath hitches and he lets out a laugh that’s mostly a sob. “Oh, you unbelievable bastard.”

There’s a small smile in the voice as it answers. “You asked me for another miracle. How am I doing so far?”

John smiles through the tears that are running down his face unchecked and unheeded. “Pretty well.”

“I just wanted to let you know…. I heard you,” Sherlock says, quiet and gentle, in a tone of voice that makes John's heart hurt. “I heard you.”

“Sherlock-”

“I have to go. But I’ll come for you soon. Wait for me.”

The line goes dead.

John stares at the phone for a long time. Wondering if any of this is real.

Finally, he nods at himself. I believe in Sherlock Holmes, he thinks. He always has, and he always will. 

In the meantime, he will wait. 

That makes 31 ficlets, making my collection complete. This was so much fun, thank you all for reading and liking my ficlets, I've had such lovely responses.

Tagging a few people.

@calaisreno @discordantwords @keirgreeneyes @jrow @peanitbear @lisbeth-kk @shiplocks-of-love @iamjustreading @the-reading-lemon @thetimemoves @fluffbyday-smutbynight @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @catlock-holmes @7-percent @khorazir

[pascalispretty]

Come Take It Out On Me

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2034

Warnings: enemies to lovers, snark, bondage, softly dominant Javi, oral sex (f receiving) (Javier Peña eats pussy like a champ), teasing

Summary: You and Javier may not know how to talk, but you certainly know how to fuck. (ao3)

Notes: Written for the lovely @survivingandenduring for the Space Sister's Valentines! The first fic I ever wrote on here was Javier Peña and enemies to lovers, and your prompt was such an inspiration to revisit that whole vibe. Also the song 'Good in Bed' by Dua Lipa was a major inspo. I hope you enjoy! (also unbeta'd because I cracked a bone in my foot, pls be gentle).

It’s late when you get back to your apartment. You had taken yourself out for a drink after work, dressing up in a tight black dress and a swipe of red lipstick. But the admiring looks and offers to buy you another drink irritated you more than they flattered you. Instead, you had made your way over to a payphone and punched in an all-too familiar number.

“Hey, Peña. You wanna come over and fuck?”

Not particularly subtle, but it got the message across.

Back home, you pour yourself a drink and settle in to wait. Your heels are pinching your toes, so you kick them off. You’re vaguely aware of the room becoming warmer, the heat clicking on as the temperature drops.

You’re topping up your wine when there’s a loud knock at the door. You nearly roll your eyes when you open it. Javier Peña has his arm braced against the doorframe, leaning into it like he’s posing for an advertisement for the tight Levi jeans he’s wearing.

“Hello, Javier. I was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten about me,” you tell him, lifting your wineglass to your lips. He takes it out of your hand in a smooth gesture, draining it and shoving it back into your hand as he walks into your apartment.

“I wish,” he mutters, pausing to light a cigarette and helping himself to a glass of scotch from your bar. “I was late at the embassy; a knot needed untangling that had ‘CIA’ written all over it. The Castaño brothers seem to think you’ll hand them the whole country.” You top up your wine, smirking at him over the rim of the glass.

“You have a very misguided perception of what we do, Agent Peña. It’s not all toppling governments and hobnobbing with dictators.” Sitting on the armchair across from him, you tip your glass in a mock toast.

He sits with his legs spread apart, the tight jeans hiding absolutely nothing as he watches you. The silver-blue haze of his cigarette smoke hangs in the air between you, giving his features a strangely soft edge.

“Well, if anyone could find common ground with a dictator it would be you.”

“And yet, you’re here. What does that say about you?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. It almost always starts this way. The two of you can’t seem to help needling at one another, determined not to let a jab go unanswered. He’s too holier-than-thou for your liking sometimes, pretending that the DEA’s hands are so much cleaner than that of the CIA.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, the two of you discovered that all that tension somehow translated into pretty phenomenal sex.

“It says that payday is at the end of the month, and I can’t afford my usual.” Peña says, his mouth curving into a smirk. “Besides, you buy the good stuff.” He drinks more of his drink, pulling the ashtray closer with his free hand. You appreciate that even though he doesn’t particularly like you, he draws the line at ruining your rug.

“What can I say, I appreciate quality.” You say nonchalantly. “Which is why you’re here right now, and not some random stranger who couldn’t find a clitoris with a map.”

“We all have our talents. Are you going to sit over there all night? Even I might have trouble finding it from that far away.” He says it casually, but you know him well enough by now to pick up on the undercurrent of need in his voice.  He’s not alone. That annoyingly familiar need had been making itself known in the pit of your stomach all night, that insistent itch that only Agent Javier Peña could really scratch.

You uncurl from the armchair, setting your wine down on the table. Javier looks up at you with those beautiful dark eyes as you settle into his lap. The seams of your dress strain to accommodate his body between your thighs, and you swear you hear a few stitches popping.

Up close, you can breathe the scent of him in. The leather of his jacket and the tobacco of his cigarettes mixes with something heady and masculine and him. You have no other word for it. You imagine that it would sell like crazy if somebody managed to bottle it as a cologne.

“Is this better?” You ask softly, looping your arms around his neck. He nods, eyes trailing down your body, lingering on the neckline of your dress.

“The view has improved.” He leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your breast where your dress leaves it exposed. His moustache prickles the sensitive skin, his lips quick to soothe the scratch.

Your fingers slide into his thick hair. He’s still holding his glass and his still-lit cigarette, so after a moment he pulls away.

“I’d rather not light your rug on fire,” he says, leaning around you to flick the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray. With his now-free hand, he cups one of your breasts, squeezing gently. “You should wear dresses like this more often.”

“I’m sure that’d go down really well at work,” you tease, sucking in your breath as he hooks his index finger into the neckline, tugging it down further. The lace of your bra peeks out, the red vivid against the black of your dress.

Peña ducks his head again, trailing more kisses across the newly-exposed skin. Every brush of his lips is only making you wetter, even if he’s not doing much to encourage it. Bastard.

Though it’s not wholly unfair. You can feel him starting to harden underneath you, and you can’t help rocking your hips against him in encouragement. He nips at the curve of your breast, before leaning back.

“Take your dress off.” He gives you a little nudge with his hand, as if he wants you off his lap.

“So bossy, Peña,” you sigh, letting your nails scratch his scalp. You feel the shudder that runs through him, but he’s persistent.

“You like it when I’m bossy. Get up, and take your dress off.” He’s right. He might not know how you like your coffee or when your birthday is. But if there’s one thing Javier Peña knows, it’s what you like in bed.

You slide off his lap reluctantly, standing in the small space between the couch and the coffee table. While he finishes the dregs of his drink, Javier runs his eyes over you. There’s something so hungry in that look, like he’s deciding where to begin with a delicious feast.

The dress zips in the back, and you have to twist awkwardly to catch at the tab. With another man, it might make you feel self-conscious. But with Javier, all you can see is the want in him. The fabric loosens around your shoulders as you undo the zip, and you shrug the dress off in one fluid motion.

Peña casts an appreciative eye over your lingerie, leaning forward in his seat. When he reaches to set his glass down on the coffee table, he shifts so close that his hair nearly tickles your abdomen. A soft, disappointed sound escapes you when he doesn’t touch you, when he doesn’t take the opportunity to haul you back into his lap. Instead he just looks up at you, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Gorgeous,” Javier murmurs, almost to himself. With one last lingering sweep down your body, he stands up. There’s barely an inch between you, your calves bumping against the edge of the coffee table as you shift back to accommodate him.

“Take me to bed?” You ask. Peña doesn’t say anything for a moment. One of his large hands comes up to cradle your jaw with a gentleness that never fails to surprise you. His fingers are warm on your skin, and you find yourself melting into his touch once more.

“Bed,” he agrees, his thumb gently sweeping over your lower lip before his hand drops back to his side. You lead him towards your bedroom, even though he knows the way by now. He’s been here more times than you can count.

At the threshold of your bedroom, Javier loops his arms around your waist. Your back moulds against his chest, his nose brushing your temple as he leans to whisper in your ear.

“Do you want the belt tonight?” He murmurs, and you nearly melt into a puddle at his feet. The belt is something Javier indulges you in occasionally. He’d drawn a hard line at bringing his handcuffs into the bedroom. The two of you had compromised with softer things; a silk scarf, his ties, a pair of stockings. And, of course, his belt.

“Yes please.” Your eyelashes flutter closed as Javier presses soft kisses down the line of your neck, humming contentedly against the skin. His clever fingers have your bra undone before you realise he’s moved his hands, and you let him slip it off you without complaint.

One of his hands moves to your waist, encouraging you to turn around. Every brush of his fingertips sends more warmth pooling in your core, the gentle brushes of his skin against yours making you shudder. Without him having to ask, you offer him your wrists.

Peña takes his belt off with one hand, a move that you’re almost certain he’s practised. It’s so attractive that you don’t even tease him about it. Instead, you find yourself taking a shaky breath as he loops the soft leather carefully around your wrists.

You could slip out with ease if you wanted to – it’s part of the reason Javier agreed to the belt as a compromise when you’d asked him to tie you up. You’re at a loss to explain why the buttery leather around your wrists makes you feel so good. Satisfied that it’s not too tight around your wrists, Javier gives you a small, but unmistakable, smile.

With a gentle push of his hand on your waist, Javier encourages you backwards until you’re lying on the bed, your arms stretched above your head.

“Que bonita,” he murmurs, settling himself between your legs. He’s still fully clothed, aside from his belt, and it makes you feel more exposed by comparison. One of his warm palms slides up your leg, squeezing the inside of your thigh before coming to rest agonisingly close to your core.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” One of his fingers brushes against your core, making you jump. “You’ve soaked your pretty panties.” The edge in his voice makes you whimper, your legs falling further apart for him. He slides your underwear off with ease, and before you can catch your breath, the warm heat of his mouth envelops your clit.

It’s nearly painful, how good it feels. His full lips wrap carefully around the bud of nerves, applying just enough pressure to make you wail. Your head is spinning with the pleasure of it, your world shrinking down to your body and Javier’s mouth. You clutch at the pillows above your head, moaning with abandon. Fuck your neighbours. If they knew Javier Peña, they’d understand.

He lets go of your clit and nuzzles against your slick folds, his tongue lapping hungrily at your flesh. The noises he’s making are obscene, muffled groans mixing in with the wet sounds of his mouth.

Then, as abruptly as he’d started eating you out, he stops. The loss of his mouth is devastating, and you’re about to wail at the unfairness when his hand slides up your body. His warm palm forms a loose necklace about your throat as he looks down at you, his chin wet with your slick.

“If I let you come while I eat your pussy, do you promise to let me make you come on my cock too?” He asks. He’s entirely serious; you’ve never met anyone who takes pleasure quite so seriously.

“God, yes. Knew I did the right thing by calling you,” you tell him, practically slurring your words. He gives you that smile again, a gleam in his eye as he trails kisses down your body.

“You can always call me, baby.”

[underoossss]

you’re sunshine - s.h

pairing: steve harrington x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of family issues (mom issues), hurt/comfort. No spoilers.

word count: 2k

an: this touches on something i deal with but i also know others do too. so, to everyone who’s dealing with a toxic parent(s) or toxic family life, this is for you. don’t let anyone turn off your sunshine, we are all sunshine, even when a cloud hides it for a while, we’ll remain there after it passes. you’re not alone.

Masterlist

----

The cold evening is quiet outside Steve Harrington’s kitchen’s window. Inside it’s warm and filled with soft music and spice-scented air. He invited you over for dinner –which you cooked together– and your favourite ice cream, all of it mumbled in between kisses that morning. The food had taken a while to make but neither of you minded, too absorbed in the domesticity of it all to care. It was all conversation, stolen kisses, since your boyfriend was Steve Harrington, lots of flirting too. The empty plates sit on the table, as well as two ceramic bowls where the cookie dough ice cream had been served. A soothing tranquility blankets the kitchen as you tell Steve about a coworker’s anecdote; until you see the time displayed on the microwave and suggest doing the dishes.

“I’ll wash 'em, you dry them.” Steve stands up from the kitchen table, bringing some plates over to the sink with him. His eyes catch on the red and white cookbook you brought with you that afternoon. He moves closer to where it rests on the counter, the recipe you cooked earlier still on display. “This cookbook’s new right?”

 “Yeah, I got it with Robin at the thrift store the other day.” You tell him, grabbing the plate from the kitchen table. “At first I was only going to buy it because of the pretty cover but it turns out­––”

 Your foot catches on the edge of the rug under the table and you trip. The plate slips from your hand and lands loudly on the floor, porcelain breaking in several pieces. You catch yourself on a chair to avoid falling, but your eyes remain trained on the broken plate. Oh no. “Steve I’m so––”

 “Hey,” Steve starts to say, his voice sounds concerned as he approaches you but your heart is beating loudly in your chest. It’s erratic beat drowning out all other sounds. You’re never careful, your brain supplies. You should have seen where you were going! Why are you always making such a mess?

 You flinch when Steve tries to get close to you and it makes him pause. His hand hovers where it was going to reach for yours. “I’m so sorry.” You look up at him, your eyes glazed over by a few tears. “I should have watched my step, it’s my fault. Your mom is going to be so mad, because of me. Shit. I’m sorry, Stevie, let me clean it up.”

 Steve says your name softly, his eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. “It’s only a plate, I’ll clean it up. You don’t have to be sorry.” The second time he reaches for you, you don’t flinch. It eases his mind but only marginally.  You accept his outstretched hand and the kiss he places on your knuckles.

 How was he so calm about this? Now the kitchen plates will be incomplete, and you doubt he will find the same one to replace it. You glance at the rug. You should have seen it. You should have been more careful.

 “Babe, come on talk to me.” It is when Steve dips his head to look into your eyes that you realize, he had been saying something to you. “What’s going on?”

 A knot forms in your throat at the soft gaze that meet yours –it’s understanding, kind, patient. It overwhelms you. A tear escapes your eye when you squeeze your eyes shut. He wipes it away before you speak up. “It’s nothing, let’s clean up this mess.”

 “It not nothing, you’re shaking.” Steve shakes his head, his brown eyes are pools of worry. He’s never seen you like this, so scared.

 You look at your other hand, the one he isn’t holding, and see the tremble of your fingers. Traitors. You shake your head, you never wanted to talk about this. It felt like complaining and you had to be strong right? Get over it, move on, and all that. But then again…  this is Steve. The one that owned your heart so completely even with only a few months of dating. He won’t think you’re complaining, will he?

 “I forgot I wasn’t in my house for a moment.” Your voice comes out rough, so you clear your throat and look anywhere but him. “If this had happened there… my mom would have yelled my ears off. She would have made remarks on all my flaws because of what happened.”

 “What?” Steve’s heart stalls for a second, and he blinks, processing what you told him. Now that he thinks of it he hasn’t heard you talk much of your family life. And he’d only met your parents fleetingly one day. “But it’s just a plate?” He hates that he phrased it like a question but he’s trying to come to terms that your mother yells at you; so much that you visibly flinched away from him minutes ago.

 “To mom it’s failure. Failure to notice things, to be careful, to be great.” You shake your head, and another treacherous tear escapes. Your shoulders hunch as you lean against the counter, like talking about it exhausts you as much as living in your house does. “She yells, so much. For a moment I thought you would too.”

 “I wasn’t going to.” Steve shakes his head, pulling on the hand he was holding and stepping closer to you. His arms envelop you whole, cocooning you from the rest of the world. “I would never.”

 “I know Stevie.” You hide your face on his neck, and you let the scent of his sweatshirt and cologne soothe you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about any of this. It’s okay though, I’m okay. It’s just yelling.” Right?

 “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I know now. ” The muscles in his neck move as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t look like it’s just yelling, not when you’re like this.” Steve doesn’t consider himself that smart, but he knows what you’re experiencing is basically verbal abuse.

 “I’m so tired.” You mumble against his skin, relaxing against the warmth of his body heat. “Of all the shit going on in that house and pretending that it doesn’t affect me.”

 “You don’t have to pretend with me.” Steve pulls back to look at your face. “You can call me, and I’ll get you out of there. We’ll drive around and I don’t know– talk about it or not until you feel better. Any day, any hour babe.”

 You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your tears gathering behind your eyes. After hiding what you were going through for so long, hearing Steve offer you  whatever help he can provide makes your emotions boil over. Crying messes up with your face, you’d read in a magazine, if it’s true then you’ll be a grandma by the time you move out of your house. Unless Steve means what he’s offering. No, you can’t burden him like that.

 “I didn’t want to trouble you, that’s why I never told you.” You say through tears, turning away from him. Your hands cover your face. “I’m such a mess, Stevie, what did you get yourself into.”

 “Baby.” Steve starts, his voice is gentle but hurt by your words. He is careful not to startle you with his hands as he presses his chest to your back. His chin falls on your shoulder, his forearms are a steady press against your tummy, you can feel his breath on your skin. “Don’t talk like that, you could never trouble me, ok? Don’t you see, I would do anything for you because I love you. You’re not a mess, you’re the most perfect part of my life and I’m damn lucky to have you.”

 His hands move to your hips, nudging you lightly so you can face him. “Turn around, please? I want to look at your pretty face.”  

 You shake your head, but you turn around anyways. “Not so pretty now.”

 “It’s always pretty. You’re sunshine, baby, even when you’re crying.” He smiles, wiping at your wet cheeks with his thumbs. His forehead falls to yours. “I meant what I said, let me help in whatever way I can.”

 Your face warms up at his words, and you meet his eyes, letting him see you at your most vulnerable and knowing that he won’t back away. It makes you smile, the way his eyes caress your face with the adoring way they look at every detail. Steve smiles in triumph. “Okay.” You say after a bit, voice merely a whisper. “Okay, baby.”

 “Look at that smile.” He whispers back, brushing his nose against yours. “’fucking beautiful.”

 You chuckle placing your hands on his shoulders. “Thank you, Steve.”

 He swallows and nods, “You’ll call me, yeah? I’ll be there, I’ll fly if I have to.”

 When you nod your head –heart soaring and in disbelief at his concern and love for you– Steve leans closer, and you don’t hesitate to press your lips to his. His arms circle you completely, like a shield from everything else, and you melt into him. You feel safe, loved, treasured even, and both relief and happiness flood your body at once. This is not what you expected when you told him and you’re more than happy to having been wrong.

 “I’ll clean this up and then we can watch a movie or something. Or I can just kiss you some more.” Steve says when you part. His arms squeeze you one last time before he goes to find the broom and dustpan to sweep the broken porcelain pieces.  “Sit tight baby, I’ve got you.”

 Something lifts from your shoulders in that moment –as if with those three words Steve took half of what you’ve carried alone and put it on his shoulders. You relax as you lean against the counter, your eyes heavy from all the crying but your chest bubbling with something resembling hope. Hope that they won’t cry as often anymore. That things will be okay. That there will be sunshine.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Office Christmas Party

Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x reader

Warnings: mentions of sex, PTSD, social anxiety, 18+

Summary: You and Jake have had a rough year but you know you’ll get through it together whilst enjoying yourselves at a Christmas Party.

“Jake, hurry up or we are going to be late,” you called up the stairs for what felt like the hundredth time, waiting impatiently for your fiancée to come down.

“Sorry, Darling. I’m coming.” He flew down the stairs at a rate of knots, nearly slipping on the rug in the hallway, he looked a little flustered and you knew he’d been giving himself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror. When he came into view he stopped, taking you in. “Wow, Babe you look hot.” He gave you his signature smile, making you blush. You were wearing a new red dress that had a rather low-cut v-neck. You weren’t normally someone who wore sexy dresses but it was one of your impulse buys so you felt like you had to see it through.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you poked at his chest that was clad in a black tuxedo. Jake always managed to look handsome, no matter what he wore.

“It’s all for you, Darling.” He kissed you gently, knowing you’d kill him if he messed up your makeup.

“Come on, we have to go. We should have been there an hour ago.” You huffed, frustrated at yourself for letting time run away with you.

“Well, it was worth it though right.” He cocked an eyebrow at you knowingly and grinned when you blushed again. Jake Seresin was your biggest time-waster ever but he was so worth it and he knew that. You pushed him out the front door and into the car. The drive to the party was short and you managed to get there within 10 minutes as traffic had been good. As soon as you stepped out of the car, you could hear the music blaring from inside the hall and a group of people mingled around outside chatting. You and Jake made your way through the front door and were greeted by your boss, who was ushering people inside.

“Oh thank god, you bought Jake, maybe he can help get people onto the dance floor.” Jake was famous for his dancing at your work's Christmas parties, as soon as he had a few drinks, he was gone. You knew his self-assured look was all a show, that he was scared out of his mind in this very public space but once he’d had a drink he settled slightly.

“Yes ma’am, don’t worry I’ll get them dancing.” Jake saluted your boss, causing her to laugh.

“I don’t know where you found him but I want one.”

You laughed, “I found him in Miramar. I hear there’s a pretty good Naval base there.” You laughed as Jake looked at you in mock hurt.

“Pretty good? I’ll have you know I am one of the best.”

You grabbed his arm pulling him away. “Ok Hotshot, let’s get your big ego a drink.”

At the bar, you ordered two glasses of wine before taking a seat at the table. Jake tapped his foot impatiently. He always came to social work events with you but he was always a little on edge like he was waiting for something to happen. You rested your hand on his knee comfortingly and gave him a small smile. Ever since the last mission, Jake had been more on edge, never quite able to settle.

“Hey, are you ok?”

“Yes Darling, it's ok.” He reassured you, he always hated that he was ruining your evening when you’d spend all your time worrying about him. You would always reassure him that he didn’t but the nicking feeling in the back of Jake’s mind always reminded him he was a burden.

“Love, do you want to dance?”

You saw his face light up excitedly. “Anything to have you close to me, Darling.”

He held out his hand and gave a small chivalrous bow. “May I have this dance, My Lady?”

You sat there for a moment, contemplating your options before placing your hand in his. “Certainly, My Lord.”

The pair took to the dance floor, an upbeat song was playing and Jake swung you around joyfully. You both laughed, immensely happy as you danced amongst your colleagues. When the song came to the end a slow song started, Jake pulled you close, resting his hand on the small of your back and burying his face into your hair, breathing you in. You felt his shoulders relax slightly and you placed a small kiss on his neck, as you swayed slowly.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing you gently. The song continued and people moved around you but at that moment it was just you and Jake, you were all that mattered in the whole world. When the song came to an end you pulled back to look at Jake, his handsome face lit up by the lights hanging from the ceiling, his blue eyes shining brightly. “How did I get so lucky.” You said, stroking his cheek with your thumb. He leant into your touch, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. “No, I think it's me that’s the lucky one.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips and when he pulled away he had a light dusting of your red lipstick over his mouth. You giggled, trying to rub the lipstick off. You understood that some things that Jake had seen and experienced were difficult for him to process and talk about but having him there in your arms you knew that you’d be alright. That you’d make it together.

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[blueberrybladelemonade]

Hard Scales, Tender Love

Summary: You're a half dragon and Peppino finds that will come with it's ups and downs. 

Contains: Puns, Crack treated somewhat seriously, Slice of life, Fluff, Kissing. 

"Pino!" Your eyes lit up as you bounded towards the door to greet your boyfriend as he stepped into your home. Peppino let out a small "oof" as you rush into his open arms. "I'm so glad you're spending the night!" Behind you, your tail twitched back and forth excitedly. He returned your hug and placed a kiss on your forehead. 

You tilt your head noticing the small bag in his hand. "What's that"?

"Look speziata! We can-a match." Peppino smiled, paper rustled and he held up a pair of fake horns.

You gently take them from his hands, they were very similar in appearance to your own. You turn them over again, feeling the resin ridges and bumps of the makeshift horns. 

You glance back up at Peppino, pulling the fabric cord taut to him. He bowed his head as you tied the laces together for him, chuckling as you did so. With a final knot, you both draw back and you return his smile. Marveling at the horns now sitting neatly atop his head.

"Does that mean I can decorate your horns too now?" You tease. 

***

"Hold-a still!" Peppino scolded as you squirmed again. Your back was pressed against his chest as he continued to wind and wrap tinsel around your horns.

"I'm trying! It-it keeps tickling my neck!" You whine before you devolve into another fit of laughter. Peppino huffed as your tail almost knocked the roll of tinsel and scissors from his hand. "Watch it, amore"!

In a conscious attempt, you forced your tail to remain at at your side as it twitched at the sensations and your stifled laughter. With another few snips and string Peppino nodded as he set the items beside him. "All-a done".

You tilted your head side to side, the tinsel swaying with each movement. "I feel like a Christmas tree"! 

Peppino eyed his handiwork and pursing his lips in thought. A mischievous look flashed across his features as he moved off the couch. Yoir eyes followed him as Peppino went back to the bin of decorations that was pulled out. "One last-a thing..." You heard him mumble, trailing off as various items clinked or rustled together. 

Peppino retrieved what he was searching for and made his way back to you. Something caught the light in your peripheral as Peppino hooked a small icicle ornament onto one of your horns.

"Now-a you look ready for the party"!

***

Warm water poured from the shower head and steam rose from the tiled floor. You let out a content hum as you poured soap onto the scrubbie and lather it. 

"So how was work?" You ask, lathering Peppino in a layer of suds. 

"It-a was ok. Gus forgot to order more mozzarella so I had to leave and buy-a some at the store".  

"Not too stressful"?

"Well, Noise didn't come in toda-"

Peppino paused as your face scrunched, his eyes widening in realization as you tilt your head back.

"No no no!" Peppino dodged to the side, heat soared passed his neck followed by the sound of hissing as fire evaporated in the running water.

He shot you a glare. "Cover-a your mouth!" 

"At least it wasn't the carpet this time?" You replied helpfully. You opted to switch from the scrubbie to scratch your nails gently across his scalp. 

"You sneezed and-a almost burnt down my house!" He argued -albeit half heartedly- quickly melting against your touch.  

"It was just the rug. And I paid you back!" You protested. Peppino groaned in response, shaking his head wordlessly. That incident would never leave his memory despite it being months ago. In retrospect though, he had a fair enough reason to. 

***

"aaAAACH-" a line of fire shot from your mouth, Peppino yelled and ducked in nick of time.

The area rug, however, was not as fortunate. Flames crackled and flickered a bright blue, licking up into the air.

At an instant Peppino bolted into the kitchen and you could hear the rush of water. In a fluid motion your tail slapped the floor and waved it side to side, attempting to smother the blaze. As it cooled slightly to an amber hue you watch in panic as flames spread now to a corner of the rug.

You shriek as water soaks your pants and dowses the fire. With a final pop the light faded and puff of smoke drifted into the air. You hear a thud from behind as a bucket drops to the floor. 

Peppino slumped into the dining room chair with an exasperated sigh. 

"That was close." You chirped. 

"You...can breath...fire." With this new information in mind Peppino fell silent for a moment, putting his face back into his palms, leaning over the table. He sat there shaking his head, muttering to himself. 

Peppino seemed to be at the end of his wits for the day. First, The Noise pulled that prank on him at work and now? Now he just learned you not only had a draconic tail and horns, but also could breath fire.

You shifted your weight to the other foot and scratched the back of your neck. "It's, uh, really convenient if we ever go...camping"?

Peppino let out a deep sigh. He replied with something you couldn't quite place, keeping his face buried in his hands. You weren't sure if the comment was aimed at you, or himself.  

"...is that a no for camping"?

He spread his fingers and shot you a sideways glare.

***

You kissed the top of Peppino's head, draping your arms around him as he reclined back into your chest. Fabric slid against your tail as it slowly wagged. 

After your shower together you told Peppino to relax on the couch as you prepared dinner. He stretched and let his eyes close, the smell and sounds lulling him into a gentle slumber. 

You pat the steaks dry once more before carefully setting them into the pam. Oil fizzled and popped, sending small drops across the stove top. You groan inwardly at the eventual clean up. As you turned the meat over, perfectly seared, you began basting it with the butter and thyme you set aside.

Every so often you would peek your head out from the kitchen to check on Peppino. A soft smile tugged at your lips at how peaceful he looked. 

You took the bowl of antipasto from the fridge, removed the lid, and put a large spoon into the mix. 

"Hey, wake up." You nudge his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours as he gives you a sleepy grin. "Dinner's ready". Before you could turn around Peppino caught your wrist, tugging you to lean down. "Grazie amore." He peppered your face with kisses, sitting up as you place a final kiss against his lips and urge him to get up. "Come on, our food will get cold at this rate".

You wrapped your tail around his waist, pulling Peppino closer. "Mine, all mine." You breathed, burying your face into Peppino's neck. He let out an unintelligible noise and nodded, drifting off to a quiet slumber. 

Carefully you leaned back, attempting to not disturb him. Hearing him grumble you pause for a moment, waiting for him to settle again. As you get Peppino and yourself situated on your side you tug at the blanket and pull it up to your necks. 

You nuzzled into his neck, feeling his breath tickle your skin. "Goodnight Peppino. I love you." You whisper. There was no reply but you thought his grip on you tightened just slightly.  

***

Peppino rolled to his side, arms reaching out for your form but finding it absent. With a soft groan he lazily cracked an eye open. Was it morning and you already had gotten out of bed? No, that couldn't be right. The room was too dark to be morning yet. A thin slit of light filtered from beneath the door which lead to the hallway. From the faintly illuminated the room your silhouette was nowhere to be seen. 

"Y/N?" 

No reply. Did you get up to go to the bathroom? Peppino stretched to feel the cool fabric, indicating you had been gone for quite a while. 

His thoughts paused at hearing a thunk in the next room. You would be coming to bed again soon, right? Peppino turned back onto his side to stare into the darkness. As the sound repeated he found himself tiredly sliding out of bed, towards the door. 

As Peppino made his way down the hallway a shuffling sound made him pause. He focused on the sound, realizing it was coming from inside your spare room. That thunking sound was louder now, indicating the source was also behind this door. 

Why were you in there, this late at night? The light inside was much brighter in there, as it filtered across the floor. You never mentioned this room, though it's not like Peppino ever asked. If anything, Peppino assumed this was a spare room, a space for storage.

But why would you be rummaging around in there in the middle of the night?

From the other side he heard your voice, but laced with distress. 

You yelped as the door swung open, a piece of paper fluttering to the floor. 

Peppino gasped, eyes wide as he took in the sights around him. In the center of the room was a decently sized canopy bed, complete with ornate bed posts. At the foot of the bed was a heavy looking bench complete with a few round cushions. 

"What are you doing in here?" You stuttered. Peppino barely heard you as he continued to be amazed at the sheer amount of, what he could only call treasure, in just this room.

Off to the side was a desk in front of a half open closet. Though what actually drew Peppino's attention was what was on the desk. Various cards and gifts that Peppino had given you were displayed neatly on the flat surface. 

"Pino why aren't you sleeping"?

"You weren't in bed..." His replied, eyes focused down at the paper by your feet, then back to the desk where similar ones were folded. "What-a are those"?

"Oh...heh. Those were a few letters I wrote that I wanted t- put that down! Don't read it!" You attempt to swat one of the papers away from Peppino, only for him to hold you at arms length as he began reading with his free hand.

"I like you but-a I'm a little Chai?" He began, quirking an eyebrow, you feeling your face reddening as he continued to read that cursed thing. 

"Pinooo put that down!" You whine.

You stumble forward, grasping at air as Peppino sidestepped away from you and into the opposite corner. 

"Hey-a hot-tea, I think-a we're a good matcha". He snickered before falling into a laughing fit. You could feel your heart thudding in your ears over Peppino's laughter. You wished you could just melt into the floor. Or hide under the bed. 

He grins over at you as he slightly regains his composure, "What-a is this"?

"Really terrible pickup lines. Put it down".

You sigh in relief as he returned the where he found it.

"When did you write these"?

"Some of, well, most of them before we started dating. They were confession letters that turned out really dumb, in hindsight..." You paced to the other side of the room looking away, "But I couldn't throw them out even if they're all really bad. That was 'The Pickup Line' letter".

You had written dozens of confession letters and half as many telling Peppino how much you loved him. Some more lighthearted and funny while others were more sincere, ones that you poured your heart into. 

Regardless, after finishing your letter and being satisfied with it that day, you would reread it the next and cringe. Shoving it into the dresser with the others. 

You busied yourself with the fabric on the bed. "A few are also letters or poems I wanted to write for you but I can't find the right words. So they all turn out bad".

"They're not-a bad." Peppino took a seat in the center of the bed, sinking into it. You perked up, tilting your head to face him. "Even if they sound dumb"?

"I can't find-a the right words to tell-a you how much I love you, speziata. But I-a do". You returned Peppino's smile with a small one of your own. 

"You've got-a pizza my heart, mia cara". At that, you did smile. Peppino quirked an eyebrow as you shuffled back towards the closet before pulling out a robe. You draped the silk night robe across his bare shoulders and wrapped your arms around him tightly.

"There. For my prince". 

You smiled as you sank onto the bed beside him. 

Peppino grabbed both of your horns, playfully tugging and pulling you down. You relent and lay on your side, grinning up at him. Not one to give the upper hand though, you yank him down onto his side. 

Without giving you the opportunity to protest, Peppino leaned forward, his chuckle catching between your lips. His hand fell on your hip before pulling you against him as he bit down playfully. 

A small sigh passed your lips, your fingers finding the silk fabric as it slipped off of him, to the side. 

Breaking off the kiss, you catch a glimpse of his eyes shining mischievously. "What did-a you call me"? Your tail cupped his chin, the tip grazing the side of his jaw. "My prince?" You replied as Peppino's eyes fixed onto yours, leaning closer until his face was inches from yours.

Before you knew it, Peppino pressed his lips against yours again, letting his hands hungrily wander across your entire body. In a way it seemed frantic, in a way, his palms gliding over your neck and waist. 

You crane your neck to look up at him, hovering over you. As you feel the robe brush against your face again you push it off the bed. You'll pick it up later. But for now? Now you were occupied with someone much more important. 

💜I hope y'all enjoyed this fic my brain made me create and put out there lol. This is honestly the most weird thing I've written💜

[waltonfinearts]

Multicoloured Lines A Silk & Wool Hand-knotted contemporary Art Deco style rug. Click to buy it now 🖱️ . . #interiors #interiorstyling #silkandwoolrugs #instarugs #rugshopping #ruggallery (at Walton Fine Arts) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpgHUlnIcdO/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[kalrascottageindustry]

10 of the World’s Most Expensive Carpets That Will Leave You in Awe!

When we talk about carpets, almost instantly we think of the word “Persian”. It is no secret that the concept of carpet started somewhere in the Middle East. Ancient legends and folklore of the Middle East mention rugs and carpets (remember the good old story of Aladdin with his flying carpet?).

Now, carpets and rugs are an indispensable part of every modern home. It is usually the first thing you see when you enter a residence. Carpets also act as the focal point of common areas like the living room or dining room. Interior designers and decorators all agree that splurging a bit over your budget on a statement carpet is totally worth it.

Continue reading to know more about Most Expensive Carpets click here.

[scandicknots]

How Can One Tell If A Rug Is Truly An Authentic Persian Style Wool Rug?

You possess  a sweet home and want to give it an elegant look with Persian style wool rugs, but you are not sure how to find the authentic one from so many options available online, Right? These rugs can be tufted or knotted. Many people choose to buy hand-tufted carpets online in the USA as per their choices. If you're also now ready to buy these Persian style wool rugs and want to make sure you're getting a genuine Persian style wool rug, here are some things to look for:

[therugfurnish]

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