#angel ruche

[delusions-of-glamour]

Angel Ruche angelic allure lacey bow matching set, good girl woven headband & tulle ribbon loose socks ♡

[awemiu]

‎angelic allure lacey set by angel ruche ♡ ͘ ࣭

[seren1tyhaze]

Dive

PAIRING: doyoung x afab reader (ft djj)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k (got a bit carried away)

SUMMARY: your best friend drags you out to a club to be her wingwoman as she meets back up with a stunning stranger and you cross paths with the hottest man you've ever seen in an expensive suit and a cross around his neck

THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you know how important you've been in getting this across the finish line and you're a literal angel. thank you so much <3 thank you to all my friends who watched me brainrot over this over the past week and inspiring me to keep working on it with your positive words.

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, drug reference, profanity, heavy religious imagery in a sexual setting (and I mean HEAVY - so if this is going to bother you, this isn't the fic for you)

PLAYLIST: Dive by DoJaeJung, Angel by NCT 127

This was clearly inspired by the Doyoung D&G promo images with the rosary and the rest was history...

I can dive, I'm diving into you

—

Ouch. You pinch your eyelash with the curler as you lean in closer to the glassy mirror in your best friend’s bathroom. You knew you should be wearing your contacts but had forgotten them at home and you weren’t going to hear the end of it from her if that was the excuse you had for ditching her for the night.

It had been an exhausting week at work but somehow your adorable firecracker of a platonic soulmate since childhood had dragged you to her apartment as soon as the clock hit 5:00PM in the co-working space your small start-up you both worked for shared with some other local environmental companies.

She had shed off her casual work clothes hours before, now wearing a glittery black dress, hugging her hips tightly, strings ruched up the side revealing plenty of thigh, covered with nude fishnets. You envied her long and bouncy locks that flowed down her back, reaching up to touch your straight hair that never cooperated with the curling iron.

“What is it?” she asked from behind you, catching you staring. 

“Is there something on my dress?” she spun around, craning her head to look at her own ass in the mirror.

You started to speak before you realized she was showing off, dropping to the floor quickly before slowly standing again, shimmying her rear as she started to sway to the faint music coming from her living room.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, curling your other eye’s lashes and applying a few coats of mascara.

“Loosen up, angel,” she called back as she moved into her walk-in closet to select her shoes and handbag, using her pet name she had been calling you for years.

You finished up the rest of your makeup, cleaning up the little pile of products and packing them back neatly in their small pouch before examining yourself in the mirror. Your dark hair fell almost to your shoulders, eyes accentuated with smudged dark liner and cheekbones dusted with a bright coral blush that complimented the glossy color across your lips. You had let your best friend convince you to dress up more than you usually did, since she said the club you were going to tended to cater to a more affluent clientele. 

A skin tight white leather crop top pushed your breasts up nicely and you had even let your friend dust some shimmering glitter across them with a large puff earlier. You smoothed the matching devastatingly short skirt and adjusted the lace up black boots that travelled up your long legs and over your knee. You felt confident in the outfit and only slightly uneasy about the night ahead. Your friend had a tendency to scan for her prey of the night the minute you entered a venue and often spent the night locking lips with half the dance floor or as she did the weekend before, dancing on stage with the burlesque dancers at the late night speakeasy.

Standing next to her as you both did final checks in the mirror, you looked like the moonlight and sunlight, night and day, devil and angel. A dangerous pair for any person to come across in a crowded club with these outfits, to say the least. You giggled as your friend planted a glossy kiss to your ear before pushing your hair back into place, following her out of the spacious apartment.

“WOO!” shrieked your friend, waving long fingernails at a tall, slender man leaning against a private booth tucked near the DJ. A warm grin spread across his plush lips and you couldn’t help it when your heart jumped a little in your chest. How your friend always found the most attractive people to surround herself always surprised you (not like you were complaining).

She had met Jungwoo the weekend before at a rave and had gabbed your ear off about the attractive and rich heir to a fortune who lived downtown in the middle of all the weekend excitement and had fed her drinks all night long while clutching onto her hips as they danced. She hadn’t gone home with him but instead had gotten his number and promised to meet him out the next weekend. The next weekend was now and out the two of you were.

Jungwoo was absolutely stunning, bright white hair damp, long, and hanging around his cheeks and across his forehead. He wore a sheer blouse unbuttoned halfway, exposing much of his toned chest and loose grey slacks that didn’t leave much to the imagination when he moved.

Taking careful steps through the crowd, you followed your friend who now had her hand held close to the lips of another man, this one dressed in the remains of an expensive suit, tie loose and sloppy around his neck with several buttons of a crisp pale blue shirt undone. He had dark hair slicked back to reveal his stunning face and his eyes glittered when he pulled them to yours to greet you.

“This is Jaehyun, Jungwoo’s roommate!” she giggled, a glass of champagne somehow already in her hand as she grinned at Jaehyun’s tender kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lovely to meet you, girls,” Jaehyun spoke deep and smoothly, his voice like velvet.

You cleared your throat with a small smile and shifted your weight in the uncomfortable shoes, eyes darting past the two men in front of you to a third seated in the booth.

Goosebumps instantly dotted your bare arms as you raked your eyes over one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Even seated, you could tell he was tall with a broad frame. His hand was stretched out across his knee, high end designer fabric covering every inch of his body.

As if in slow motion, he lifted his head from his phone, placing it next to him to take a long sip from the short glass of dark liquid on the table in front of him. He brought his dark eyes up to meet yours and as soon as you made contact you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat, gulping as he peeled his eyes down your body.

You moved a hand to grip your other forearm, suddenly self conscious but equally intrigued, cocking your head slightly to the side. Your vision blurred briefly and you cursed yourself for not remembering your contacts as your loss of focus refused to let you make out the expression on the mystery man’s face.

“Doie - don’t be rude, say hi!” Jungwoo slurred out, taking a strong hand to the small of your back to guide you into the booth and directly next to Doyoung.

“Hi,” he spoke, quiet and soft, pulling his hand off his knee to extend a handshake to you.

You chuckled lightly and let him shake your hand, taking a moment to inspect him further now that you could see him better.

The white collared shirt under his suit jacket was tight (almost too tight) with the top buttons straining against the fabric enclosure. He had a soft jaw and plump lips, dark hair styled in a way that was kept but still messy in a sexy way. When he smiled his eyes crinkled in the corners and his neutral facial expression was hard to read when he wasn’t speaking.

You let your eyes wander down to his tight pants before shaking your head, begging your dirty mind to control itself. It hadn’t been that long since you had hooked up with a stranger at a bar but long enough to let your mind wander within minutes of meeting this man.

Doyoung reached across the table to pour you a glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket and as he did, you noticed a glimmering chain around his neck. As he leaned further, you saw the small black beads on the chain catching the light and much to your surprise, a cross slipped into view briefly.

You sucked in a deep inhale at the sight - this man was wearing a fucking rosary around his neck.

Flashes of hours kneeling for Easter vigil mass, heavy clouds of incense in your face as you held the thurible in a floor length white robe, dark smudges on your forehead, and getting tipsy off communion wine in the church basement with your cousins flew across your mind as you watched him laugh at something Jaehyun said.

Jungwoo swore loudly as he dripped tequila across the table, attempting to pour five shots evenly. You can’t pull your eyes away from Doyoung, watching as he bows his head lightly, wincing ever so slightly at the curse words.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Taking a long drink from your champagne glass and tossing back the shot that is handed to you, you reach into your bag and dig out a carton of cigarettes, pulling the ashtray at the center of the table closer to you.

Pulling a loose stick with your lips, you instinctively gesture towards Doyoung who moves a hand quickly to decline. You shrug and move a bit closer to Jungwoo who is taking a long drag from a neon green vape. He chuckles and tosses his hair from his eyes as he watches the interaction.

“You’re better off making moves on Jae,” he says to you on his exhale. He tosses an arm around your shoulder, nudging your bare shoulder lightly with his thumb, cocking his chin up to draw your attention to a smiley Jaehyun swaying to the music, slightly off beat, as your friend tries to get him to salsa dance with her.

“Doyoung is a little more on the conservative side. Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like getting high, barely gets drunk, takes his grandma to church on Sundays, all that,” Jungwoo adds, giving you a softer smile as he pulls your eyes into contact with his.

You narrow your own eyes slightly, not sure if this is some twisted attempt at reverse psychology to push you even more into the arms of his friend. While he was wearing the rosary, that didn’t necessarily scream “priest”. He was in a high end club’s most desirable VIP booth, surrounded by drinks and other substances, with two party boys that looked like models.

“Well he’s taken every shot that’s been poured for him, so I don’t know about that ‘not getting drunk’ part,” you quip back, taking a long drag from your cigarette and blowing it behind you through tightly pursed lips, intentionally avoiding Doyoung’s direction.

“Yeah he and Jaehyun lost some big account today, I think he’s just blowing off some steam. Plus he owes me,” Jungwoo winks as punctuation, making it apparent that he wasn’t going to elaborate on the end of that statement.

Throughout the night you learn that Doyoung and Jaehyun work at a big investment bank, Jaehyun sharing a small apartment with Jungwoo in the middle of all the city nightlife, the three of them having known each other since they were kids. Doyoung seemed to have never moved on from their strong faith-based formative years, holding onto these ideals even years later and still an active member of his family’s church community. When he checks the time on his phone you see the smiling face of an older woman pushed up against his, assuming this to be the grandmother Jungwoo mentioned before.

He’s quiet as you chat with him, having to do most of the talking, but is kind and puts some of your nerves at ease even when your friend is off in the middle of the dance floor doing god knows what with god knows who.

Despite his reserved nature, you feel his eyes trained on your every move, following your lips and hands as you smoke another cigarette, the way you cross and uncross your legs with ease, despite the short skirt that has a tendency to ride up when you wiggle in your seat.

You watch him in the same way he watches you, the way his hair falls into his eyes every once and a while and instead of pushing it away with his hand, he shakes his head lightly, flicking his eyes up as if to chastise the loose strands. When he leans forward to take a sip of his drink or gesture to the waitress, his toned chest is exposed by the undone buttons on his shirt.

As much as you hate to admit it, his very presence is intoxicating and it’s affecting you more than you would like. Goosebumps crop up on your arms and you suddenly feel chilled in the warm room, sending a shiver down your spine.

A loud laugh draws your attention across the booth and you are met with the sight of your friend feverishly making out with Jaehyun, sandwiched between him and Jungwoo who has his hand up the hem of her dress, laughing into her neck.

You whip your head back towards Doyoung, giving an awkward smile to him before the chill sets over you again. You train your gaze downwards, examining the patterned carpet on the floor and the laces on your thigh high boots, picking at the edge of the string. You startle at the feeling of fabric being draped over your shoulders, looking up to see that Doyoung has placed his suit jacket around your shoulders.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulder after placing the jacket and you suddenly feel an additional set of eyes on you as you lift up to meet Jaehyun’s gaze. He’s staring at your slightly spread legs, running a wicked tongue across his bottom lip as it quirks up into a wry smile.

You feel Doyoung’s grip around your shoulder tighten and turn to see his face close to yours, your heart jumping in your chest when you feel his breath across your cheek. You can’t bear to break eye contact with him, despite the fact that you desperately wish you could see Jaehyun’s reaction.

“You seemed cold,” he murmurs to you, lips almost brushing across your skin as he speaks close to your ear. He smells delicious, like soft musk but still clean and warm. You mentally take note to slyly ask Jungwoo what cologne his friend wears.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster and you resist the urge to drop your head to his shoulder, suddenly feeling lightheaded in the haze of alcohol, nicotine, and the blaring music of the club.

Doyoung reaches to the table for his glass, arm never leaving your shoulder, rolled shirt sleeve revealing a large and intricate cross tattoo on his forearm. At the sight of the ink you are jolted back to the reality that this man is not who you want him to be. You would normally have a hand palming his groin in the dim lights of the club, moaning into his mouth as he gripped the exposed skin on your back and whispered filthy strings of words into your ear.

But no, you had to bag the “Holier than Thou, Man of God.” Of course you did. This was not going to be good for your libido.

Your friend is suddenly dragging you by the hand to the bathroom, moving surprisingly fast in her towering heels.

“Sooooooooo, angel,” she whines from the single use stall she pulled you into after locking the door.

“What are you about to ask me to do?” you sigh, fixing your hair in the mirror as your friend hikes up her dress to pee.

“I’m going to take those two home with me,” she bluntly tells you, as you predicted.

“Yeah I think anyone in this club could have told me that,” you reply, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. You didn’t really care what she did, only frustrated now that you had to make the hike home in an expensive taxi or wait for the unreliable train service.

“It’s fine, babe, I’ll get home okay,” you add, mustering the sweetest tone you can for your oldest friend. She deserved to blow off steam as much as next person, but you loved staying over at her luxury apartment on the weekends and the lazy mornings you spent sipping homemade cappuccinos and doing face masks.

“You’re the BESTTTT!” she nearly shouts, throwing her arms around you, damp hands fresh from washing them in the sink getting your skin wet. You laugh at her, congratulating her on getting her dick wet and ushering her out of the small room with a smack to her ass.

Back at the booth she wastes no time murmuring in the ears of the two eager men before they share a steamy three way kiss that results in Jungwoo tugging Jaehyun’s bottom lip with his teeth, looping an arm around his slim waist.

You are flicking through the various ride share apps on your phone to find the cheapest option, boots feeling uncomfortably tight on your feet after a long night. Last thing you want to do in this outfit is sit on an empty train and make the long walk uphill to your apartment complex once you arrive at your stop.

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asks, face suddenly close to yours again. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that you cannot read when he speaks to you.

“Calling for a car home, I don’t have the luxury of living right here downtown and had plans to crash at hers. I’m assuming my job doesn’t pay as well as yours and Jae’s,” you reply, only lifting your eyes up to meet his after you’ve spoken.

God his eyes are so pretty.

“Why don’t you stay at mine, I can sleep on the couch and my driver can take you home in the morning,” he offers, picking your phone out of your hand and locking the screen.

You open your mouth in protest before thinking more on the offer. His driver?! You would be crazy to turn him down and your friend is already halfway out the door headed towards what will undoubtedly be a night to remember.

You nod and quickly stand, holding a hand out for his, guiding him out the back door of the club. He’s making a call on his phone in a hushed tone while you slide your long coat over his blazer, still wrapped around your shoulders, Jungwoo giving you a  small smile and wiggle of his fingers as he slides into the back of a cab.

“I love you angellllll,” your friend slurs out dramatically, knowing she is far less drunk than she appears, playing up the antics for the men around her. Jaehyun has an arm tucked loosely around her waist, grinning ear to ear as the evening wind ruffles his dark hair.

You pull your friend in for a hug before she ducks into the car, latching her lips immediately onto Jungwoo’s exposed neck, drawing a chuckle from you on the street.

Jaehyun pauses before getting in the car, dipping down to whisper right along the shell of your ear.

“Angel is it? I don’t know about that,” he practically moans out, voice breathy and deep.

“Seemed like a devil in disguise in that tight little skirt, slutty legs spread in the club for our sweet and innocent Doie,” he laughs out, laying the degrading tone on thick. His finger is under your chin, tipping it up to force you to look at him. Your heart is pounding and flying around your chest and you can feel your cheeks burn.

Suddenly there’s a hand on your back and you don’t have to look to know that Doyoung has stepped up behind you.

Jaehyun gives you a wink, pushing past you to plant a lingering kiss on Doyoung’s cheek, before turning and disappearing into the car.

Before you can say anything to Doyoung, a black town car replaces the cab in its spot on the busy street, Doyoung moving quickly to open the door for you, helping you in with a strong hand. He closes the door softly before moving around to the street side to slide in next to you, greeting the driver in the front pleasantly.

Your head is spinning and you desperately hope there is time to have a cigarette before going upstairs to Doyoung’s apartment, feeling anxiety creeping up in your chest.

Despite the spacious backseat, Doyoung can’t help but be pressed up against you, twisting to look at you as you make small talk. You watch him when he answers questions you ask and listen to a small story about a frustrating email exchange at work, as if the two of you had known each other forever.

Distracted by the beaded chain around his neck again, you reach over, taking the cross gingerly in between your pointer and middle finger, inspecting it. The metal is cold in your hand and nostalgia rushes over you as you hold it in your hand.

“I dip it in holy water every morning to help keep me grounded and ask that God bless my daily travels,” he offers, smiling lightly at you as he explains in earnest. You know by now that he isn’t lying, that there would be no reason for him to.

“I kiss it as well, asking him to bless my words and calm my mind in a world filled with temptation,” he continues, unwilling to break the heavy eye contact.

He reaches out and draws your fingers to his lips, still holding the cross, and kisses the small metal piece, catching the tips of your fingers with soft lips. They are warm and plush, sending jolts of electricity through your hand and to your chest. You have to shift in your seat to calm the throbbing in your core. This gesture shouldn’t be turning you on this much and you know now that if there is a hell, you surely are destined to take residence there.

The tension in the car is thick as you shiver, hand moving before you have a chance to think, bringing his hand and yours to your own lips, copying his kiss. You watch him gulp and pull his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes darken at the sight of the cross pressed to your lips.

Oh you are so royally fucked.

You watch him as he absently brushes the back of his hand against your own in the elevator ride to the top floor of the sleek and modern building. He lets his fingers tangle with yours briefly before holding his hand out when the door starts to open, bringing the foyer of his apartment into view.

You let a gasp fall from your lips, taking in the beautiful space around you. Lights flick on as you reach down to release the knot holding the laces of your boots in place, stepping out of them carefully by steadying yourself on a small table adorned with realistic looking fake flowers. 

You try to keep your boots tidy under the coat rack, slipping off your coat and hanging it up and checking yourself in the small mirror above hooks of dangling keys. You notice one key with a Kuromi cover, smiling lightly and wondering if he had picked that out for himself. He will tell you one day that it is the key to his mailbox and one of the kids from his Sunday school class brought it in for him after they said Kuromi reminded them of Doyoung.

You follow him to the open living area which melts into the compact kitchen adorned with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. He’s opening the door to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of water and pouring two glasses.

The apartment is warm but minimalistic in style, adorned with shades of cream, black and gray. You half expect to see a statue of Mary where the tv sits but there’s barely any religious imagery present. Maybe you had misjudged him after all.

As you close the space between you, you let his blazer slip from your shoulders, catching it and folding it gently in your hands, looking up towards him through your long lashes as you lean your hip against the cold edge of the counter, offering the blazer to him. Instead of taking the jacket from your hands, he leans forward, brushing a thumb across the high point of your cheek, examining your face.

“Let me know if there is anything I can get you to feel more at home, I want you to feel comfortable,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

You feel butterflies in your chest and despite how tired you know you should be, your heart is pounding and core tightening at how close he stands to you in his beautiful apartment, finally able to hear his voice clearly without the sounds of the club or busy streets of the city. It’s velvety smooth and even and his lips tip up at the edges when he finishes his kind statement. You want desperately to push up and capture them in yours but instead nod slowly, taking one of the glasses of water into your hand gulping down some of the cool liquid to try to quell the arousal building within you.

He brushes your skin with his thumb once more before taking the jacket from you, moving to his bedroom and returning moments later with a couple pillows and a large blanket, which he leaves on the plush couch.

“I don’t mind just sleeping out here,” you offer, scanning the comfortable looking room, knowing if you slept in the living room you might be able to more easily slip out unnoticed in the morning. You’ve never been one for tender mornings in bed with a one night stand and this situation shouldn’t be treated any different. You don’t believe he will actually make any move beyond what he has, despite the brief intimate moments you’ve shared since stepping out of the club.

“No no, I insist, take my bed. The bedding was just changed this morning,” he makes sure to note and you realize how rich this man truly must be if he avoided mentioning who exactly changed the sheets. Surely not Doyoung, with his thousands of dollars of clothing and jewelry on his body and on-call car service and penthouse suite.

He moves to open the door to the balcony, cool but comfortable night air flooding the living room as he hands you a vintage glass ashtray from the media cabinet.

“In case you need one before you go to sleep or in the night,” he offers, smiling lightly at the shocked look on your face.

“Jungwoo is always hanging around here when I’m working late and I’ve learned there is no way to stop people from doing something they want to do. I can’t change my friends and I wouldn’t want to. I have things in my life and things I have removed from my life but that is my own decision and shouldn’t affect my relationships with those I love,” he adds, fingers brushing over yours as they make contact to pass the item to you.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower quickly and then let you have the bedroom and bathroom. If you need it, there’s a toilet near the elevator and some fresh fruit in the fridge,” he continues, resisting the urge to brush his lips over your bare shoulder.

You thank him and take your purse out to the balcony, closing the door lightly behind you but making sure it latches fully. Stepping forward towards the edge of the balcony, you quickly light a cigarette and feel calm wash over you as you watch the flickering lights of the city skyline. The cool air feels good against your cheeks and exposed abdomen, needing desperately to cool down. You try (and fail) to not let your mind wander to thoughts of Doyoung in a steamy rainfall shower, steam gathering on glossy mirrors and hot water racing down toned biceps and thighs.

You burn through it eagerly, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray and disposing of it in a small bin attached to the balcony’s railing before heading back inside. Doyoung is emerging from his bedroom in a tight white tank top and loose grey sweatpants, bare feet padding across the plush throw rug.

“I left you some clothes and towels on the bed but help yourself to my closet if you need something warmer,” he mutters awkwardly, the power balance shifting slightly as he stands in front of you in casual clothes, black rosary still visible proudly on his chest.

“I’ll wash up, if that’s okay? If you’re tired and want to sleep, don’t worry about waiting for me to finish. I usually stay up pretty late and I’m sure you have early mornings,” you ramble, scratching at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Take your time, I usually read for a while before bed,” he gestures to a small leather bound bible on the coffee table. Of course he does.

In the shower, you let the water rush over your body, using some of the small skincare bottles to wash your face and step out, massaging shower oil into your damp skin. You sigh into the warm white towel fresh off the warming rack and feel like you’re living in a dream. 

Can’t I just stay here forever?

You know your modest apartment waits for you a few miles away, with your own much smaller and dingier balcony where you like to sketch in your journal as you watch birds settle on the hanging flower baskets. You could never see yourself living full time in the cold of the city, barely any green space and garbage littering the streets.

Checking outside the bathroom door before emerging, the coast is clear as you step back into his spacious bedroom, lightly touching the clothing he had laid out for you. A large and faded t-shirt that appears to be from a church camp is folded neatly, logo barely still visible. 

A package of unopened cotton boxer briefs is next to the shirt, knowing he must have been panicking thinking of how he could offer you something to wear without it seeming creepy. But he seems to at least have experience taking care of stranded tipsy guests (even if they usually were just Jungwoo and someone he brought home from the bar). You pull the shirt over your head and it falls easily to your mid-thigh, skimming over your hardened nipples, painful as they make contact with the cool air from the vent.

Sliding on the boxers, you pull them up to your waist and the shirt covers them fully. You decide against the sweatpants next to the shirt, knowing they will be far too long for you and opt to instead roll on the pair of long socks before placing the pants back on the dresser. You listen at the door for any noise from the living room, hearing a light hum of music you can’t decipher. Pressing your ear closer you recognize Debussy floating through the air and let out a small smile.

You’re about to tuck yourself into the king sized bed before you realize you didn’t bring the water glass in with you. Scanning the room you don’t see one and silently curse yourself.

Sliding the door open quietly, you stick your head out tentatively, his head lifting to look at you. He looks absolutely adorable, bundled up in a fluffy blanket with his small bible in his lap and two scented candles lit on the table. The music did turn out to be Debussy, playing softly on a record player in the corner.

“Is the music too loud?” he asks, moving as if he is going to turn it off.

“No no, it’s beautiful,” you breathe out in reply, sliding out from the door and covering your chest with your arms, self conscious. This causes the hem of the shirt to hike up, exposing a sliver of the white briefs covering your lower half.

Doyoung’s eyes trail down your body, as if wanting to mentally capture this image of you dressed in his clothes, standing sheepishly in front of him. He pushes away thoughts of you on your knees in front of him, mouthing along his length through his sweatpants while he tugs on your silky and damp hair.

“I, um, just came out for some water,” you add, crossing to the counter to grab the glass before returning to stand awkwardly next to the couch.

“Why does she call you angel?” he asks suddenly, pulling an arm up on the back of the couch, unintentionally opening up a perfect sized space for you to sit next to him.

You smile lightly and cross to sit next to him, perching on the edge of the cushion so as to not crowd him.

“My middle name is Angelica,” you replied softly. “She just took a liking to the pet name many years ago.”

He smiles softly at this explanation, suddenly aware that his other hand has strayed to the hem of his shirt hanging loose on your torso.

“Angel…” he tries, feeling the way it sounds in his voice, feeling the way the words taste as they roll off his tongue. He smirks, pinching the fabric at the edge of the shirt in between his fingers and releasing it.

“Can I call you that?” he breathes out, suddenly closer to your face than you had realized.

“Only if you’re a good boy,” you manage to say in an even tone, hand finally reaching out to touch his chest, flattening against his toned pecs, metal beads digging into your palm.

His eyes flutter, brain clearly short circuiting at the mention of praise, fingers stilling but breathing becoming more labored.

“Can I please kiss you?” you ask, eyes and voice hopeful. You palm the cross on the rosary, holding it tightly in your hand as you pull gently, bringing yourself closer to Doyoung as your eyes slip shut, not waiting for a response.

His lips are on yours suddenly, pressing firmly as his hand flies to your lower back, pressing you flush against his chest, capturing your hand in between your bodies. You refuse to let go of the rosary, pulling tighter so he’s forced to deepen the kiss.

You feel his hand push up the back of the shirt and up your back, as if reaching for a bra to unhook and you can’t help but smile against his mouth, knowing he is far less innocent than he seems.

You rise up on your knees, moving your legs to straddle him on the couch, suddenly feeling something firm against your bare thigh. Your grin grows, nuzzling against his nose teasingly.

“Well, well, look who isn’t such a good boy after all,” you growl out, unable to control how horny you are for this man under you.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss, brows furrowed in confusion at your comment. Reaching between your bodies, he pulls out the leather bible and you flush deeply, unable to process that you thought it was his erection.

You avert your eyes from his and reach an arm up to touch the back of your neck nervously but his hand quickly grabs your wrist as he moves your hand to his lap, eyes darkening. When he pushes you down against his sweatpants you feel him harder than you thought he would be, not to mention way bigger than you thought he would be.

“Who said I was a good boy, angel?” he asked quietly, almost sounding annoyed with you. He grips your wrist tighter, pulling you closer to him before capturing your lips in his again.

It takes you a moment to respond, brain foggy at the name and sequence of events that had just unfolded. It doesn’t take you long to recover before slipping your tongue into his mouth hungrily, fingers lacing his hair to pull him desperately close.

You can’t help but move quickly with him, spreading your thighs to grind slow circles into his clothed crotch, biting back moans that bubble in your throat.

Hands are suddenly tugging at the hem of the shirt and you quickly oblige, peeling off the thin cotton and discarding it on the floor. Your chest is heaving as you sit on his lap in just the white boxer briefs, nipples erect and back arched to push your full chest towards him.

Doyoung hungrily licks his lips, eyes darting over your body as if there’s a time limit to the amount of time he has to look. You know you look good and he knew from the minute he saw you walk in the club that you would be on his lap, tits bouncing as he pressed up towards you with an experimental thrust. A small groan slides from his spit slicked lips as he slides one hand to your lower back and the other to cup your breast.

“Good God,” he lets out before lowering his mouth to your nipple, flicking eyes up to watch as you tumble contrasting curses from your plump lips.

He moves his mouth expertly, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, teeth dragging against your tight nipple. His hand on your lower back feels huge, fingers spread wide and gripping at your flesh as if you will disappear if he loosens his grip.

“Fuck me right here,” you can’t help but mutter into his open mouth after a particularly loud gasp flies from your mouth when you feel the tip of his dick collide with your clothed clit.

He pulls back, face seemingly questioning himself, eyes flicking over to the coffee table with the bible before turning upwards and fluttering shut.

You’re amazed at how this man can have his tit in your mouth one minute and then the next…

“Wait, are you praying?!” you ask in shock, stifling the laughter that builds in your throat.

He peeks at you with one eye open, smiling lightly before closing his eyes again and humming out an incoherent reply.

“Amen,” he says softly after a few more moments have passed.

You don’t have time to question him further when he quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing tight and toned abs and letting his broad chest crowd you in what could only be described as a bear hug. He pulls you close to his chest and you can feel his heartbeat reverberating through your own skin.

“The angel wants to get fucked, does she?” he growls as he digs his nails into your back.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he adds before flipping you over suddenly, standing above you as he slides the boxers down to your ankles, leaving your socks on.

He then moves his hands to his own waistband, removing the sweatpants and revealing his hard cock, already flushed and angry with arousal. As he bends down, the rosary dangles from his neck and you can’t help but stare.

You’re laid out, exposed in front of him as he drops to his knees, nudging your knees to widen in front of him. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, controlling and calculated. You have to ask yourself the same question you asked in the club, who the fuck was this guy?

“You asked if I was praying earlier,” he speaks quietly, long fingers dragging along your sensitive inner thigh, avoiding where you want him the most.

“I just like to thank God before I eat,” he adds, eyes glimmering with mischief as he pushes forward, tongue licking a long stripe along your dripping core, sending shockwaves throughout your body.

Your brain is swimming with pleasure at the filthy words he spoke and the way his mouth is warm against your burning core, tugging on his hair and slipping your hand down to his neck to stroke the shorter strands there to encourage him.

His muffled moans send vibrations along your folds and shivers up your spine as he laps at you like it’s the fucking last supper. You feel your release close, thighs pulling in to tighten around his face. He shoves them back open every time they threaten to suffocate him, giving him access to every inch of you. 

Your orgasm creeps up on you and you are suddenly screaming his name, head thrown back on the back of the couch, vision blinding white. Your eyes are clenched shut as you make every attempt to slow your heavy breathing.

You feel warm hands under your thighs and realize he's lifting you from the couch. You let your arms fall lazily around his shoulders and your head loll over as he carries you to the bedroom. Laying you gently on your back, he’s suddenly leaning over you, lips brushing against your jaw, peppering kisses up to your ear and leaving more along your hairline.

“That was heavenly,” you sigh out, feeling dizzy from the soft gestures.

He smiles and pushes your hair from your face, leaning down to kiss you. You can’t get enough of his lips, every time they press over yours you’re drawn in closer, wanting more and more.

“I know you said you wanted me to fuck you on the couch and as much as I would love to bend you over and slam into you, I want to see your face when I make you cream on my dick,” he says as if it’s the simplest and most normal sentence on the planet. He sits up, reaching a veiny hand over to the bedside table and into the shallow drawer there.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment until you feel his fingers on you again, rubbing slow circles on you, gathering your post orgasm arousal as he tears open a condom that is carefully dangling between his lips. He slicks up his rock hard erection with your wetness before sliding it on and running a hand through his now messy hair.

You adjust yourself on the bed, propping your knees up so he can crawl between them. He brings his face close to yours and drags his tongue lazily against your lower lip before pushing into you. 

Your eyes widen, feeling the stretch of his massive cock and the look on his face when he finally feels himself inside you. You swear he’s seen the second coming of Christ and you wish you could take a picture of the pure bliss.

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a consistent pace of pumping in and out of you, grunts and moans falling from his lips and sounding almost like he’s singing. You almost come at the sight of the rosary dangling above you and moving with each thrust, knowing how fucking filthy this is but how it’s the most turned on you’ve been in ages.

He’s close and you don’t know how much longer you can last after him so you hook your legs around his back and push on him, silently begging to flip over. He obliges and lets you return to a similar position from the couch, him seated against the pillows and you rising up and down on his cock. This drives you insane, watching his face contort in pleasure as you ride him, letting his name fall over and over from your lips like your own prayer.

“Angel, I’m so close,” he moans, pulling you so tight against his chest that you feel yourself becoming one with him. You move together, moan together, and release in strangled cries together. 

You pull back, out of breath and struggling to compose yourself, glancing down at your chest to see an imprint of the cross in between swollen breasts. He has a hazy, happy grin across his face and you know you have to look the same in this moment.

He reaches out, brushing pads of his fingers across the imprint on your chest before dipping down to kiss at the cross mark.

You think your heart might explode in that very moment, suddenly visualizing the two of you holding hands in a church pew or leaning over candles, lighting them and bowing your heads in silence.

What the fuck has gotten into you?

–

Once he finishes tucking the plush duvet around your naked body, he lays flat on his back, exhaling in relaxation for what sounded like the first time that night, and humming out an almost angelic note.

“And on the seventh day, God looked at all he had made and rested from the work he had done,” Doyoung paraphrased, grinning at his joke, turning slightly to nuzzle his face into your bare shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed and eyes welled as you watched your dark haired lover drift off into sleep, arms laying beside him, not clinging to you as they had been all night, as if fully relaxed at how you seemingly fit so easily into his bed, into his life.

Checking the time, you unlock your phone, lower the brightness, and fire off a couple check-in texts to your friend and one to your mother asking if you completed your sacraments as a child and if she knows where your old prayer book is. You can’t believe this man is reigniting this in you and while you know no amount of good sex is going to fully pull you back into a toxic institution, you see the good in him and wonder if there is a world where the two of you can balance his faith and your more progressive views.

The next morning comes quicker than you had anticipated and light is streaming through the sheers covering the floor to ceiling windows. You glance over to see a still sleeping Doyoung, surprised once you check the time, knowing he probably starts his day at the office before you. You check your phone, frustrated at how quickly it will soon be the time when your boss is checking in to see if you are working from home or coming into the office. You send off a quick message to let them know you will have a late start to the day, working from your apartment.

They reply with a teasing tone, noting that you and your friend must have gotten into some fun the night prior since she had called off entirely. Oh boy, couldn’t wait to hear about that.

You roll over, seeing Doyoung’s eyes open in narrow slits, running a wet tongue over his dry lips.

“Morning star,” he smiles at you, placing that same strong hand on your lower back, pulling you gently closer to him.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giggling as his fingers brush lightly over your spine, tickling you.

“Can I make you coffee?” he asks, pressing lips softly to your temple, holding there and breathing in the scent of your hair, still faintly holding the floral notes from his shampoo.

“You don’t have morning prayers to get to?” you tease, pushing your lips towards his, silently asking for a kiss.

He pulls back, knitting his brows together and almost rolling his eyes.

“You really have me all wrong you know,” he starts, pushing strands of hair from your face before cupping your cheek gently, just as he had in the kitchen last night when you first got back.

“Yes, I have my beliefs and values that ground me. But that doesn’t mean I abstain from every activity marked as a sin in the bible,” he continued, his voice even and strong but not mean.

“I would have thought that would have been obvious by everything we did last night,” he added, pressing a little more firmly on your lower back, gliding his palm down to the slope of your ass to grasp at the skin there.

You gulp audibly, startled by his candid admission. Maybe you did have him all wrong. Maybe you judged this book by the cover too quickly, your opinion shadowed by everything you knew from the devout adults you had grown up around. You had always assumed it was black and white, no gray space between for any compromise.

All you could do in that moment, overcome with emotions you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, was pull him close to you and connect your hips with his to slowly create friction between the two of you. You hungrily captured his lips in yours, sighing into him as his fingers gently tugged your hair and brought you to another two unholy orgasms.

–

You don’t bother showering again, opting to take Doyoung up on that ride home from his driver who arrives in less than fifteen minutes, despite the morning rush hour traffic. You’re soon stepping out onto the busy streets, feet back in those painful boots and coat wrapped tightly around you to cover your revealing outfit you still can’t believe you wore out all night (but probably have to thank for this entire encounter).

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t a lost little angel!” comes a familiar voice, catching you as you are approaching the black car, the driver standing with a neutral expression waiting to open the door for you.

“Jungwoo, hey,” you start, stepping towards the man who is placing his motorcycle helmet on the seat, arms crossed as he leans gently against the expensive bike. 

He’s wearing low rise leather pants with a matching belt adorned with a large silver buckle. His jacket is open and you can see a tight and cropped red shirt underneath, exposing much of his toned abs and navel. Nude color blocking rose up the sides of the shirt, covered in black crescent moons and he is wearing a stack of gold chains tight around his neck. A large green stone is dangling from his ear, moving as he speaks.

His hair is fluffy from the helmet, eyes smudged lightly with dark liner, most likely still from the night before. He looks absolutely unreal and your mind drifts to images of your friend pressed between him and the equally sexy Jaehyun in the crowded bar, stirring tension deep in your core.

“How was your night?” you add, stepping closer to him, curious about what your friend had gotten into.

“I’m sure just as sinful as yours by the look of this walk of shame,” he almost sneers back, tone unmatched to the large grin covering his face from his lips to his eyes. He grabs your phone from you and punches his number in, punctuating with a sultry wink. His eyes are flicking up and down your body dramatically, making overly exaggerated facial expressions at you.

You roll your eyes at him, turning to head to the car, wagging your fingers at him seductively and putting extra emphasis in your steps as you know he has his eyes glued to your ass as you slide into the car.

When Doyoung emerges from the shower with a towel tied low around his waist he finds Jungwoo lounging in his favorite chair in the living room, flipping through a magazine he had left here the week before. He looks up to make eye contact with Doyoung, smiling and letting a low whistle slide out his lips.

“Don’t start, Woo,” Doyoung warns curtly, pouring two cups of coffee and preparing them the way they both like.

“Look look, I have Father Lee on speed dial, he’s ready to do an emergency confession for you in the lobby of your office if you need it this morning,” he laughs back, closing the magazine and accepting the mug.

Doyoung rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach over and slap the back of Jungwoo’s head. He knows his friend is exaggerating but he had consequently already sent Mark a text that he would stop by the church later that day for a chat. Having one of your oldest friends be a priest that was known for being more on the liberal side had its perks.

“Just because I don’t flaunt my escapades all over town or upload racy videos into the shared DJJ iCloud album, doesn’t mean I’m not getting my dick wet,” he replies after a long sip of much needed coffee.

Jungwoo almost spits out his coffee at the vulgar comment, lips twisting up into a wicked smile as he watches his friend, relaxed and shirtless mid-morning on a work day.

“Something’s different about you, Kim Doyoung,” Jungwoo chuckles, tapping back into his conversation with Jaehyun from earlier, who had frantically texted him from the office that Doyoung hadn’t shown up for their morning meeting and wasn’t replying to any of his texts.

“I guess you could say I was touched by an angel,” Doyoung replies wickedly, winking at Jungwoo before standing and letting his towel fall from his hips, whipping it at leather clad knees before walking slowly back into the bedroom.

Jungwoo’s eyes widen and a smile spreads across his face, watching his friend’s toned ass move away from him and examining the red marks dotting his broad back.

“Oh Jaeeeeee, I have an idea for something that could be fun and oh so messy,” Jungwoo whispers into the phone as he steps out onto the balcony, lighting a blunt in the cool morning air, surrounded by the sounds of the bustling city below.

~~

Part Two TEASER + Tag List NOW LIVE HERE

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: But I already have love in LA

A/n: 5,692 milli is the distance between calm nighttime Paris and sweltering Los Angeles, which almost makes Eilish howl like a wolf. A Paris promo in honor of the album mercilessly separates the two of you on an important date, but you find a way out.

Billie's point of view. 'Cause I like it.

"The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please call back later," is the peremptory verdict unchanged over these endless eight hours, echoing coldly from a woman's voice on the other side of the handset. Not the voice I want to hear so much, not the timbre that makes my heart flutter so incredibly, as if it were your most expensive wind-up toy. Not your voice, absolutely not. You don't get in touch for such an ungodly long time, and I just diligently shut up the feeling of anxiety devouring from within throughout the day: a dark woolly monster grins hungrily with its wide mouth, loudly clicking its massive, fanged jaw. Each click is a new, painstakingly detailed picture in my head, causing hot anxiety. What if you're really lying helplessly on the hot as hell asphalt of LA, caught under the spiked wheels that tried to slow down with a soul-shattering screech? I know how hurried you are. What if you turned into a disadvantaged area, taking a shortcut, and now your lifeless body is lying in the nearest ditch, turning paler and colder by the minute? What if you just stopped breathing in your sleep for no reason?...

I take a deep breath, and the chains behind the monster immediately tighten with the deafening clang of massive links: it leaps, wanting to grab at me with its clawed paws, to pull me into the viscous pools of panic, but it still can't reach me. With a menacing guttural growl, its fangs gleam faintly in the semi-darkness, covered in viscous saliva. It's actually easier to contain my anxiety when my head is full of thoughts about the shoot, about the phrases I have to elegantly slip into the interviewers, turning their question marks into confident dots. It's easier when you're surrounded by a horde of people: security, staff, family. But when I'm in the silence of an insanely expensive French hotel, drowning in the uncompromising gloss of the surroundings, still perfectly styled and dressed in expensive dark clothes, coming straight from the shoot, nervous and clutching my phone in my hands with hope - it all becomes so impossible.

I'm dialing twelve digits again, just a little more and I'll be able to dial your number blind. "The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please call back later." I lean back noisily on the cold silk of the sheets while that toothy, infinitely dark ball of anxiety laughs snidely. I check all the messengers, only to fling my phone away in a brief flash of anger somewhere upward, toward the ruched beige pillows: you still haven't been online in eleven hours, my messages unanswered. Fuck! It's becoming more and more like Jenga, where with each passing hour I take one wooden brick out of the structure and put it on top, making it even more rickety than before. Indeed, something has definitely happened, you couldn't just disappear from everyone's radar for no good reason, especially when today is our little celebration of a month-long relationship. There's five thousand six hundred and ninety-two miles between us, and the silence on the wire makes me want to howl. God, I'm going to go crazy...

Beep! It sounded like someone had thrown a grenade with the pin pulled right under the bed. I reacted immediately, but on the desplay is just a message from Fin in an endless string of unnecessary things. Well, better than nothing. Better than drowning in madness alone.

"Are you asleep?"

"No." How the fuck can I, bro?

"She still hasn't responded?"

"No."

The three dots bounce around again as my brother puts the right letters into words. Maybe I should call you again.

"Can you open the hotel room door right now?"

The restless gears in my head rumble to a grinding halt. Now? For what?

"For what?"

"Just open it, sis." - so unobtrusive and unexplanatory, followed by another gray block of letters: "You'll thank me later :)"

"Don't smile at me."

":)" - naturally, a smile. Damn Finn.

I dial you again and reluctantly get out of bed, shuffling my feet as if I were going to the lacquered scaffold under the shouts and whistles of the French Revolution crowd, but in fact only the thin tulle is swaying in the night wind, and the noise of rare cars, which enters the room so valiantly with the help of the open balcony. And here is the guillotine itself in the form of an oak door. I touch the gilded cold handle with the palm of my hand with pressure, and feel the massive blade whistling as it flies straight at my neck, severing my head. You're standing in front of me.

You look me in the eye and leisurely take the phone out of the pocket of your wide bard palazzo pants. Your accurate fingers finally touch the ill-fated green answer button before you bring the display to your ear. There's a slight, confused smirk on your lips, and on my end of the line there's finally the beeps and this mechanical female voice have finally died down. But it is still impossible to answer you, I can only stare at you in disbelief, as if you were a masterpiece that had escaped from the Louvre and had personally come to my doorstep.

"Bonsoir, Madame Eilish," your soft, purring timbre mightily shatters all anxiety, defeating the monster in my head. The only thing left were the massive chains of patience and self-control that held it back. You say what I've been longing to hear for these fucking eleven hours. You sound the way you've imprinted on my memory for the many hours we've spent together. - "A special gift exclusively for number one hundred and eleven."

I grab you into my hage, pulling you into the room in a flash. The door slams too loudly for midnight, but I don't care, you gasp, rustling a small package - I don't care, you babbling a hundred apologies for this frightening silence - I also don't care, girl. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care! I just leave a lot of barely visible lip gloss prints on your face, showering you with hot kisses, clinging to your lips with mutual hunger, making you almost choke, but I don't care! You don't pull away, just squeeze tighter, sliding down the wall a little. You're here right now, and the rest of it doesn't matter. And how can I take offense at you, when you have overcome five thousand six hundred and ninety-two miles...? At least not right now.

We calm down only when we reach the floor and settle down on the soft pile of the carpet. Your face now gleams beautifully in the warm light of the bedside lamp, your hair slightly ruffled either from my hands or the wind outside.

"I'm sorry." - You gulp in air with your mouth and repeat again, touching my cheek gently as if I were fragile Chinese porcelain.

"I almost lost my mind, Y/n." - I snuggle closer into your palm, finding the needed reassurance finally. - "But I'm so glad you're here now, my dumbass."

You chuckle lightly before rising to your feet in one merged motion, then gallantly offering your hand to me. My gaze first clings to the not-so-little bard stain spilling over the once flawless whiteness of your favorite shirt.

"What's this?"

"It's wine," you answer innocently as we walk to the back of the room, me holding your hand and intertwining our fingers, you holding the paper bag in front of you in your free left. - "I thought it unseemly to show up on a deep Parisian night and on our little holiday without a present. While we were choosing a variety with a nice elderly sommelier, he accidentally spilled some on me, for which he apologized for an extremely long time and stuffed a whole assortment of vegan sweets into the gift."

"Actually, it looks pretty good," I touch my hands to the damaged fabric where the wine petals had opened exactly opposite the heart. - "It looks like a flower, and it goes well with the pants."

"I told him the same thing, only in broken French!" - you laugh, sitting down on the bed. The package drops to the floor for nothing, revealing a dark bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a corkscrew, and a dark blue box of obviously not cheap candy. - "Got a cup of any kind?"

"Only if it's cup after some coffee," the porcelain taps lightly as I hand you the cup along with the saucer that was on the bedside table. Drinking coffee at night is a little professional whim.

The cork easily yields to you under the spiraled steel of the corkscrew, so the generous scarlet stream quickly fills the porcelain cup almost to the brim, cleverly masking the coffee ring, which has already managed to imprint on the white dishes. You carefully pass the cup back to me, giving me the honorable right of the first sip. You already have a chocolate candy hiding behind your cheek. Sweet tooth.

You ask me about the past day, listening with incorruptible interest, you ask about the progress of the promo, about my dreams, I listening about your flight, about our first meeting, about Paris at night. We just talk about everything that comes into our heads, while the candy slowly runs out and the scarlet column of alcohol reaches the glass bottom of the bottle, and the bottle becomes more transparent than before in the weak light.

"You look ravishing, did I mention?" - My throat burns a little with the slight spice mixed with the flavor of currants and cherries, and your careful and transfixed gaze, albeit slightly cloudy from the wine, pleasantly burns my heart. - "Although, you absolutely always have that."

And I see you blush and your lips bend into a pleasant smile. When you're drunk, you're so sweetly embarrassed every time, like the word compliments are received by you, not me. Insanely nice. Insanely beautiful.

"Merci beaucoup, L'amour de ma vie." - in sweet, purring French, because you are a total provocation today, presented so elegantly and unobtrusively that I can't think of anything else. The chiseled collarbones are not only hidden under the thin fabric of the branded shirt, but also topped with a weighty gold chain. I catch myself thinking that you remind me of exactly this wine in the porcelain of the cup, which I want to sip leisurely, enjoying it alone. To taste you on my tongue is much more desirable than that cedar-currant flavor in the cup.

The bottle is almost empty, and you will soon begin to look like this pink wine stain blooming on your shirt. You giggle, shifting your gaze in embarrassment to the rich black lacquered wood that elegantly fills the bedroom space.

"Wow, is that a piano?" - so childishly naive, just to avoid my gaze. Gently I place the cup in your palms and then touch your chin with my fingers, turning you straight toward me. - "it's beautiful."

Along with the alcohol and fever rushing through my arteries, an absurd idea popped into my head, and it was an original sin not to realize it. I lean closer, deliberately slowly, though the knot of heat has tightened quite a bit. I like getting you so hot, Y/n, you'd know.

"It's beautiful, but it's only missing your nakedness," a languid whisper in your ear and you're already burning like a match. It's gorgeous. - "Shall we fix it?"

And you nod so obediently that even an expensive room in the best hotel in France and the same expensive wine are nothing compared to this one gesture. This will be the first time for you, the first time for the two of us, and believe me, I'll do everything I can to make sure that it goes well. I won't disappoint you, because all I really want is to drown you in a sea of pleasure. Think of it as my little gift to honor our date, like this wine.

×××

You moan so sweetly, and the only thing I really want right now is to seal your voice in a bottle so that I can open it later at any opportunity when you're not around again. You rest both palms against the shiny black lacquer on the closed top of the grand piano, standing with your back to the most elegant instrument and your face to me. You're standing completely naked, just a pile of clothes under your feet, and I'm already face between your thighs, kneeling. You grip the fabric of my black cardigan with trembling fingers, and like a whimpering child, you pull it on yourself. And it's so exciting to fulfill your little whims, knowing that it's still going to be the way I want it. I throw the dark, soft cotton off of me - a "storm cloud" glistens and shimmers slightly in the light of one dim lamp before falling to the carpet with the rest of my clothes. I'm completely naked now, too. Your lustful eyes dance on the ink of my tattoos, as if not knowing where to stop.

"Do you like the view too much, my girl?" - a grin, and you look away a little in renewed embarrassment. I touch your beautiful thigh, stroking it. "Hey, I like it when you watch."

And you watch again, only now you're looking clearly into my eyes, looking into the depths of my abysses, which for you alone are ready to serve not as destruction but as an unbreakable refuge. Your gaze is so focused, as if you want to dive in headfirst into my seas.

"I just... I just like absolutely everything, and I really don't know where to stop."

"So look, you can even touch me, as much as you want and wherever you want. You're allowed, Y/n." - I rise from my knees to push the banquette back to the piano again and sit down. - "Just for you."

And you explore, touching my skin with a gentle that the most distinguished musicians of classical orchestras will envy. Your hands outline my hips, my waist. You cling to my ribs with your fingers, then you stroke my shoulders and arms. I see a spark of delight in your eyes when you feel how the muscles are easily felt under the alabaster of my skin, while you reach to the very tips of my fingers, interlacing one hand in a lock with yours. Your other hand touches my chest, alternately slightly squeezing each one, and frankly speaking, it becomes infinitely difficult to breathe evenly. The same your hand slides over the stomach, heading to the bottom with like a sharpened arrow. Oh, my Goodness...

"Does that feel good?" - you whisper, touching two fingers to my clit with light pressure, alternating with circular motions. It feels good. Crazy.

So much so that all the words suddenly disappear from my head and stick in my throat in broken syllables, unwilling to form into something intelligible. I had to make an effort not to just nod like a silly dummy, chiseling out a single: "good."

You smile, feeling a gradual confidence, as if you're finally stepping on solid ground after the weightlessness of space, having been successfully rehabilitated. And I finally realize I don't have to hold back anymore. I can pull you close to me, rewarding you with a dozen deep, hot kisses, I can marked you with a bright hickeys on your neck, I can pick you up under your hips and lay you top of the piano cover with your shoulder blades, under which steel strings are silently stretched. While you're trapped in a haze of excitement, I can trace a path with my tongue and lips from your breasts to the bottom of your belly, where everything is burning Vesuvius flame. I can, I can, I can...

"It's so romantic in Paris, isn't it? Won't even try to compare it, it's all love everywhere." - I make the first quick stroke of my tongue and then pull away, hovering over your face again. You barely keep the back of your head from banging against the wooden lid, arching your back in longing. Who says I forgot to get back at you for my nerves?

"I don't know, I guess, but I already have love in LA." - You exhale so hotly, but you endure stoically. You realize you deserve it, yes. - "And I don't need anyone else."

My own heart begs for mercy on your account with a solid thump against my sternum, and I'm back down in a flash, repeating the strokes again, playing with your folds to the accompaniment of your moans. You're delicious.

And when you thrust yourself on my fingers so obediently, waiting for the denouement, which burns you to the point of shaking, and then you spur me with my back to the lid, hovering over me with intermittent heavy breathing, but with such selfless love in your eyes; when you enter me with two fingers sharply, but so necessary and precise, easily beating out moan after moan from my lungs and ligaments, that I really realize how suitable an instrument like a piano is for you.

I realize that I also definitely already have love in LA, in the form of you.

[els-wonderland]

Ranking Bridgerton Outfits: Season 1 Penelope

Photo credits to Tv Costumes on Pinterest!

Penelope's Debut Dress, Episode 1

I love this dress! It's one of the only Penelope dresses this season with the Season 3 fit that doesn't cut the bust in half. The undertones of greenish-yellow on the cream fabric look lovely with her red hair, and the jewelery is understated and elegant for her presentation to the Queen. No notes.

2. Pink Floral Dress, Episode 2

She looks so fru-fru in the best possible way. The floral embellishments pop here and there without looking garish, and the accessories of her frilled sheer gloves and the flower-and-ribbon headpiece tie everything together so sweetly. Her hair is great too, with the one long ringlet.

3. Lacy Green Dress, Episode 3

Give Penelope more greens like this! Her hair almost reminds me of 1960s updo, and the diadem and necklace tie in well with the lace overskirt. I love the scallopy pattern of the flowers on the lace, it makes her look a bit mermaid-y!

4. Pink Feather(ington) Dress, Episode 6

This one is just so delicate and ethereal, the feathered appliques against the pink satin bodice make her look like an angel. Do you see her walking down the hallway, with that pleated skirt flowing behind her? The only thing that doesn't work with this look is the necklace, it's just too harsh for the softness of the other accessories.

5. Pink Fern Dress, Episode 3

1989 Little Mermaid, take notes. This is how you do red hair with a vibrant shade of pink.

6. Garden Ballgown, Episode 1

So pretty, almost fairy-like with the sprinkling of little flowers in her hair. Something about the overskirt with the flowers climbing up over the already flowery fabric reminds me of a rambling meadow. I don't even mind the polyester gloves, because at least they match decently well.

7. Butterfly Ballgown, Episode 1

Is it in your face? Obviously. Is it giving more Art Nouveau than 1813? Yes. But a little campy? Her prettiest yellow dress? Inexplicable how she could blend into a crowd in something like this? Yeh

8. 'Sunflower' Dress, Episode 3

Probably one of the most historically accurate costumes all season. In certain lights it gets into the nauseating yellow green that I hate on Pen, and the pink gloves are heinous, but I give love the froofy like gathered sleeves, the lower cut of the bust, and the details of the train.

9. Regency Barbie, Episode 7

Nicola Coughlan and the costume designers really predicted Diplomat Babrie all the way back in 2020. The little band of posies around the bust really makes this look for me, thought I could do without the big chunky necklace. Portia definitely picked that out for her.

10. Yellow Walking Dress, Episode 4

Cute! So cute! The shimmery polka dots remind me of a Barbie doll yet again, and the light pink trimming and rosettes under the sleeves make this one memorable for me. Surprisingly simple for a Penelope look.

11. Flowered Promo Dress, Episode 3

I do prefer the promo version with the tiara to the flower, but I'm not mad at it. I think I'd find this dress very over-the-top if it had flowered appliques all the way down, but the way they peter out into tendrils across the skirt puts me in the mind of a country garden. It's nice to see some pops of red on Pen.

12. Orange Leaf Dress, Episodes 1 and 3

I wish they gave Penelope more over-the forehead curls as opposed to the little clusters on either side of her face. Little curls on the forehead feel more 1810s than the latter. The yellow adds a lot more dimension to this fabric, and I do prefer the yellow/ruched trim to the yellow and orange ribbon/plain neckline.

13. Engagement Dress, Episode 6

I don't even mind the black waistband. In fact I'm kind of a fan-it's giving Parisian-themed bedroom-but the white lace descending from it rubs me the wrong way. Love her big, fluffy ringlets.

14. Floral Spencer, Episodes 3 and 5

It's giving a bit of Hawaiian shirt, but I kind of love the combination of the froggy green, saffron yellow, and flamingo pink. I like how the appliques overlap the edges of her spencer, the slightly overgrown vibe of some of her flowered looks really scratches my brain.

15. Yellow Flowered Dress, Episode 8

Abhor the way they did her hair here. The fabric is so dainty, but the dress is a little boring, and I hate the chunky necklaces on her.

16. Grandma's Couch Dress, Episode 7

Grandma's couch/pos. A very soft, cushy, slightly musty-smelling couch. Don't like the centered corsage, it doesn't match anything else on the outfit, and they need to stop putting that necklace with so many otherwise nice looks.

17. Pilled Dress, Episode 8

This dress looks like it's wool covered with pills, and the dark green and hot pink of her necklace and hair ornaments respectively pull my eye from the dress, which I honestly don't mind, because the fabric looks itchy as all hell.

18. Yellow Floral Promenade Outfit, Episode 2

If they'd just take away that waistband, give her a gauzier shawl, and stop piling her hair so high, this one wouldn't be half bad.

19. Yellow Dinner Dress, Episode 4

I truly do believe that pinks and greens suit Pen better than these bright yellows, or even just a more pastel yellow.

20. Dandelion Dress, Episodes 3 and 6

I understand why Pen is holding her arms like that, because having those little yellow balls rubbing against my bare skin would drive me absolutely crazy.

21. Meeting Marina Dress, Episode 1

The hair and that big ol' bow really ruin this one. The fabric looks so peachy and light with her red hair, and I just think some soft curls falling around her shoulders would make her look like such a doll.

22. Yellow Upholstery Dress, Episode 5

This looks like a Target throw pillow. Burn than necklace.

23. 'Mine Is Yellow' Evening Gown, Episode 8

I CANNOT STAND the greenish-gray look of the embroidery on the bodice, which is sad because her hair looks perfect. The cut of the bodice is cutting her bust in half.

24. Chartreuse and Pink Dress, Episode 8

Frankly pukey-looking. The pink trim makes it infinitely worse.

25. Tadpole Dress, Episode 1

Something about this fabric just reminds me of those Tiktoks of people putting frog eggs in jars. That pink shawl is not necessary.

26. Black and Chartreuse Dress, Episode 1

See above- the green, the pink, the black-no.

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

My Wedding Trauma - A Simblreen 2022 Collab with Surely-Sims!

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒜𝓇𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝑒𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓈𝒽𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓁𝒷𝑜𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒢𝑜𝑜𝓅𝓎 𝒢𝒾𝓁𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒷𝑜! ❤️🌴🦜

Earlier this year, my good friend Surely-Sims came to me traumatised and shaking. A Jimmy Buffet Trashy Wedding Set had been haunting her dreams and she didn't know what to make of such tidings. I explained that the best thing to do was to take ownership of the horror, so together, we bravely recreated this set from the deepest, darkests depths of her nightmares.

I hope you all find this set as terrifying, entertaining and....rancid as we do  ☠️

Love, Alex

::𝔻𝕆𝕎ℕ𝕃𝕆𝔸𝔻:: (ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕠𝕟 - 𝔽𝕣𝕖𝕖)

Items:  

🌺Malborough Dress: An incredibly flammable, ruched, knee-length mermaid dress with majestic shoulder bow details. Perfect for weddings, funerals and court dates.

🌺Elvis Jumpsuit: A jumpsuit fit for the King himself! A fitted terror boasting several thousand sequins in an aggressive peacock pattern, finished with a bedazzled and bejeweled belt.

🌺Brandi Dress: A mermaid dress just as flammable as the Malborough Dress, but shinier, floor length and asymmetric. Perfect for bridesmaids you hate.

🌺Goopy Suit Jacket: Nothing screams class like a suit jacket with the sleeves cut off...except a suit jacket with the sleeves left on. Comes with a variety of t-shirt options.

🌺Kelly-Marie Hair: Is it a mullet? Is it a blowout? Is it a nest? Is it a hat? It could be a hat....You'll never know with this hair that's so high, god can sniff the hairspray. Converted from Fortnite.  Thanks to Surely-Sims for repainting the base to make it much less Fortnitey!

🌺Newport Headpiece: A beautiful and angelic, lit up headpiece, perfect for any 100 Pack Princess.

🌺Smoldering Bouquet: A delightful, blazing cigarette bouquet to light your way down the aisle. Just keep it away from that synthetic dress and that hairspray-hardened hair!

𝔻𝕆𝕎ℕ𝕃𝕆𝔸𝔻 𝕊𝕌ℝ𝔼𝕃𝕐-𝕊𝕀𝕄𝕊' ℍ𝔸𝕃𝔽 ℍ𝔼ℝ𝔼

Did you attend the wedding? Want to bring a health and safety lawsuit against the happy couple? Want to relive the horrors? Check out this site Anne made!

[gucciwins]

a special night at the brits

word count: 3558

a/n: hi friends! i really like coming back to this series and i hope you enjoy this continuation of them. talk show y/n and harry taking is slow but very much into each other. happy reading! 💗💗💗

part one // part two // part three

+

It was a big night in London, and you felt lucky to be invited. Growing up, you remembered watching the Brits with your sister seeing all the biggest stars walk the red carpet, rating your favorite looks, and singing along to every performer of the night. Tonight you knew would be one to remember, and for that reason, Zuri, your stylist, had the most fun finding you a dress for the night. It seemed many designers wanted to work with you, but Zuri reminded you that not everyone was as kind as they seemed to work with people you respected and respected you. The dress for tonight makes you feel like a star wearing a blue silk satin corseted gown with a plunging strapless neckline. The floor-length skirt was ruched with a thigh split and a train paired with shiny strappy high-heel shoes. It was fun getting ready with your glam team, but the nerves sometimes got the best of you before taking the carpet.

The confidence you feel when taking the carpet doesn’t hit until after you have your assistant take a shot with you. It’s not always you’ll have Maeve take a shot with you, but for some strange reason, you were anxious about today, and you knew it had to do with the man opening the show. You hadn’t seen Harry since the morning after his birthday. You think about how he convinced you to meet him in Palm Springs, not that it was a hard idea to say no to.  

“I want to get drunk with you,” he mumbles into his phone.

You can’t help but laugh, “is that so?”

“Mhm…celebrate my birthday with me.”

It’s a tempting offer. You had spent a few days with Harry since he arrived in Los Angeles. He invited you over to his home and cooked you dinner once again. It was a salmon dish, and although you might not be the biggest fish fan, you thought it was delicious, maybe needed a bit more seasoning, but overall enjoyable.

His final LA shows were fun to attend, but he was so busy that you couldn’t get a moment alone with him. That is why when Harry invites you out to Palm Springs to celebrate his 29th birthday, the only answer you want to give him is yes.

“Are you sure? I-I want to be sure you’re spending it with your people, your family, and friends.” You tell him honestly, not wanting to feel like the odd person he has to tend to for the night.

“Want to spend it with you,” he reassures you. “Think we could have some birthday fun.”

You hear the shift in his voice, and you know what he’s imagining. It’s something you want, but there’s no rush, so you’ll see how the day takes you.

“I’ll drive out,” you promise.

“Love, you sure? You want to come and see me?”

Now it’s your turn to assure him that you want to go and spend the day with him, celebrating however he wishes.

The red carpet was a breeze. Maeve met you at the end, telling you that you were good to go in when there was a loud cheer, and it seemed everyone’s attention was on who had just arrived. You shared a look with Maeve, and both knew who had arrived.

The star of the night and predicted to win all of his nominated categories, Harry Styles.

Maeve smiles at you, nodding at you to keep walking, “shot a text to his assistant you’ll be able to meet inside.”

You smile at her grateful. You hadn’t shared with Harry that you’d be here tonight. You had known for a few weeks, but you didn’t know if what you had would fizzle out or continue to grow. Clearly, it’s going far better than you expected. It’s been endless dates and shared facetime calls. Harry knew how to put a smile on your face.

You’re not left waiting long when Harry and his entourage walk in. Harry looks around, and you use that time to look him over. His red carpet looks have always been unique, allowing him to stand out, and tonight is no different. He wears a black velvet suit with a flared coat and a large flower choker around his neck. It took your breath away. You’d have to ask him who designed this suit because you wouldn’t mind owning one of your own. Harry’s eyes quickly find yours, and you smile, waving him over. His eyes check you out from head to toe, and you can’t help the deep blush that takes over you.

“Y/N!” He exclaims happily, coming towards you with open arms. You both notice the cameras around you but choose not to focus on them. Harry sweeps you in a tight hug, your arms going around each other’s waist. Harry takes a moment to breathe you in.

“It’s good to see you, H,” you breathe out.

“Absolutely gorgeous. You’re gorgeous, Y/N.” Harry runs his hands down your side feeling the silk material hugging you tight.

“Me?” You pull back, shaking your head, “look at you!” You gesture to his look. “Absolutely stunning.”

Harry pokes your cheek, “take a compliment for once,” he teases.

You laugh, “sorry, sorry. It’s overwhelming coming from you.”

“Why?” He frowns before he gets a twinkle in his eye. “Is it because you know I mean it?”

“Harry,” you pout. You step closer to him and lower your voice to a whisper. “It’s because you say sweet things, and I know I can’t kiss you to thank you.”

Harry smirks, “you want to kiss me?”

You roll your eyes, giving back his space, but he follows after you. “You know I do, Harry.”

“Later,” he promises.

You love how easy conversation is with Harry, how at ease he makes you feel. You love spending time with him, and knowing that he’s leaving for tour in a few days makes you sad, but he’s promised that it’s only you he’ll be missing when he’s touring.

“Are you sitting by me?” Harry asks you backstage between all the hustle going on around you. You were told you’d be sitting close to Leigh-Anne, knowing Harry’s table was towards the middle of the room.

You shake your head, “don’t think so, sitting somewhere else.”

Harry pouts, “no, you have to sit with me.” Your laugh rings loud, making Harry’s friends turn their way and smile at you, clearly happy to see you. “Jeff will have it all figured out. Please say yes.” You sigh. It’s hard to tell him no, and the truth is you didn’t want to. Harry doesn’t let up, leaning in and kissing your cheek. “Please say yes,” he repeats.

You hesitate, and Harry turns his attention to Maeve. “You’ll both join us,” he tells her. Maeve shrugs, giving you the final say.

You smile, reaching out and touching the lapel of his coat. “You win, Harry. We’ll sit with you.”

Harry pulls you in for a hug kissing your temple three times. “Save me your second drink, love. I’ll be there soon.”

“Good luck!” You yell as he’s pulled away to a dressing room to change into his second look of the night, and you know by the time he comes back out to sit with you, he’ll have a third outfit.

+

A few of Harry’s team that you had the pleasure of meeting a few weeks ago, lead you to the table where Harry’s sister is sitting. He had not shared that he brought his sister or mentioned if you’d like to meet her, but you had to assume he knew and wanted it to happen, or he wouldn't have invited you to sit with him.

You have a moment of panic before Maeve mouths to breathe. Thankfully, Tom was kind enough to do introductions for you. “Gemma, this is Y/N, a friend of Harry’s. Y/N, this is Gemma Harry’s sister.” You didn't know if you should shake her hand or give her a hug, but Gemma made it easy for you by pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Lovely to meet you. He’s actually talked about you,” Gemma shares.

“Has he?” You asked, surprised.

“Mhm…tons,” she teases.

You know that means she knows about you and Harry being an item? No, a thing? A couple? You still have a few things to figure out with Harry, but the one thing you do know is that you’re head over heels for him.

“I’ve heard wonderful stories about your family. He gushes about you whenever he has the chance,” you share because if there’s one thing about Harry, he loves his family.

“He’s the family baby, no matter how much he fights it,” Gemma tells you, and you both share a laugh.

You both enjoy Harry’s opening performance together, lost in how easily Harry makes the stage his own. It’s clear he was meant to be there. You know you’d never get tired of watching him shine. Sitting back down, you’re buzzing for Harry to join you but know you must go backstage to present an award for the night. You excuse yourself with Maeve promising to be back soon. You get a round of “boos,” making you giggle. Gemma squeezes your arm, promising to save you a seat next to her and Harry.

“Maeve, why did I agree to do this?” You’re full of nerves, closed envelope in hand as you’re waiting to be introduced.

She laughs, taking back your lipstick and putting it back in her bag. “You’ll be fine. You were born to be in front of the camera.”

You know that’s true, you loved acting and getting lost in character, but you also loved an audience because you can feed off their energy and rely on doing that in a few moments. Your name is announced, and you walk out, grinning at the audience. You reach the podium and wait a few seconds to let the cheers die down. “Hello, I’m Y/N Y/LN, and it’s an absolute honor to be here tonight. A few of you might recognize me from my films, but most will recognize me from The White Lotus. If you don’t know the show, you’re missing out because Jennifer Coolidge said I’m amazing.” The crowd laughs, and just like that, you feel at ease. “Thank you to the Brits for having me come out and announce this award of the night. I remember growing up and sitting in front of the telly with my sister as we dressed in our favorite dresses and took turns accepting fake awards while also singing our hearts out. Now none of us turned into artists to be able to receive one of these awards, but I think handing them out is the next best thing.” The nominees are introduced, and you wait patiently to announce the winner. Your fingers are crossed for Harry but know you can’t say that at least not yet.

The opening of the envelope is nerve-wracking. You feel your hands begin to shake due to the anticipation. You do your best to hold back a smile as you read over a familiar name.

“The winner for best pop/r&b is….” You take a short pause and then shout into the microphone, “the one and only Harry Styles.”

His celebration is shown on the screen as he hugs his sister before making his way up to the stage. It’s a long walk, and wow, does Harry look good. He’s wearing a sage green suit with a silk top with a few buttons open to show off his chest. Fuck, Harry sure was leaving you breathless with his outfits.

You pulled Harry in for a hug whispering your congratulations to him. He swayed you side to side. “Thank you. Thank you for being here for me.” You only squeeze him tighter in response.

“Think you’ve got a speech to give,” you tease, knowing this might have been going on for a second too long on live TV.  

“Does this win mean you’re going home with me tonight?” Harry whispers in your ear.

You laugh, “maybe if you win them all.”

Harry winks, giving you a kiss on your cheek, and you finally let each other go to allow him to give his speech.

“Wow! Thank you so, so much for this. First of all, I know this was a fan-voted award, so to all my fans that voted - thank you so so much.” Harry raises the award in the air before closing out his speech. He walks with you backstage, laughing at Harry’s circle he made on stage, trying to set the microphone down before deciding to just follow you.

Harry seems to know the backstage well and pulls you into a dark corner pressing you against the wall. You let out a gasp of surprise but don’t dream of pushing him away. You raise your hand, letting yourself twirl the single curl he keeps pushing back.

“What are we doing, Harry?” You whisper, wanting to pull him closer.

Harry leans in closer, his mouth a single breath away from you. “Sharing a moment alone with you.” Harry brushes his lips against yours. Feeling a bit daring, he teased you with a flick of his tongue, making you moan and draw him closer until you were kissing like your life depended on it. You would have stayed with Harry tucked in this corner forever, but Harry was up for many more awards and needed to be seated. Slowly and with great reluctance, you pulled back. “Met your sister,” you push him back and hoped your lipstick stays transfer-free; Zuri assured you it was the best of the best.

“Hmmm…” Harry drops his shoulders, frowning. “Sorry, I did forget to mention I brought her with me tonight.”

You shrug, giving his bicep a squeeze, “besides the panic that first set in, it was fine. We got to talking, and I learned she’s the nicest Styles.”

“Hey, hang on,” Harry pouts.

You bump his shoulder, “don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.”

Harry smiles, showing you his dimples, and you know you’ll never tire of it. You walk back to his table and are met with loud cheers, a shot of tequila passed to everyone in honor of his first win.

The night goes on, and the drinks don’t let up neither do Harry’s wins for the night. Harry wins artist of the year and song of the year, sharing sweet speeches expressing his love to his mother, who signed him up for his audition that changed his life and named the four other boys who began this crazy journey with him. It’s amazing to see Harry acknowledge where he came from and where he is now. You’ve seen his career grow from the video of the public, but now you’ve gotten the chance to know Harry Styles, the boy from Holmes Chapel, and you know he’s a genuine soul.

One final award of the night: album of the year, and it was being presented by Stanley Tucci. Everyone knew it would be a clean sweep, but no one dared to say that aloud until Harry received the last award on stage. Harry’s table has been the most popular of the night, but he always finds his way back next to you, resting a hand on your thigh for comfort. Everyone at his table knew you and Harry were more than friends, but in the eyes of the world, you were only friends.

“If it’s me, you’re coming home with me, remember? You promised,” he whispers, and you shake your head because, of course, he remembered even a few drinks in he hadn’t let himself forget.

“I’d happily go home with you even if you lose,” you assure him. “But we all know this one is yours.”

A few months later, his name is called, and Harry breaks into the loudest cheer. You stand up, embracing Gemma, needing to share your excitement before Harry slips away; he pulls you for a quick hug and promises you’ll have the best night together.

Harry keeps his speech short, passing it on to Tyler and Tom, using that time to speak with Stanley Tucci, not a care in the world as the cameras caught them laughing and smiling with each other. It showed the world how much of a flirt Harry became a few drinks in.

+

It has been one of the best nights of Harry’s life. Being home and honored at an award show he’s been attending for over ten years makes for a memorable evening. Harry is doing his post-interviews, ready to call it a night and head out with you at his side, ready to party and drink. You’ve already promised to stay the night with him, and Harry knows he’s going to spend all his time with you until it’s time for him to leave the country.

“How does attending the Brits feel?” The interviewer asks.

Harry grins, his charisma shining through. “It’s wonderful. Coming home and attending events I’ve been attending for years makes the room feel full of family.”

“How are you thinking of celebrating tonight?” Another person asks.

Harry sways side to side, fidgeting with his rings, then looking at the journalist who asked the question. “To celebrate, what I want to do is go have dinner with my friends.” He shrugs, “I’m going to have a drink,” he emphasizes, although he knows he’s already had one too many tonight. “I leave for tour in four days. So probably won’t go crazy. It’s going to be fun. Thank you.”

He hands the microphone back and thanks everyone for their questions. Harry sees you talking with his sister on the other side of the room and can’t help the smile that blossoms on his face. Harry knows his sister is going to give his mum a full report on you, but he doesn’t mind one bit. He can’t wait for you to meet his mum now, seeing how well you got on with Gemma and all his friends.

Harry was about to make his way across the room, his eyes locked on you in that beautiful silk dress, when he stopped and asked a few more questions. He’s the man of the night, so Harry doesn’t mind, and neither does Jeff, who gives him a thumbs up. Harry knows Jeff only has his best interest in mind, but you’re someone he hopes to keep in his life for a long time, headlines be forgotten.

“Is there a certain person in mind you want to share that drink with?”

Harry laughs, knowing they’re fishing for something juicy, and as much as he has had to drink tonight, he’s good at staying tight-lipped. “They know. Promise they do,” he can’t help the blush that covers his cheeks as he thinks of you.

“What drink are you having?” They ask.

“Can’t go wrong with tequila,” he shrugs.

He bids them goodnight and walks out of the press room with his team following close behind. Once they enter the corridor, and Harry’s sure all the cameras are gone, he slows his walk to find you talking with Sarah and Pauli; he hates to interrupt (not one bit), but he’s ready for a bit of attention from you. He slips his hand between yours, and the grin that takes over your face is instant. You let the conversation die as you trail behind everyone with Harry by your side.

“I know you didn’t come here for me,” he starts. “But I am thrilled to have shared this special night with you.”

You feel your heart fill with warmth, it’s been a perfect night, and you’re happy you were able to be reunited. “Thank you for letting me join you. You know I enjoy spending time with you, and selfishly I would never say no to spending more time with you when you’re leaving in a few days for longer than I’d like.”

Harry knows leaving will be hard on you both, but he selfishly wants to bring you out with him, but he knows you have work to focus on just like he does.

“Do–would–,” he sighs, unable to get his thoughts out correctly.

You sigh, “I’d love to go out and see you, but you know I can’t.” Harry nods understandingly, “I promise as soon as you’re back in the UK, I’ll find a way out to you.”

Harry lights up, knowing there’s going to be a date to see you filling him with ease. “Do you promise?”

You place your hand over your heart, “cross my heart, Harry.”

Harry smiles because he trusts you, knows you'll be okay, and that this relationship you’re building will survive with the nurture and care you’ve both been putting in. Harry’s tempted to ask you to be his girlfriend but won’t because when he does, he wants to keep you to himself for longer than a few days. You talked animatedly about how Mitch showed you the easiest way to shoot back a shot promising that he won’t be able to keep up with you now. Harry kisses your temple and knows that upon winning awards tonight, the true prize he's taking home is you.

+

send me a love note of what you thought, amores 🫶

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild Presents - Tethered - Ch 11 - Angel

Written by NegotiationReal6508 on our subreddit!

TW/CW: Angst, discussion of attempted suicide, implied character death, internalized homophobia, discussion of conversion treatment, mentions of child abuse.

Summary:

Crowley wakes up in a mental hospital with no memory of how he got there. Without his demonic powers, neither the doctors, nor the people who claim to be his family will believe he is who he says he is. With the evidence against him mounting, his only lifeline to the real world is a cryptic note left by an unseen messenger. The longer he stays in this hospital, the harder it becomes to recall for sure, is Crowley really a demon of Hell? Or has his entire existence been nothing more than a delusion conjured by a grieving mind?

Excerpt:

He stepped into the corridor, slamming the door shut angrily behind him. Fighting back his tears, Aziraphale touched his jaw where Crowley had hit him. He wasn't hurt. Crowley was too weak to hurt him in this human form. But the shock of it…

Crowley had never once, not even in the most heated of arguments, ever even shown the slightest inclination to throw a punch. Crowley could shove him violently up against a wall, and Aziraphale would feel in more danger of getting kissed than clocked. It was all an act, part of their dynamic. The unspoken rules of their unspoken game of riling each other up, getting heated, getting close, at times too close, and then backing off before anything untoward took place. Plausible deniability. It was the cornerstone of their alliance.

He had brought the tartan blanket for Crowley. He always looked so cold curled up in that hospital bed. Why didn't they ever give him an extra blanket? Knowing Crowley, he probably refused to complain about it. Always pretending to be so insusceptible, that one. Aziraphale had pulled the warm woollen throw over Crowley’s sleeping form, perching himself on the edge of the mattress.

He had watched him sleep momentarily. Normally, Crowley slept peacefully, face unpinched and slacken, as if he had nary a care in the world. At least, that's how he appeared when he napped at the bookshop. But here, in this place, Crowley’s brow seemed always to be ruched in distress, the complete opposite of how a peaceful sleep ought to look.

It had felt so wonderful the way the demon had sleepily curled up against him, like an affectionate housecat. It was so unlike him, but it was nice to feel… well, Aziraphale was not quite certain what he'd felt, only that it had been such a lovely feeling. Warm and electric…

Of course, it didn't last. Aziraphale could never have anticipated that this visit was going to go quite so poorly as it did.

Continue reading on AO3

Or start from chapter 1 - Dies Lunae

Special thanks to my beautiful betas: u/KotiasCamorra and u/blackjeans93

Also, go support u/gleafer on Patreon! It will improve your life in ways you may never fully comprehend!

[milkywaydrabbles]

He who was bound in chains, set free. | II.

Trauma and past sexual abuse underneath. Can find on AO3 here

“Take your clothes off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another bow of the head, looking forever down towards your feet, taking off your ruched bandeau of a top. He decided it was easier to simply wear that than any proper clothes, seeing as you didn’t wear them often around him. Your skirt was next, eyes blank and void of any emotion. You’ve learned to turn them off when it came to this. In the beginning it used to be...difficult. You would cry, sniffle, hiccup. You learned quickly he didn’t like that. The lashings you’d receive taught you the lesson you thought you deserved at this point. 

“I don’t have all day.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

You pushed back whatever thoughts you had left, removing the last of your clothes, and doing your best not to cover up. The bruises on your arms taught you that lesson, too. You didn’t need further direction, getting on your hands and knees and crawling to that demon of a man you called your master. A hand wrapped around his shaft, barely at half mast. He wanted you to get him there. He always liked seeing your hands -- and mouth -- wrapped around him in some way. You hated it more than anything in the world. Slowly you pumped him to full erection, not looking at him--you couldn’t. Tears would fall, you feared. Suddenly a hand grabbed at the roots of your hair, shoving you towards his cock. You winced, a small whimper escaped at the forcefulness. 

“This is all you’re good for, bitch. Now hurry up, I'm meeting with friends within the hour.”

You closed your eyes, tight, and wrapped your lips around the disgusting appendage. You didn’t even have time to ease into it, immediately being pushed down towards the base. You choked and spittled around him, as he continued to use you to completion. He pulled out, finishing on your face. He chuckled. 

“There, it’s the only time you look good. Now turn around.”

“Yes, sir.”

Everything went black.

--

You came to, except you were cowering in fear. Fear of being stricken any more than you have been. 

“P-please, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I’m sorry!”

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for. Maybe you broke something, maybe you talked back.

Maybe he was just drunk.

Another fist came down at your head, and you held back another scream as best you could. You could feel your blood trickling down near your temple, ringing in your ears. Your head hurt, so much. You wish you could just vanish. He grabbed at you again, pushing your hands that were in front of your face away and forcibly grabbed you by the chin, cheeks squeezing between his fingers. 

“You disgust me, you disgust everyone. This is why your parents sold you to me, you know. They wanted a pretty coin, they didn’t care what happened to you. I should kill you.”

You could barely hear anything after that. 

The beating continued on your arms, kicking your legs, hitting whatever he could get his hands on. You feared some of these bruises would turn permanent.

“Please, please, stop! Please!”

“Please!” You gasped out, eyes opening suddenly and jolting up in a sitting position. You choked on the air you just took in, lungs hurting more than anticipated. Your arms covered your head, knees coming up to your chest and shut your eyes tight again. You couldn’t even recognize the pain that shot through you from your injuries. You feared you were still with him. You feared you were back in Gresit, like some animal locked up. You feared, you feared you feared--

“You’re awake.”

Eyes still shut, you managed to stop trembling--you didn’t realize you started--but didn’t dare move. You didn’t...you didn’t recognize this voice. You weren’t sure you knew it.

“You’ve been asleep for four days.” He sounded cold. Distant. 

Slowly you uncurled your body, and peeking through your hair that created a curtain around you, you noticed it was the angel from earlier. Looks like he brought you inside. 

Oh.

“...”

You weren’t sure what you were expected to say. You remember falling and boots and dirt. You remember running away from the monsters. You remember seeing an angel. But you remember him looking almost angry, inconvenienced maybe. 

“I’m...I--It’s--” 

You were frustrated, unsure on what to even say to him. He beat you to it.

“Why did you come here?” Ah, there it is. The inconvenienced scowl on his brow, low timber of his voice. You looked back down.

“...I was running away from those monsters. I didn’t mean to be here.” Voice small.

“Perhaps, but you saw it through the woods, I’m sure. Which means, you were too close. Why?”

How the hell do I answer that?

“...I fell asleep in my travels. I woke up too late. I had no choice.” Well, you could have died . That’s a choice. 

A deep sigh came from his direction.  “Where did you come from?”

“Gresit.”

“Why did you leave?”

You didn’t answer.

He asked again, no difference in his voice. Thankfully. Didn’t sound angry.

“I...had to. For safety.” Not a lie. 

You thought he knew that, too. His next statement surprised you.

“You may stay here, just a few days. Recover your strength. I expect you gone within one week.”

You could have cried at that alone, you’d have a shelter, a safe shelter. In Dracula’s castle with a vampire, maybe. But a shelter nonetheless. 

“...Thank you.”

With that he left, to be alone in your silence once again. You decided to sleep some more, you were still so tired.

--

You woke a few hours later, unknowing of the time. But it was dark now, the day must be done. You looked around as best you could, trying to take in your surroundings. It was dark, though, only having the moon to illuminate the darkened room. Your closed your eyes again, cupped your hands together, and thought. Thought so hard, envisioning a small flame circling within your palms, just a small one, enough to give you a bit more light. You kept thinking about a flame, muttering to yourself throughout. Please, please just enough, please, I just want to see, please...!

The small flame appeared within your hands, you gasped, then exhaled a laugh. Slowly, and carefully, you got out of bed, and looked around the room. Honestly, it was quite barren, outside of the grandiose armoire on one wall and some scattered books on a shelf. A bit worse for wear, dusty, like no one’s been in here. And then another door, which when you inspected further led to the most magnificent bathroom you’ve ever seen in your life . You couldn’t believe your eyes! It was pristine, in better condition than the room and oh my god the massive clawed tub in the middle of it all was such a sight for sore eyes. You couldn’t remember the last time you got to bathe yourself properly, you only had rivers and ponds to keep you somewhat clean since you left Gresit. You let yourself walk closer to it, not fully understanding the contraptions that sat on top of it. You wondered if you could find some water on your own to use it...

“If you twist the knobs at the time, water will come out.”

You gasped, eyes widening and your heart leaping into your throat. Your hands clutched up to your chest, small fire instantly burning out with a spark. You were back in darkness. 

“I knew I smelled magic .” 

Oh. Oh no. And the other shoe just dropped. You were going to be beaten again for being born a witch. Your heart rate started to accelerate, eyes shifting anywhere else in the room. Palms become sweaty, clutching at nothing by your chest, Not even enough of a top to grasp at the fabric. What were you going to do if--

He walked over, silently, and you prayed once again to the gods you’ve denounced whilst you trembled. Only to have him walk past you, and twist on the knobs of the tub. One side he turned on had steaming water pouring out the spout. It’s hot water! The one next to it seemed to cool it down, down to warm temperatures but not hot enough to burn you. He turns them off, doesn’t turn to you.

“You’re a witch.” Not a question, a statement.

“...I...Am.” 

“A poor excuse of a witch.” I knew that already.

It was silent in the room.

“...I don’t know how to use magic.” That was a little more than obvious.

“What do you mean? Your coven disregards you that much?” Well-

“I don’t...Know what that is.”

That made him turn slightly, wondering what kind of witch you were that couldn’t use magic and didn’t know what a coven was. 

“..Bathe first. You smell vile.” Ouch.  He left promptly after that. 

You looked at the shelves around the bath against the walls, littered with different smelling soaps and lotions. You could have died and gone to heaven. A luxury you have never been able to afford. He must really be an angel . You grabbed a handful of things that smelled nicest to you, and brought them over to the edge of the tub. You looked around again, making sure no one was there (who else would be? The man left). You felt wildly uncomfortable taking your clothes off. You turned again towards the door. It was closed. You tiptoed over and locked it for good measure. You’re sure whoever that vampire was could rip it open if he wanted to. But you felt safer, regardless. You stripped down to nothing, quickly jumping into the still very warm water, and felt every bone in your body creak, muscles relaxing for the first time in years . You audibly moaned, and immediately went on high alert. You shut your mouth, and looked at the window, and then the door. Tensed body relaxed again, just a little, and got to scrubbing your skin raw.

You stayed in the water until it grew cold, scrubbed every inch of your body, no matter how much it hurt. And it hurt , saying you still had the injury from apparently four days ago . Some of the lacerations around your arms and legs always burned anyways, so the newfound marks were nothing new to you. It must have been at least a half hour in the tub, maybe more. You found a small plug at the bottom and pulled, hoping it drained the water magically. And it did , though you still have no idea how it works. Thankfully you found a towel, next to the rest of the soaps, and dried your best off, trying your best not to rip open any of the wounds. You wouldn’t want to get beaten for getting your blood on the towel. Or worse, bring him into a feeding frenzy and just take the arm clean off. 

(He’d already smelled your blood when you showed at his doorstep, but you weren’t thinking). 

You wanted to put lotion on your skin, to smell nice , but you didn’t think any of the fragranced oils would do you any good with your battered skin. You still felt much better. Reclothing yourself, you carefully unlocked the door, and stepped as silently as you could back into the original room. You always tended to tread lightly, out of habit, out of fear maybe, out of protection. You didn’t know if you were supposed to wait, or...

“Follow me, and don’t touch anything .” 

You gasped again, looking at the doorway that led to the hallway. You barely caught a glimpse of him as you silently ran to catch up to him and followed. You looked to the ground, as you always did. Just step after step, foot in front of the other. Not wanting to draw attention, not wanting to look around in fear of retaliation. Just following, the way a pet would. You saw him stop, so you stopped. And looked up, only a little.

He was staring at you, face blank of any expression. 

“Go sit.”

When you looked into the room he led you to it was a study, Filled to the brim with books, and journals, and scrolls. Filled to the brim with knowledge . Of everything you didn’t know, of everything you wished you knew. Fiction maybe, or maybe history? Endless possibilities in the room alone.

You realized you’d been staring around at virtually nothing for too long, and scurried to a chair near the hearth. The warmth felt so comforting. 

“Now what is this about you not knowing what a coven is?” He sounded accusatory. You’re a liar.

How do you answer that?

“I..don’t know? I’m not sure what you mean?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Coven. Of witches? A group of familial witches who live together?” He acts as if it’s such common knowledge to you.

“..I didn’t have that. I just lived in a regular village, before Gresit.”

“What village?”

“I don’t remember.”

He didn’t believe you.

“And how do you not remember where you were born?”

“I don’t know...my parents sold me to a man in Gresit when I was young. I don’t remember.” 

Your voice was as leveled as you could keep it, though you were starting to feel on edge with all the questioning.

“Sold? To whom?”

“I’m...well, I’m not sure who he was. Not really.” You kept your eyes down at your hands. You started picking at the skin around your nails, ripping them raw. “I just knew him as my master.”

Silence filled the void between you. You didn’t know if you were meant to continue.

“Why did you run away?” Don’t call it running away, it was for safety!

“I wanted to be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“He hurt me.”

You said it with such conviction, and although you didn’t look up it was spoken as plain as day. The sky is blue, and he hurt you . You tried to continue anyways.

“I don’t...know how to use magic. Not really. I just want to be safe. I’m sorry. I’m feeling better, I’ll be out by tomorrow, honest, I’m sorry, I’m--”

“Please.”

You stopped your nonsensical words, and dared to take a peak at him.

This is the softest he’s looked, face just a bit more relaxed, minus the tinge of a furrowed brow. 

“..I said you have a week.” A pause. “Let me look at your wound.”

Your exposed arm and shoulder throbbed at the mere mention of it, and you clutched it. 

“It’s alright.”

“I’m not asking.”

You paused, and sighed, and turned your body to expose more of the injury, the man walking up to you and leaned down to take a closer look.

Turns out, it had ripped open and blood was oozing from your flesh. He exhaled through his nose.

“You’ll need to be bandaged. It’s not deep, but it’s not a clean cut either. It’ll take time.”

He walked away for a moment, going to the other side of the study you had not been able to see. He came back with some supplies to patch you up. Seems he already had this planned out. He dabbed away the blood, wiping away the excess and pressing alcohol to your wounds to disinfect. You hissed, clawing at your skirt. Then came the ointment, which was quite soothing even if you didn’t know exactly what it was. Soon enough it was wrapped up tight in a bandage. 

“...Thank you.” If it weren’t for his vampiric senses he actually would have missed that you spoke at all. He simply hummed, and made notion for you to follow him again. 

He brought you back to the original room you had woken up in.

“Sleep. We’ll speak more in the morning.” Distant again. And he was gone.

What on God’s green Earth happened to you?

Alucard can suspect abuse, obviously . But the gravity of how worn down you are is honestly...unfathomable. He notices the scarring that littered your body, he’s not blind. He had half a mind of commenting on them, but thank God he didn’t, questioning you was a nightmare on its own. Looking at how you reacted to him, how you wouldn’t look him in the eye, hell you woke up screaming after four days of slumber. Alucard thought you had died with how quiet you had been during that period. He wonders...he wonders if you wish you had. He shudders at the thought. 

He knows he’s been quite...off-putting. But no one would blame him if they knew the horrors he’d also been through mere weeks ago. 

By that combination, he can understand why his father thought the human species a stain on this planet. Difficult to argue against it. They were wretched, putrid things. They killed each other out of greed and a want of power. And you were a perfect example of how much irrevocable damage that could cause to someone. 

But Alucard is far from perfect.

If he was being honest with himself, he nearly left you outside to rot away. Let the night monsters take you away while you slipped into unconsciousness. At least you wouldn’t feel it. But he couldn’t--what would his mother think of that? At the end of the day, Alucard was still a man with a heart. A cold, broken heart. But a beating heart. And his human side always reached out to try and care for others, loyal and kind to a fault. 

He tried to sleep after the final interaction with you. He couldn’t. Your dead eyes were haunting him. How you spoke tormented him.

He hurt me .

That’s all he could hear in his head, in your small voice. Someone owned you and abused you, and unlike the twins who couldn’t trust a single soul after that--even one that trusted them with everything he had--you were so fragile and scared to ever disappoint. He supposed it was ingrained in you, for better or worse he wasn’t sure yet. Alucard had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, before he got up. 

He wandered over to your room, and listened for steady breathing. Were you asleep? Would you sleep restfully? Would nightmares come?

He took the chance and cracked open the door, just a touch, to peer in. 

He saw you asleep, finally, covers kicked off yourself. You were in a fetal position, arms wrapped around yourself and legs scrunched up as high as they could go. You were shaking.

Alucard winced, how sad . 

Silently he walked in and gently covered you with the duvet, and left just as quietly as he entered.

He’s not sure how he’s going to talk to you at all in the morning.

[delusions-of-glamour]

Angel Ruche tulle ribbon loose socks ♡

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode, Pl. 253, 15 septembre 1832, Paris. Chapeau de paille orné d'un bouquet de plumes. Robe de batiste d'ecosse garnie d'une pelerine brodée et bordées de ruches de tulle. Digital Collections of the Los Angeles Public Library

The seated woman on the left is wearing a white dress with gigot sleeves. She is wearing gloves and is holding a fan in her left hand. She is wearing a bonnet decorated with a pompon of feathers. The standing woman on the right is facing away from the viewer. She is wearing a pink dress with a white tippet and a yellow stole around her neck. She is wearing gloves and is holding a fan in her right hand. She is wearing a hat decorated with a pompon of feathers.

[lords-of-mayhem]

Lords Of Chaos + Hozier Songs

Lords Of Chaos characters as Hozier songs <3 (all gifs by me)

Øystein "Euronymous" Aarseth // Jackie And Wilson

So deep in this swill with the most familiar of swine, for reasons wretched and divine. No other version of me I would pretend to be tonight. 'Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done, I need to be youthfully felt 'cause God, I never felt young. Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside. We tried the world, good God, it wasn't for us.

Kristian "Varg" Vikernes // Dinner And Diatribes

Honey, this club here is stuck up, dinner and diatribes. I knew it from the first look of, the look of mischief in your eyes. Your friends are a fate that befell me, head is a talking type. I'd suffer Hell if you'd tell me what you'd do to me tonight. Let there be hotels complaints and grievances raised, let there be damage ensued and tabloid news.

Ann-Marit // Unknown/Nth

Funny how true colors shine in darkness and in secrecy. If there were scarlet flags, they washed down in the mind of me. Where a blinding light shone on you every night. And either side of my sleep, where you were held frozen like an angel to me. It ain't the being alone, you know I'm good on my own. You know, it's more the being unknown. So much of the living, love, is the being unknown.

Jan Axel "Hellhammer" Blomberg // Shrike

I fled to the city with so much discounted. Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now. Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted. I was housed by your warmth, thus transformed by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. Remember me, love, when I'm reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.

Jørn  "Necrobutcher" Stubberud // All Things End

If there was anyone to ever get through this life with their heart still intact, they didn't do it right. The last time I felt your weight on my chest, you said, "we didn't get it right, but love, we did our best." And all things end, all that we intend is scrawled in sand or slips right through our hands. And just knowing that everything will end should not change our plans. I have never known a silence like the one fallen here, never watched my future darken in a single tear.

Attila Csihar // Wildflower And Barley

Springtime in the country. Each time, I'm shocked by the light. I can smell summer on its breath, low and harrowed lie the fields and the heart of me. The canal banks are empty again, the grass crying out to be heated by bodies, the streets for the laughter of young women and men. With all things God allows remain above ground like grief and sweet memory, wildflower and barley.

Pelle "Dead" Ohlin // From Eden

Babe, there's something so tragic about you, something so magic about you. Don't you agree? Babe, there's something lonesome about you. No tired sigh, no rolling eyes. No irony, no "who cares?" No vacant stare, no time for me. Idealism sits in prison, innocence died screaming. Honey, ask me, I should know. I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door.

Snorre "Blackthorn" Ruch // Would That I

True that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me, that the sound of the saw must be known by the tree. I fretted fire, but that was long ago. And it's not tonight where I'm set alight, and I blink in sight of your blinding light. With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet like the ashes of ash I saw rise in the heat. Settle soft and as pure as snow, I fell in love with the fire long ago. With each love I cut loose, I was never the same, watching still living roots be consumed by the flame.

Kjetil Manheim // Almost (Sweet Music)

I came in from the outside, burned out from a joyride. She likes to roll here in my ashes anyway. I got some color back, she thinks so too. I laugh like me again, she laughs like you. I wouldn't know where to start, sweet music playing in the dark. Be still my foolish heart, don't ruin this on me.. The very thought of you in midnight blue, a love supreme seems far removed. I get along very well without you some other nights. She'll turn to me, awake, and ask "is everything alright?"

Bård "Faust" Eithun // Like Real People Do

I had a thought, dear, however scary. About that night, the bugs and the dirt. Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the Earth? I knew that look, dear, eyes always seeking. So, I will not ask you why you were creeping. In some sad way, I already know. So, I will not ask you where you came from, I would not ask and neither would you. Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do.

Stian "Occultus" Johansen // Damage Gets Done

I heard once, it's the comforts that make us feel numb. We'd go out with no way to get home and we'd sleep on somebody's floor, and wake up feeling like a millionaire. Wish I'd known it was just our turn, being blamed for a world we had no power in. You and I had nothing to show but the best of the world in the palm of our hands. I don't know how the feeling ended, but I know being reckless and young is not how the damage gets done.

Gylve "Fenriz" Nagell // Arsonist's Lullaby

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours staring into open flame. Something in it had a power, could barely tear my eyes away. All you have is your fire and the place you need to reach. Don't ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash. When I was sixteen, my senses fooled me. Thought gasoline was on my clothes, I knew that something would always rule me. I knew the scent was mine alone.

Jon "Metalion" Kristiansen // I Could Be Yours

I could be soft and sweet, I could be hard and loud. I could be anything you ever need somehow. Why don't you hear me sing out from the lost and found? Why don't you try on me? Why don't you take me home? I'll match the color scheme of your bedroom walls.

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue December 1986

Cindy Crawford wears a flamenco dress by Angel Estrada. Ruched scarlet satin bustier with three swirls, silk organza skirts, two black, one fuchsia.

Cindy Crawford porte une robe flamenco d'Angel Estrada. Bustier froncé en satin écarlate avec trois tourbillons, jupes en organza de soie, deux noires, une fuchsia.

Photo Bill King vogue archive

[i-indigo]

Ruched Dress

Almost suddenly I have this memory, I was thirteen. It was the first time someone told me I had This spark in my eyes When I looked at you, Wearing that borrowed ruched dress. Short, white, Contrasting With your golden skin. My lips were suddenly hidrated: It was a miracle. I was raised in a catholic family, But I never believed in angels; Then I saw you in white. Then I believe You should be named "Michelle", my belle. But that is one thing I can't say to your face. I guess it's only fair: You have two years worth of words, I have only this verse. You have everyone by your side. If anything, I only ever had you. X.

[styleofdiamandis]

INSTAGRAM: MARINA IN NORMA KAMALI "TARA" DRESS

Both Marina and her friend LPX shared some snapshots of their night out at the Bar Marmont in Los Angeles last night. Here's what she wore!

The Welsh-Greek beauty opted for a dress from one of her favorite designers, Norma Kamali! The Tara dress ($195.00) is rendered in metallic black lamé and boasts a V-neck, ruched sides and an asymmetrical hem that shows off the side slit.

Shop:

Norma Kamali "Tara" Dress ($195.00)

Marina also brought back her favorite vintage Chanel gold sunburst logo chain necklace.

[magicwritingcommunity]

Ballroom In The Sky.

Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds Geoff Wild weeps.

He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard. Two years later and her memory still lingers.

The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.

Velvet Heart was Geoff’s love name for Violet.

Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from their elegant townhouse?

Death through misadventure was the colourful term used.

“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”

Violet actually said.

Almost as if she had some premonition.

This was six months before she passed away. An endless see-saw of creepy dawning’s convulsed him.

Yet Wild fondly recalled when they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.

The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn whose allure was its availability.

The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles.

The ripples of long dark hair, her apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura.. On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants, whilst sporting satin moccasins.

“Have I the gumption? The courage. A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her.

“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.

Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards.

“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody.

Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.

They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”

The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies.

They weren’t very big but had a cult following..

Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were.

They were mirror images of each other.

Even in speech and humour.

Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area.

She used to refer to songs as role plays.

“You feel as though you are a member of the audience.” Valerie remarked.

Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but not otherwise or so it seemed.

It was amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.

The sudden moody breaks, abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon.

Valerie’s top sideman....well, he was known as Silent Sam.

He had a track record of sorts.

Sam’s blue attire was appropriate.

He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.

He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and eccentric.

Practical jokes were his forte and the impish grin.

“Yep ..Yup....or Sure.“

These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen for the most part.

He was accident prone.

Valerie had to indicate where things were. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted facial squirms.

One wondered if there was a deeper relationship between them.

Those Blue Skies airs were fillers without Sam.

Every time “Ballroom In The Sky” was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret.

The startled looks were part of this outlandish ritual. Wild recalled now.

“Valerie could croon in a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers.” Geoff whispers in the graveyard.

“JUST A PASSING DREAM...........STILL SO VIVID.......DANCING IN HEAVEN...... KISSES ALL AROUND....MAGIC HAND........A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY.” Geoff and Violet would swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed. “Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint.

This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot. Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors. Ten years earlier it was a beacon.

“I shudder to think…...A jigsaw puzzle.”

Geoff surveying the cemetery.

Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended.” Geoff again. They were fugitives.

Escapees from that heavy-handed dole queue void.

Suddenly something happened.

“What the heavens is? Snap….a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.

He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees.

An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.

”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?

Dancing in the heavens?”

Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment about to speed off.

Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory late evening sun shaft.

Wild could no longer hide from Valerie and Velvet Heart’s identities.

“Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air.”

Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.

Poor Silent Sam would do his usual u-turn into the shadow.

Two months before Geoff's and Violet’s parting, an incident occurred.

Memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys.

Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed into each other.

Valerie and Velvet Heart were magnets for men.

Violet caught Geoff off guard.

“Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”

Having fantasies about Valerie.

Focus on me.

As for that eternity ring remember?”

Those penetrating peepers of Violet knew how to vet a body in a flash.

“Oh no .....not at all.” Geoff with a looping

smirk.

“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.

“You came into my life like.... a new dawn.” Wild poetically.

“You honey tongue you. Geoff our song. Ballroom.” Violet mutters.

Valerie nodded towards Sam.

Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.

“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”

In a tone almost identical to Velvet Heart.

Sam didn’t always act immediately.

“Yep.. Yup ...Sure.” Sam’s stock retort.

“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever cast its bewitching spell throughout the venue.

A medley was included tonight.

“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).

Violet edged toward the stage.

A dim-lit silence ensued.

Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled this dancehall.

A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage with Geoff in toe.

Valerie handed Violet a letter.

Sam was now talking tersely to Valerie.

A misted over photo gallery memory blur in place.

“Pst...Pst. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you.“ Violet’s lofty twang.

“What in the name….I can't phantom…..fathom.”

Geoff shudders.

Violet’s voice a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.

She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet covering Geoff.

“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?

We know Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film along with Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Violet recounts.

“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.

The film was never a huge success but did get our area limited publicity.

Sam earned extra royalties from the soundtrack.

Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.

As for that love letter you mumbled about.

It’s an invite to their secret wedding.

What a time and place to chose for the invitation.

During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Violet observes.

“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind

on occasions or is he?

I was upstairs on the flat roof today.

Six months ago I fell off it.

You’ve never liked me being up there since.”

Violet continuing.

“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.

Well, sometimes.

She was dating you pretending to be me.

We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“

Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”

An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.

Violet’s eyes now ablaze.

“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”

The tease in Violet surfacing..

Geoff was thunderstruck.

Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table.

“Think you’ll like this one. Our song.”

Violet stated.

“May I dance with you?”

Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.

And relieved!”

Silent Sam’s voice weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.

And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.

A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!

“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”

As Sam was in the habit of saying!

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