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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“your turn”

Harry Styles was a romantic. He hated weddings. Rori Williams was practical. She hated weddings, too. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue.

A story of two semi-strangers to lovers with weddings, drunken confessions, and girls with two names.

gif has nothing to do with it but he looks fancy and i like it :) tpwk

Hi! this is for @meetmeinfleetwood to lovers fic challenge! and it’s a little cruel of me to post it today after those wedding pics came out but i have been working on this for awhile and tomorrow’s the deadline so if it’s too soon im sorry and if its just what you need enjoy! I used prompts 12 and 15! It’s my first ofc story which is a little strange for me but i wanted to use a name for this, but besides her hair and eye color and a name she’s pretty generic,,, idk thank you all for always reading and all of that. lmk what you think and reblogs are always really appreciated

Word Count: 9.3k | Warnings: drinking, swearing, implied? smut (couldn’t bring my heart to write any my apologies), harry being a silly drunk, mentions of being afraid of someone taking advantage of someone under the influence but ofc no! actual any misconduct -- a SITCH wedding!!! so cute ::))

Harry Styles was a romantic.

He loved love songs that professed their undying love for their significant other. He loved romance movies, rom coms especially, because they were happy and in love and he got to cry and laugh all in one. He loved writing his own songs about love and he loved spreading the idea of loving and treating others with kindness. He loved first dates and the relationships that sometimes sprouted out of them. He loved reading books about love and how to make it last. He loved poetry that waxed eloquent about love. He loved love.

He hated weddings.

Well, he hadn’t always hated weddings. In the beginning, they were like every other aspect of love, he loved them. But slowly, as he kept receiving announcements of engagement and wedding invitations and he kept not sending out letters of his own, his aversion grew.

Sure, he still loved going. He still wept for the happy couples when they committed themselves to each other. He still clapped profusely and danced to the dj or live band. He still tried to enjoy it. But with weddings he had a nagging sense in the back of his head reminding him that he still hadn’t found it yet. Each of his relationships had fallen short in some way as to not lead him to this destination. So when he sat at his assigned table at these various gatherings, he held a bit of apprehension, a bit of envy, about everything going on. He knew that his smiles were all a little forced and his laugh not quite genuine. His thoughts always managed to be controlled by his green-eyed monster that he always attempted to keep locked away. But at weddings, especially when the alcohol started flowing, he had a harder time controlling it.

Seeing all his friends getting together, getting married, and having children wore on him. Wore him thin more than he ever let on to anyone but his therapist. And his therapist couldn’t seem to give him a better answer than to be patient and not give up hope.

By 2021, Harry had decided that maybe he was just meant to be alone. Love was something he could admire, but it wasn’t meant for him. He could chase it, but it would never let him have it. He was unlucky in love and by Sarah and Mitch’s wedding in the Spring, he had come to terms with it.

He had even been optimistic for it, being Mitch’s Best Man and all had gotten his hopelessly romantic heart all aflutter. He was introduced to Sarah’s Maid of Honor, Renee Williams and she had been lovely. She was 31, a little older than Harry - but age wasn’t something that deterred him, and she had worked with Sarah in Los Angeles before Harry recruited Sarah for the band. They were best of friends and Sarah had known for a long time that Renee would be her Maid of Honor.

When Harry met Renee, he was sure that she was meant to be his person. She was beautiful and hilarious, her beauty mark at the side of her lip was so utterly unique he called her a “right Marilyn”. She insisted she was not a Marilyn Monroe type at all and had laughed. Harry had charmed her with his expert flirting and claimed that just because she was a brunette didn’t mean she was a Marilyn. She had smiled and bantered through the rehearsal dinner with him at her side. He was entranced, it had to be Renee, he had been so sure of it.

When Renee had walked down the aisle just before Sarah, Harry had been sure of it. When Renee had smiled at Harry as Mitch slipped on Sarah’s wedding band, Harry had been sure of it. When he had hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the aisle and into a foyer, Harry had been sure of it. When she laughed at his jokes while they waited for their wedding party photos to be taken, Harry had been sure of it.

When Renee walked up to Harry at the reception with another man wrapped around her, Harry wasn’t so sure of it anymore.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Corey,” Renee smiles giddily between the two men.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’ and he swallows harshly before blinking and putting on a sweet smile. He thrusts his right hand out for Corey to shake.

“Hullo, mate,” Harry says happily.

Corey greets Harry, extending his hand to meet Harry’s with a warm smile and a “how are you”. Harry laughs boisterously and takes a sip of his champagne flute. They shake hands with a firm up and down motion.

“Planning on getting really drunk,” Harry says in response to Corey’s question. “Have a great night, you two,” he finishes and stalks off for a refill.

Renee watches him go with a little bit of a confused look on her face. She sees him tilt his head back and finish his drink before turning to face her boyfriend and peck his cheek. She mumbles to him, “He’s a really nice guy, wouldn’t stop chatting my ear off the past few days. All these people must make him antsy.”

He nods back to her, “They must.”

Harry sidles up to the open bar, discarding his empty flute and exchanging it for a much stronger drink.

“Tequila. Neat...Please.” He sighs and runs a hand through his curls that are slowly becoming less and less coiffed. His fingers slide to the collar of his shirt and tug, attempting to loosen it a little.

“Rough night already?” Someone asks from beside him.

His face turns to them and sees a smiling brunette. Her eyes are big, larger than most eyes he’s come across. They’re brown with tinges of gold and green, likely making them hazel by her standard since most people prefer saying hazel eyes to brown. Her smile is bright and clean and if Harry hadn’t already heard her speak he would assume she was American from that smile. It was perfect, too perfect - the teeth both straight and blindingly white.

He raises his eyebrows at her and thinks about his response. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them parted, but he remains silent when the bartender hands him his tequila. Harry wraps a specifically less ringed hand tonight, he had forgone his ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings as well as the rest of them actually on his left hand. His right hand still had two: the large flashing lavender gemstone encrusted in a gold casing from Stevie Nicks on his middle finger and then a clean gold signet ring with little crosses on the sides on the adjacent ring finger. Every other finger was noticeably empty. So when he picks up the glass there is no familiar clink which draws the attention of himself.

The woman doesn’t pay any attention to his hand, she’s still waiting for him to respond to her question, as well as waiting for her other drink to be made. She was taking advantage of the two drink system and getting two for herself right now, so she didn’t have to come back until much later.

“You have no idea,” is how Harry decides to respond and then turns to leave. He forgets about the woman and sits at his assigned table for his entire drink, talking casually with the people who come to speak with him.

When he's finished, he goes back to the bar to order a second tequila. He thinks about the girl who had stared at him with her big brown eyes. How she had seen him and thought to ask how his night was when it seemed to be going to shit. And how he had blown her off with barely a glance. God, he could be such a prick. After he receives his drink, he forgets yet again and continues to drown his sorrows in the golden liquid that helps him numb the pain that he had once again missed out on his fairytale love story.

The girl Harry had run into sat in the corner of the ballroom for the majority of the night. She settled on just having that first round of drinks for herself and one glass of obligatory champagne during the toasts. Other than that, she had promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk and go off with a random stranger. This was not a wedding for that. This wedding couldn’t be for that. She just needed to keep her head low and try to have a semi-pleasant time.

When she was nursing her champagne through the toasts, the man at the bar caught her eye again. She knew who he was. He was the Best Man after all. Sarah talked about him a lot, even Renee after the past few days, but seeing him at the bar had been the first time she’d ever seen him up that close. It was strange, he was so human. So tangible in that moment. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His fingers tapped as they waited for his drink. His green eyes blinked and darted around as he took in his surroundings and even looked at her. He simply was and it had startled her to see him in a slightly bewildered state at the bar, but again, she wasn’t one to judge.

Get through the wedding. Try to have a semi-pleasant time.

It was time for the Best Man’s speech. Renee had just given the Maid of Honor’s and now Harry was up. He stood up and wavered a little as he tried to stand up straight. The neat tequila likely makes his stance a little harder to maintain. Mitch looks up at Harry at his side and smiles fondly.

Harry raises one hand in an awkward wave while the other is planted firmly on the table.

“Hullo,” he starts, “I’m Harry and I’m the Best Man, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

The entire group of guests laugh wholeheartedly, taken by the talented young man.

“To start,” he stutters, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol he’s had, and his smile slithers into a smirk. “Let’s hear it for the bride and groom, the lovely Sarah and Mitch Jones!”

Queue the laughter again. Harry laughs too when Mitch slaps his arm playfully, he turns to look at him with a mock ‘what did I do wrong’ expression.

“I had a speech written out, took a week to write, made it nice and poetic for these two lovebirds, but it seems I’ve misplaced it,” he pats at his pockets and sighs before rubbing his forefinger at his bottom lip. “I hate weddings.”

Everyone laughs again, thinking he’s joking. Harry grimaces but it passes as a smile even though she can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.

He rambles on for a few minutes about love and commitment, how this is just the beginning for Sarah and Mitch and everyone laughs at the appropriate times and just when he’s wrapping up, successfully stumbling through his messy mind, everyone begins to clap.

“To the happy couple…” queue applause, but she sees him say something else, it’s drowned out by the crowd cheering and clinking glasses again.

He sits back down, downing his champagne glass that’s been refilled twice already during the speeches. Mitch leans over and whispers something in Harry’s ear as he twists a hand through his hair. Harry shifts away from Mitch and gives him a look, telling Mitch that he’s fine.

The party goes on, a few more speeches, a few more glasses of champagne for Harry, a few more sighs from the girl in the back of the room.

She watches the first dance of Mitch and Sarah but once that part is over she slinks off. She’s got half a drink left and all she wants is to be alone. Tired of the party, tired of the people, tired of having to try to have a good time. The Rowland-Jones Party had rented the entire place out, so she wanders out of the main room and down a hallway until the music is a faint buzz in her ear. The air grows colder as the amount of people dwindles from over a hundred to one.

There’s a door to her right that has an intricate golden handle that she pulls down on. It opens quietly onto a similar ballroom that is slightly smaller than the one the party was going on in. It’s quiet and spacious, her steps echo as she enters on heeled feet. The clicking of her satin stilettos resonate against the linoleum. She walks to the center of the room and turns around herself, lifting her head to the light in the room. An ornate chandelier is still above her, it’s the same gold as the handle that let her in. Her eyes travel to the walls that contain swirls of gold as well, everything was encrusted in gold and splotchy vintage mirrors. It was beautiful and she saw herself in the reflection of one of those splotchy vintage mirrors and actually felt beautiful in that moment.

No one else saw her but herself and she thought she was beautiful, a fleeting thought as she watched her body move. No one to watch as her reflection swayed with her. Her lavender dress swished back and forth, the end of it brushing around her ankles. The tulle fabric climbed her torso, cinching at her waist and draping over her breasts. The sleeves fluttered over her shoulders and ended midway down her upper arm. The somewhat sheer material made her tan skin look all the more carmely in the golden light of the chandelier. Her pendant necklace was silver and glinted in the light as it sat evenly over her exposed clavicle and decolletage.

In the corner opposite of the door there was a single table with three chairs. It seemed whoever was meant to put things away had grown tired and left these out. She wasn’t complaining as she crossed the floor to take a seat. It was the perfect escape. It was quiet and not too cold in the room, which was especially nice since she had left her jacket in the coat room. What wasn’t so nice is that her phone had died and she had nothing to do in the room. It wasn’t horrible though, she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She just feared what would happen if she sat alone too long with no escape of the internet to drown those thoughts.

That contemplation was squashed with an unwitting solution not ten minutes later. She had been sitting at the table, sipping her drink occasionally and staring at the chandelier. Sighing with content that it was finally silent beside the clink of her melting ice cubes. The house mixed drink was strong, but with each passing second it grew more and more diluted. She considered herself completely sober.

She only questioned that when she noticed a second person in the room. She hadn’t heard them open the door, but she heard their loud footsteps shortly after.

He all but stumbled in and was entranced by the chandelier like she had been. He walks to the center in a similar fashion and twists around, only this time his balance isn’t as good as hers. He ends up on his ass, legs splayed in front of him and hands behind him only cushioning his fall a little. He lets out a huff, “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face before bringing it down to look around the room again. His eyes are foggy with alcohol, everything hazy and slightly blurry. It feels like he’s moving with superspeed but as she watches him with a tilted head she wonders why he’s moving so slowly.

He squints while looking around after a moment, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. His tongue comes to wet his lips, but this time it's for a touch too long like he’s genuinely tasting the liquor on them. She raises her brows, observing him, her presence seemingly unknown.

“Oi, you!” He slurs the words and points lazily at her reclined in her chair. “Are you real?”

She half smiles and replies with a simple ‘yes’.

“I like your dress,” he says merely like he was stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. His hair falling into his eyes again despite him just pushing it back.

“Thanks.”

He makes his way to standing, his process rather ungraceful. He twists onto his hands and knees and begins to push himself up. He slips once before making it to full standing, he sways slightly and looks around again like he’s forgotten why he stood up. His eyes land on her again and he decides to make his way over to the table.

“You should probably sit,” she says, watching him splay his arms around him to keep his balance. She had seen him an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine, but now he seemed absolutely and utterly pissed.

“Thanks, mum,” he says as he thunks into the seat beside her, his hand waving off her suggestion.

Her brows raise at the slightly rude comment, but she leans back in her seat still observing him.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She asks once he’s settled and has his head propped up with one of his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him scan her face again, trying to see if he recognizes her.

His mind must come up empty, a vague memory of the bar slipping away without a second thought.

“It was a joke,” he shrugs.

“No it wasn’t,” she replies easily.

His eyes narrow and he leans forward a little shakily, “Who are you?”

“Aurora.” She licks at her own lips, a stray bit of liquid lingering on her lips.

“That’s a Disney princess name,” he says, unconvinced, how most drunk people were when you told them the truth.

“And my great-grandmother’s and mine,” she responds, a grin playing on her lips as she watches him think it over. “It’s wild how multiple people can have the same name. Did you know people can share a last name as well?”

He leans back in his chair now, unhappy with her snarky response.

“Isn’t that why we’re here, two people joining together and sharing the same last name now?” He threads his fingers as he speaks, mimicking something coming together.

“Yep,” She perks at the question he poses. “You still didn’t answer my question.” Her brows raise once playfully.

“What?” Harry seemed to have lost the plot, his fuzzy drunken brain choosing to forget the first thing she asked him while in this private ballroom of theirs.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She repeats, louder and with emphasis, the words echoing this time.

“Oh,” he looks up to the ceiling and blows air past his lips harshly, “S’ a long story.”

“We got all night,” she offers, and raises her glass to her lips once again.

“A night wouldn’t even cover half of it,” he ponders seriously, his mind reeling. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“Why me?” She laughs like she’s just received the most delightful surprise.

“Because,” He starts and then sits quiet for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on the table as he peers at her, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“You only just met me,” she responds. “Not to mention, you’re drunk as fuck, Best Man. Just minutes ago I watched you stumble in here and truly fall on your ass.”

“Then tell me about yourself and I’ll explain my hatred for weddings.”

“You’re awfully good at bargaining for being this inebriated.”

“I never lose my charm, no matter how pissed I may be,” he smirks and gives a sloppy wink, hair falling in his face yet again.

She scoffs, but she is rather amused and intrigued by the man beside her. His tie now completely loosened, hair falling every which way, and his green eyes set on her. The shiny shoes he wore slipped around on the ground as he shuffled his feet below him like a child wanting to go play. She figured it was just his drunk brain trying to amuse himself or something. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue. She at least had to entertain the foolish notion that maybe he actually was interested in getting to know her. If anything, it would help pass the time until she could go home.

“I’ll bite,” she relents.

The smirk doesn’t leave his face, it only widens, “Only if I can, too.”

“I wasn’t saying-”

“Shush, sh-sh-shush. I know that,” he holds a hand up at her, trying to get her to be quiet. He sways again, even in his seat he looks as if he could fall over at any moment. She wondered if he might not remember this tomorrow. “I was bein’...” he licks his lips in a pause, “suggestive.”

She laughs again, knowing his sober brain probably would have chosen a more articulate and suave word since ‘suggestive’ was rather tactless and more straight to the point. If she learned anything from all the conversations she overhead about him, Harry was definitely one for tact.

“You were something, that’s for sure,” she wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, she draws the hand down from its hovering state and lays it against the table again. She withdraws her own hand back to her glass, her drink almost completely gone now.

He smiles, pleased with himself, but unaware that his charms had worn off with his exorbitant amount of alcohol consumed. At least on this girl they weren’t working. She had never been attracted to people who were too drunk to help themselves and she always hoped that’s how others felt too. She was thankful he had stumbled in on her rather than someone who didn’t feel the same way. It made her sick to think of what someone with evil intentions might do if they came across a babbling drunken version of Harry. Pushing those thoughts away since that wasn’t the case, she decided to pat his hand once just in reassurance to herself and him that this was really happening.

“I’m twenty-five.” She states.

Harry nods, a small smile on his lips now rather than a smirk as he watches her again. He liked how smoothly she moved rather than the rest of the world in his drunken eyes, everything else was choppy and fast. She was elegant and fluid, calming even.

“I love love,” Harry says, eyes remaining on hers, no trace of a joke in his tone, “And it hates me.”

“That can’t be true,” she squints at him, a frown gracing her face for a moment at the sadness she sees in his watery eyes. Not crying watery, just watery from his drunken state.

He says nothing, waiting for her to offer more information about herself before he says anything else. This was the deal after all. She quickly realizes why he isn’t responding and sighs, conversation with drunks was tedious already, but Harry seemed determined to make it even harder.

“I’m from California.”

“They always are,” Harry mutters to himself. He ignores her hum of a question, asking what he just said with a simple sound. “All my friends, they’re either getting married or they’re already married and got kids on the way or whatever. They all found love and I’m just here with fuck all.”

She sincerely doubts what the drunken man is telling her right now, but she knows how to play the game now to get more information. “I hate my job,” she states.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed, like I fucked up one too many times and now I’m doomed to never find love.”

Her eyes widen at this, he sounds so damn sad and she wishes she could take his pain away. She knew what a good guy and she couldn’t imagine why he would deserve to feel this way. No one deserved to feel like they weren’t worthy of love. His sad state truly almost brought her to tears. She’s there in a stunned silence and Harry is confused why she hasn’t said anything more about herself. It was her turn.

“What’s something else about you?” He asks, his hand fiddling with itself on the table. She notices once again that there aren’t as many rings on his fingers as what she thought was usual.

She licks her lips and reaches her hand forward. She grasps Harry’s fiddling hand and stops his movement. “I feel sorry that you feel this way, no one deserves the kind of pain you’re inflicting on yourself. I’m very very sorry for you, Harry.”

“That’s not really…” He trails off, losing his focus on her face and instead looking at their hands touching. The feeling is so intense in his buzzing body. Her touch was so calming compared to the electric feeling in his body. It felt nice.

“Can I ask you a different question and then I’ll tell you something no one knows about me?”

He nods eagerly.

“And you can’t dodge the question, you really have to answer it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What did you say at the end of your speech? It got drowned out by applause, but I saw you say something.”

“You noticed?” He asks kind of surprised, then scratches at his eyebrow. He sees her slight glare and knows to get to his answer. “Asked when it’d be my turn…like to fall in love, y’know.”

She sighs, saddened yet again by his words. “Okay, well, here’s my secret... I hate weddings, too.”

Harry’s eyes light up, maybe he really was in love. She purses her lips and pulls back from him.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” he breathes out, again making a false confession. His drunken brain wants it to be true. He’s desperate for his search to be over, for her to be his person.

She smiles that same sad smile that she keeps getting when he says these sad things to her.

“I assure you, I am not, Best Man.”

He looks at her confusedly. She was beautiful, she was clarity to him. Her brown hair was straight with a little wave in it, like it was straightened for the occasion but never truly that way otherwise. It flowed around her head and shoulders, but she had it tucked behind both ears. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she just simply was beautiful. Her sun tanned skin looked soft under the golden glow and Harry was sure she was an angel or something.

“Why not?” He insists, leaning forward.

She stands up from her seat. He follows clumsily behind her, standing as well. He was still taller than her even in her high heels. He smiled like a lovesick child down at her, his eyes as big as the moon. She bites at her lip as she sees him look at her so lovingly, so misguidedly. Then she leans up towards his face, up on her tiptoes and past his lips. Her hands hold him straight with them curled in his suit’s lapels. She presses a sweet and gentle kiss to his cheek, closer to his jaw than anything.

“Good night, Harry,” she whispers against his skin before pulling away.

His eyes flutter open, his looks at her confusedly, slightly unaware that he had closed his eyes at all.

“Good night…” He had already forgotten her name, something with an A...or was it an O? He’d have to ask Sarah and Mitch about the girl who had talked to him in the empty golden ballroom, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was certain. She was the one - if only he could find out her name. If he remembered this at all or if he just thought it was a dream.

She leaves the room before him and as she leaves she wonders if she maybe should have made sure he was alright, but she figured their talk was sobering enough. The night was ending and she had a sneaking suspicion that there were plenty of people here tonight looking out for him.

Harry forgot about the girl in the ballroom. Or at least he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. He had woken up at Tom’s place where he had said he would stay after the wedding reception so he hadn’t gone home with a girl. He couldn’t remember her name so he couldn’t really ask anyone about her and he didn’t exactly have a lot of people he could ask. He wanted to ask Sarah and Mitch, but they were already off on their honeymoon and he was one of those people who would never bother a couple on their honeymoon. He was too embarrassed to ask Renee and anyone else for that matter.

So, instead, he forgot. Harry forgot about her for three weeks until Sarah and Mitch returned. He had called them for a hike and lunch the moment their plane had landed. He had missed some of his best friends. It was a lull in the year, where he wasn’t touring or in the studio, just living and writing when he felt like it. So maybe he was in need of some inspiration.

“Ah! The Jones’!” He exclaims as he walks up to their parked car at the head of the trail.

Sarah laughs and Mitch rolls his eyes, half-heartedly since he’s just as happy to see Harry as Harry is to see him.

“I missed you,” Mitch says as he brings Harry in for a hug.

“Don’t let the missus hear that,” Harry tuts while he sends a wink over Mitch’s shoulder to Sarah.

“It’s all he could talk about for the past few weeks,” Sarah jokes as she goes in for a hug with Harry. “How do you think Harry is? Hope he’s eating? I miss Harry.” She mimics Mitch’s voice.

Mitch shakes his head shyly, a smile spreading on his face after a moment. “That. Is not true at all,” he assures Harry, “But you do look a little thinner. What have you been eating?”

Harry elbows him with a grin, “I’m fine. Been bored so I’ve just been filling the time with working out.”

They start their ascent up the hill and into the canyon. Mitch nods, his worry for his friend subsiding momentarily before he says something strange.

“I’ve been wanting to ask, but you’ve been gone, about a girl at the wedding.”

“Oh?” Sarah gives Mitch a knowing look.

“Yeah, well the thing is, I’m not sure if she was real or not. I think she was real, but I was so drunk, there’s so many bits missing in my memory.”

Sarah and Mitch both laugh. “You were very drunk, H,” Mitch confirms.

Harry ignores him, “I even asked her if she was real and she said yes, but y’know people can lie in dreams. All I remember is she was amazing and she had a princess name, I think.”

Sarah thinks about the guest list. “No princess names that I can think of. What did she look like?”

Harry squints ahead of them, his sunglasses pushing his curls back on the top of his head. “She had straight brown hair, not long or short. She said she was, uh, twenty-five. She was in lavender, I think.”

“You think a lot,” Mitch interjects which earns him a glare from Harry.

Harry thinks about this part that he remembered vividly, how she had been so confident that he wasn’t. He adds, “...And I told her I was in love with her.”

“Oh god, Harry,” Sarah sighs.

Mitch gives Harry an apologetic smile.

“She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t run off either. We talked for awhile.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” Sarah says.

“Okay, let’s see,” Mitch grows to be the leader of the investigation, wanting everything for his best friend to find the love he knew he deserved. “Twenty-five year old brunettes at our wedding who are single. C’mon there weren't that many people there.”

Sarah thinks about it again. “Renee’s sister is twenty-five. I don’t remember what she was wearing, I hardly saw her all night,” she pauses, “Which is strange since she wasn’t on the job for once.”

“What do you mean ‘on the job’?” Harry asks curiously, remembering his girl saying she hated her job.”

“She’s a wedding planner,” Sarah says, glancing at him because she was almost sure that Renee’s sister was not who Harry was talking about. “But she had referred me to someone else for the wedding, she consulted sometimes and got us a discount, but said she didn’t like working with people she knew personally.”

Harry nodded, how could Renee’s sister be his girl? How could a wedding planner hate weddings? And wouldn’t it be all the more awkward if the girl was Renee’s sister? Renee’s little sister, could it be? He had no clue.

“I don’t think it’s her, though,” Sarah gives a half-smile, “She’s not super...uh, how do I say this?”

As Sarah says “touchy-feely,” Mitch interjects.

“She’s pretty cold-hearted. She’s relatively nice, but what makes her such a good wedding planner is she doesn’t get caught up in the sentimentality of it, she just understands other people’s emotions and knows how to make them feel amazing.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Sarah looks at Mitch with a strong glare. After all, he was talking about her best friend’s little sister.

“Well, what’s her name?” Harry insists, semi-off put, but knowing her secret made him think it was possible for Renee’s sister and his ballroom girl to be the very same.

“Rori Williams, think it’s short for something else, but I don’t know, as long as I’ve known her she goes by Rori.” Sarah gives Harry a sad smile and it reminds him of his mystery girl.

“Do you think I could meet her or something? I just want to know if it’s her.” Harry says as they reach the first peak on their hike. He looks out at the view from there, Los Angeles was green for once, but he knew it would quickly fade to brown and tan as the spring plants died off again from the summer heat.

“Pretty sure she’s off working on some destination wedding right now. She doesn’t like being bothered when she’s working,” Sarah gives Harry a look for two reasons as she says that. One, because she knows his next question would be to contact her anyway. And two, she’s saying how he is exactly the same, hates being contacted when he’s busy with work. “I can text Renee to see what’s up.”

Harry nods, “Please…” He begins to imagine Rori as his ballroom girl and mutters to himself, “A June Wedding…” getting lost in a silly little daydream.

“Harry Styles is asking after you,” Renee snickers over the cellphone line.

“What is this? The 1800s?” Rori sighs, as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She tries to brush her hair from her face with a flick of her head, which makes for a rather silly sight as her head and shoulder move awkwardly. “People don’t ‘ask after’ anyone anymore.”

She was in Hawaii, Maui specifically, steaming a sneaky last crinkle out of the latest bride’s wedding veil.

“Well, he still is doing it. You know how he is.”

“I actually don’t,” Rori responds, easily, ignoring the memories of her two encounters with him. “What does he want?”

“Wants to meet you or something,” Renee says easily. “Thinks he met you at Sarah’s wedding, obviously impossible since I know you scampered off half way through the reception and he was falling down drunk at the half way marker as well…” she trails off.

Rori knows her sister well and expects the next thing to come out of Renee’s mouth.

“Oh my god! Did you hook up with him?!”

Expecting this, Rori responds quickly and calmly, “No, we did not hook up, I would never... I did watch him fall on his ass, though.”

“So it was you!”

“What was me?” Rori squints her eyes at her sister over the phone and finally straightens from her steaming task. She feels like she’s only half paying attention to the conversation, especially since she had no intention of meeting up with Harry. He had been so sweet and sad, and she truly wished him the best, but she knew she wasn’t the answer to his problem.

“You!” Renee all but yells into the phone, “Are his dream girl! He’s been wondering if you were even real for weeks.”

“I’m real,” Rori sighs and crosses the room she’s in to sit at the desk she was using as a work space. She flicks through the planner she was using for the Hearst wedding, set to take place tomorrow. “But I’m certainly not his dream girl...I told him that when he said he was in love with me.”

“He what?!” Renee exclaims and hears her sister sigh once again, she knows Rori is growing tired of the conversation and is ready to offer an excuse to hang up any moment now. “Nevermind that, I’m going to tell Sarah to give him your number and the date you get back to Los Angeles. Keep next weekend clear.”

Before Rori can open her strawberry pink lips to reply, Renee is squealing a goodbye and hanging up. She felt her shoulders sag with the empty line, she reclined into the nicely plush swivel chair. This is why she stayed out of love and relationships when they didn’t relate to work, they were exhausting. Too much ‘he said, she said’ going on at all times. Color palettes, seating arrangements and menus were simple, they made sense, they could be arranged and put into place. Relationships were messy, the actual event of a wedding could even be messy, but when she planned them out, for a single moment everything was orderly and simple. She was in control. She knew she couldn’t be Harry’s dream girl because she knew she couldn’t control that situation.

Upon arriving back in the continental United States, at the end of June, Rori ubered immediately to her apartment in Silverlake. Well, it was a converted garage behind a house of a friend of Renee’s. Like most apartments in Los Angeles, it was funky, but it was Rori’s until she decided where she wanted to move. She never wanted to buy in LA and she never wanted to upgrade from the place she had called home for the past four years.

Almost immediately after dropping her pink work tote bag and worn backpack on the floor next to her medium sized navy suitcase, her phone rang through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting with an unknown number. A New York number. Possibly a new client, she picks up quickly and shuts the window-paned door behind her. The days were long, the longest day of the year had almost arrived, yet the sun was still beginning to set in the sky and turn the light blue into a painting of oranges pinks and purples.

“Hello?”

“Is Rori Williams there?” A British voice asks, almost timidly.

“Who’s asking?”

“...Harry.”

“I was told you’d be calling or something along those lines,” she smiles to herself.

Harry sat in his room, chewing at his lip, still unsure if the voice on the other side of the phone call was the woman he had talked to previously.

“Can we go for a drink sometime? How’s tomorrow?”

“Someone is quite enthusiastic.”

“It’s just...I’m trying to figure something out.”

“So I’ve heard,” she chuckles slightly.

“So you won’t tell me whether you’re the girl I talked to at Sarah and Mitch’s wedding will you?”

“What would be the fun in that?”

“So it’s a right Cinderella, if the shoe fits situation,” he mumbles, slightly to himself, but she hears him clearly.

She laughs.

“I don’t really care for Cinderella, I’m not really one for Disney princesses at all, actually.”

His breath catches, a foggy memory of something having to do with princesses tries to break into his mind. He couldn’t remember still and he vowed time and time again that he would never get that drunk again. Too much time lost.

“Alright, Harry. I’ve just gotten home from a work trip so I’m planning on a bath, some wine, and some terribly raunchy TV to get my mind off of my life. How about you pick a time and a place for drinks and hopefully I will show up? Great! Goodnight.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just clicks the red button that hangs up the phone and goes on with her professed plans. Harry sits in stunned silence for a few moments, whatever he had gotten himself into was going to be a ride of a lifetime.

At a quarter past six, Harry sits anxiously at the bar top of a semi casual, semi fancy, totally cool bar he loved. It was private so he wouldn’t be bombarded with people, but it was still lively enough that it wouldn’t be dead silent if conversation lulled between him and Rori. That is, if she showed up.

His foot begins to tap, ever so persistently against the silver footrest at the bottom of the bar. His eyes shift from right to left, not wanting to order a drink before she arrives, but also not wanting to wait much longer and not order a drink. He’d waived off the bartender twice already.

She walks in, right on time, Harry had just arrived early. Her lips part into a happy smile at his anxious stance at the bar, he mirrors her expression at the sight of her.

She’s wearing a billowy white button down, the sleeves cinching perfectly at her petite wrists, cinched beneath a brown corset-like tank top. Her breasts showed their true size today in this outfit. She had the collar pulled out and the corset made it so that her cleavage was perfectly sculpted just beneath the crisp white cloth. Her pants were sleek and black, understated to draw more of a focus to her top as well as the lavender jewel inlaid pendant hanging just above the swells of her breast. Harry’s eyes dipped to that level for a moment, but quickly recovered to focus on her face. The night of the wedding had been blurry, but he was sure Rori’s face was the one of his mystery girl.

He’s shy tonight and a little more reserved than last time. He’s out of his comfortable bubble, what could anyone expect from a man so constantly watched. He fidgets with the top most button of his shirt that was buttoned and thinks about unbuttoning it to reveal a little more of his chest, but he refrains. At a friend’s wedding he feels safe, but in public he’s always watching, always aware of the possible prying eye. But like he had said drunkenly to Rori, he always maintained his charm, no matter the circumstances.

“Lavender was gorgeous on you, but this…” he gives a graceful sweep of his hand to gesture at her outfit tonight, “is extremely enchanting.”

“So you remember me in lavender? I thought you couldn’t remember me at all.” She grins as she stands directly beside him, similar to the first time they had chatted at a bartop.

Harry clears his throat at her tease, “I knew once I laid eyes on you, I would know. So now I know.”

She smirks at his reasoning and orders a vodka cranberry, both not wanting to get off her ass or look any certain way. Vodka cranberries were acceptable mature drinks, but not overly pretentious in any way. Harry tells the bartender to make it two. She looks at him with a discerning eye.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asks as she slides into the bar seat that seems to be trying to look vintage but was likely made no less than five years ago.

Harry sits too, more easily since his legs are longer than hers. “We met in the ballroom for the first time, did we not?”

“No...we met at the bar in the reception room.” Her hand splays to feel the stone of this counter, cold unlike the wood of the previous one. “We were about this close after you’d rudely stepped ahead of me and ordered before I could...not that you noticed. I asked if you were having a rough night and you pretty much dismissed me.” She bites her lip as she tells him the story, her eyes widen as she watches the distress roll over his features at what she says.

“Oh god,” One of his hands reaches to grab her hand to emphasize his apology, “I’m so sorry, that’s so rude. I was having quite a rough night as you would eventually see.”

He stares at her face, trying to meet her eyes, but she’s glued to the sight of their hands intertwined. He was so smooth and it was making her melt, making the walls she had purposefully put up for this date weak. She had rules, especially for guys like Harry - not that there was anyone that compared to him in her life, but she had them and she knew she couldn’t just be swept off her feet by his sweet voice and gorgeous face that has the most puppy-dog look on it.

She knows she shouldn’t but the extra ice she had added to her personality melts away, her eyes going slightly moony as she watches him visibly relax again. “No worries, I enjoyed your company upon the second meeting, even if you didn’t even remember my name after it.”

“Well,” he finally catches her eye, “That’s where I have a bit of a bone to pick.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t tell me your real name...gave me some fake name I can’t even remember, but it certainly wasn’t…” His eyes shift to her pendant again and he looks back at her brassy eyes in the bar’s lighting. “If your name is Rori Williams, why is your pendant an ‘A’?” He says slowly, another foggy memory trying to break the surface of his knowledge but still failing.

She finally feels in control of the situation, calm and assured of herself, which was maybe unfair since it seemed Harry really had a hard time remembering that night and she could really fuck with him if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t - couldn’t - with those earnest eyes looking at her.

“I told you my real name the first time we talked, Harry. It’s Aurora,” she retracts her hand from beneath his grasp and touches at the necklace, “I go by Rori both socially and professionally, but officially it’s Aurora and this had been my great-grandmother’s. I don’t go anywhere without it.”

“Almost as beautiful as its wearer,” he smirks, his gaze stuck on her face, attempting to convey something specific. She thinks she knows what he’s saying with his look.

“You’re quite the flirt,” she rolls her eyes playfully before specifically choosing to take a sip of her drink through the little straw the bartender had put in it. It draws Harry’s attention to her lips, and after a moment they were wet with a bit of excess vodka cranberry and Harry felt himself grow a little hot at the tips of his ears when her eyes meet with his. She had caught him staring, but he recovers easily.

“I remember telling you I never lose my charm, it’s true is it not?” Harry inquires, head leaning closer to her as he takes a sip of his own drink, making a show to lick his lips after removing them from the edge of the lowball glass.

Her laughter is loud but not overbearing, Harry thinks it’s the best laugh he’s ever heard even if she’s laughing at him. She’s true in that laugh, she’s not trying to make him fall for her with that laugh, it’s just her enjoying herself.

She responds with something sweet and the two begin the back and forth of a successful date. They both drink around three drinks as the night persists, but it’s enough for her to feel the burning pull inside the pit of her belly for Harry. His hands stay relatively to himself besides a few subtle touches at her hair and hands every so often, his feet are the ones to blame. At one point in the night, he hooks his loafer covered foot around her ankle and she is quick to lean into it, reciprocating the footsie with ease. Each brush of his leg against hers is electrifying, every nerve in her body was beginning to go crazy. She was buzzing in a way that she hadn’t when she had first encountered Harry. Tonight he was more suave, but with a tinge of timidness that made him irresistible.

Harry made sure he wouldn’t get drunk tonight, ordering only as much as Rori. He didn’t want to be the fool who couldn’t remember their time together, again. Plus, he didn’t want to forget any of their time together, he wanted to remember it all. Everything about her was amazing, the feeling he had about her, the nagging desire to meet her was for a reason, he was sure of it. If her voice was a melody, then she was the most beautiful love song he had ever heard.

At 11:30, he leans in close to Rori, his nose brushing at the hair tucked at her ear and asks her if she wants to leave. She looks at him confused, the warm feeling in her stomach falls because she thinks he wants to end the night.

“Oh,” she says dejected, she swore it was going well. “Right..That’s it.”

Harry’s brows crinkle at her sad face.

“No, love, I was saying,” he raises his brows, “Y’know.”

“Oh! Right! You just sounded so...I don’t know, serious.” She sinks in her seat, realizing her presumptions had been wrong.

“I was trying to be,” he twists his lips trying to find the word, as blush rises on his cheeks. “Seductive.”

The two of them are quickly realizing they can’t pretend with each other. Rori can’t keep up the harsh facade against love with him, he sees right through it. Harry can’t play his old tricks with her, she sees right through them.

She laughs again, “Well, it just sounded like you were bored. Sometimes your moves fall really flat.” She offers a sweet wink in consolation for his failed attempt at trying to really get her weak in the knees.

They were a lovesick mess together as they clambered off their bar seats and exit the bar that had gotten increasingly loud.

“So what’s next?” She asks on the warm summer night.

He steps closer and takes the liberty of fiddling with the strap of the corset she has on. His head is tilted down as he towers over her. “You know me Rori, I’m a hopeless romantic so I desperately want to take you out for dinner sometime and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but,” his breath fans over her face now as he shifts impossibly closer, “I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me. Just tell me what you’d prefer and it’s all yours.”

Her breathing has become a slight pant as his words wash over her. His nose brushes over the ridge of hers and she takes the moment to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him onto her. They were in the alleyway beside the bar, away from prying eyes except a few people too drunk to recognize Harry's face that is all but hidden in Rori.

“Harry,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes the decision to cross them into the point of no return. She wants this too much. She hadn’t thought this would be how her night would go, thought she would brush him off and never see him again, but god, she needed his warm body everywhere. Needed him to touch every part of her.

“Rori,” he responds.

“I want the second one first,” she whispers, feeling a little too eager, but feeling Harry press excitedly against her reassures her.

His lips press a searing kiss to her and she makes a sound of happiness at the contact. Her hands fist at the fabric of his shirt as she presses her lips feverishly back onto his. Harry’s quick to grip at the back of her neck and the small of her back, keeping her tight to him as he licks into her mouth.

“Can still taste that last vodka cran,” he notes before kissing her again.

Their tongues rub against each other, sloppily but with a tenderness hidden there as well. She snorts at his words which makes him smile and they’re kissing is becoming more silly as they try to contain their laughter. He pulls away, finally giving up trying to maintain the kiss while they both laughed.

“Would you like to come back to mine?” Harry asks as he leans his forehead against hers.

Rori’s eyes flicker open and stare into his, the focus only on his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles and beauty marks below them. She nods her head, making his move with it. They both smile, trying to contain their laughter once more.

She presses her lips against his once more for a small peck and then lowers her head into the crook of his neck. The skin warm and smooth against hers as she whispers happily to him.

“It’s your turn now, Harry,” Rori says blissfully.

She had been the answer to all his questions.

#to lovers fic challenge #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut

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thebrowfixxus · 1 year

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eyebrowwaxing-blog · 5 years

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goreverine-archive1 · 3 years

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💤🛏️ It's time he is watched

👀🛏️ to be watched sleeping or 💤🛏️ to watch | open (continuing from this disaster)

Krakoa does unleash one’s mutant gifts. There’s the fact that children come out of the womb expressing mutanthood now, rather than almost exclusively adolescence. There’s unusual secondary and tertiary mutations people find themselves developing as they live on the island -- often in ways that make them no longer pass as human. Then there’s the general expansion of powers themselves, as if all has become magnified threefold.

The island affects feral mutants -- the class of mutants expressing animalistic traits, be they mammalian, avian or otherwise -- as well. Unfortunately, being the son of Logan, that includes Daken. For someone so reluctant to give in to the beast, to elevate himself through rigorous grooming and engagement with high society, it’s distressing.

Daken’s body grows out his hair faster than he can wax it, and he attains a few more centimeters of muscle and fat on his body. Yes, his senses are sharpened, but so are his instincts. He’s more territorial, prone to following scents, behaving in a way... uncivilized. Unacceptable. Just as how unacceptable it is for him to give into his animal desires, to sleep more comfortably on the hard surface of the Boneyard’s organically-generated floors than his dizzyingly soft bed. (Dog.)

He sleeps more or less peacefully, right now, a siesta within the guest room that he’s marked with aimless charcoal doodles. Curled naked on the floor -- very Krakoan -- clothes piled up beside him, he naps without so much of a stir other than the occasional twitch of his restless legs. It’s not long enough to dream much, but he dreams nostalgic about Los Angeles, Hollywood -- a different path. Not upsetting, just wistful. Steady breathing, body warmed by the sun filtering through the windows...

...and then warmed by the feeling of a sheet settling softly over his body. It’s enough to make him stir from his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he catches a strong scent. He blearily opens his eyes --

“What... what the fuck?”

Kurt Wagner, sex priest supreme, is looking down at him with a kind expression, crouched by his now-covered body. He shoots Daken a smile -- as Daken tries to scramble up to his hands and knees, at least -- before bamfing away, leaving Daken coughing in a cloud of purple sulfur.

Rachel, I just caught Nightcrawler watching me sleep.

Sure, buddy, goes her bemused voice in his head. Did he tuck you in?

Yes!

Uhuh. Come down here, there’s work for you to do.

Fine, he thinks as he pulls on his clothes and throws the blanket back on the bed. He’ll unravel this mystery later.

#herrwagner #voyeurism cw #◼️ v: krakoa.

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btchcrft · 4 years

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𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑

weeks have turned to months and your journey to olympus, your acceptance of your life as a demigod, has lead up to this moment. it’s been brutal, wrought with pain and close calls, thick with loss, but you’ve endured. as you begin to get ready to sleep, winding down for the night, something inside of you feels different. there’s a strength that grows that you only dimly knew was there before. you feel stronger, faster, more attuned to your senses and your own inner power. if you ever doubted that you might have divine blood in your veins before, now, more than ever, you feel it.

as soon as your head hits the pillow you fall fast asleep, exhausted from the events that have lead up to this point. who knows however long later, you “awaken”. you’re not where you fell asleep, nothing is as it was when you slept. you have to blink a few times but you realize that you’re in a place that seems familiar to you. describe this place? what does it look like, sound like, smell like?

eyes blink open and i already know where i am. it's the scent of paint, of fresh canvases that line the walls, piled in corners. there's a plush, grey rug beneath my bare feet and, a few feet from it is an area that's sectioned off from the small sitting room of my studio in los angeles. it's the one place that i always came to work, where i felt like i could release everything i've been holding in and no one would judge, no one would tell me i'm overreacting or not being true to myself.

this is home away from home; sanctuary.

there's a large canvas on an easel that's blank, four by four. it's what i was going to work on before having to leave. mixed in with the scent of fresh paint is the salty sea air that breezes in through the large windows that give plenty of natural light. the sun is high in the sky, which is strange since it's winter back in my new home, but this is comfortable, familiar. the furniture is still where i left it. two large, comfortable chairs, the end table with art magazines, the espresso machine on the small kitchenette behind it. a smile dances across my lips and the tension in my shoulders eases.

dust motes dance in the los angeles sunlight like flecks of gold and the air smells of a mix between brine and paint that has yet to cure. it’s a sharp yet oddly comforting scent to you, familiar, soothing. you recognize this place as a rough-and-ready altar that is – for once – not devoted to your mother or any other deity, only you.

you look around and something upon the once-blank canvas catches your eye. is it blank? it doesn’t look to be, for shapes seem to dance in its ivory depths now, alit with silvery traces that look to be forming a face or an arm or an eye, but it’s all too vague, having no true form until they come out from the canvas as if born from it.

what does this figure look like to you, and how does your heart respond? are they familiar or not?

this place was always magical to me and now i bring magic to it. my eyes focus on the paint that almost drips onto the floor. brush strokes in muted colors begin to leak from the stark canvas. i don’t recognize this as one of my own creation but as i look at it, it shifts.

slowly, as if the paint dries into a solid form, is a large leather bound tome, like the ones in the mageia library. dark brown leather, golden latches and corner pieces, with runes along the spine.

i’m about to reach for it when the canvas begins to drip once more and another figure emerges from it and leaps onto the floating book.

a lilac mittens ragdoll kitten sits atop the book, blue eyes starring at me. the same cat i was about to adopt before the acolytes scooped me up into this new world. my heart hurts, and guilt washes over my expression. i had wanted her so badly back then. a companion, something to come home to.

the leather-bound tome is spitted out of the canvas’ mouth but instead of falling, it only floats slowly towards you. time feels sluggish around everything in the room with the dust motes now suspended in the air, the curtains now undulating slowly. the exception to this phenomenon, though, is the lilac cat that nimbly hops on top of the book and balances itself upon its thick rim. it licks its soft paw, then rests its blue-eyed gaze upon you. for a few moments, the quiet appraisal is the only thing it does.

“i’ve been waiting for this moment, son of witchcraft,” finally, it speaks and the voice stands out, “i've been waiting for you.” is it familiar, or unfamiliar? is it a kitten’s purr, or something else entirely? how does it make you feel?

my hand moves away from the cat instinctively, almost like a flinch. if there's one thing that i've learned it's that touching things that pique my interest might get me killed.

and then it speaks.

at first, i'm baffled and then i remember everything else that's gone on in my life recently. the monsters, the magic, the might. talking animals—after seeing satyrs and nymphs—shouldn't be out of the realm of possibility.

the voice is female with a slight feline inflection. there's an underlying purr in the words, a comfortability that shouldn't be there between strangers. it soothes the aches in my joints and my chest, makes me feel like i'm truly back home once more.

"waiting for me?" i rebuttal, eyebrow arched. "why?"

waiting for me? why?

the moment you ask the question, the words seem to have a rippling effect on your surroundings, like a spoken incantation, making the entire room shudder with a silvery sheen. but, somewhere deep within you, there’s a certainty that this isn’t an illusion born out of sinister magic, but something else entirely—an echo turning to a real sound, a remnant becoming a whole once more.

the cat’s eyes gleam then and it walks along the book’s rim, relaxed. the tome is opening now and you watch as ink spills across its brown surface, drawing shapes again as the canvas did before. not shapes, no, you suddenly realize, but runes. they are sigils that you can read, language gravid with ancient power.

“what type of runes are these?” the kitten mews.

the book opens and my eyes stay transfixed on it. each slide of paint, almost like calligraphy, is mesmerizing to me. i can feel each phantom movement in my fingertip. the kitten's question makes my head lilt to the side and my eyes focus on the runes that are forming, ancient sigils that are made easier for me to understand.

"power." i say, confidently. "a means of amplification." i know this because it reminds me of the runes on the inside of the bracelet around my wrist, the same power that courses through me that needs a channel to unleash like a wild fire through dry brush. i reach out and stroke the edges of the book, feeling the power of the runes beneath the pad of my fingertip.

i want it engraved in my bones, tattooed on my body. i think to myself, i never want to feel powerless again.

power, you chant and the rooms shudders again. but this time, it doesn’t halt.

the incantation is spoken, the spell thoroughly read, for the runes from the tome emerge in one swift movement and begin dancing around you like the spirits you summon. the edges of the room, you can see, also start to dissolve into wisps of smoke, swirling in the air around you with a hypnotic rhythm.

amid this occurrence, the lilac ragdoll cats begins to float and swells in size. it is amplification as you’ve wished it, a spark becoming a fire, becoming an inferno. the cat’s limbs dissolve too, as if it has been made of smoke this entire time, and you see that both you and it are glowing the same hue. you are both two supernovas on the verge of explosion. you sense that it has your magic, it has your power, but a much, much stronger form of it.

what color is your magic, and how does it make you feel?

how does your magic behave?

the light begins to glow, begins to leak into the air like dripping liquid until it falls to pieces like the remnants of dried paint rubbed between fingertips. the lilac ragdoll grows and grows, amplifies, like the rune itself took hold, took shape, took motion.

i look down at my hands and my magic is back—not as weak as it had felt when facing nyx and eris' monster, not weak as it had been when i had been foolish and allowed my curiosity to get the best of me, allowing something to take parts of me to make it stronger; no, this was my strength at full capacity. crackling wisps of energy weave between my fingers, black and gold, almost amber, like ribbons that thread themselves seamlessly around my wrists.

this feels...foreign, almost. there's a power to it that i can almost taste, delicious, dangerous, seductive. it washes over me, fills me to the brim. this is what ecstasy feels like. this is what divinity must feel like. i feel alive, i feel powerful, i feel like a natural disaster being harnessed between flesh and bones.

it feels like it wants to burn the world down, summon storms, create chaos, but underneath it, like a mischievous feline, is a calmness that allows me to think, to pause. it waits for me to beckon for it before it waxes and wans, occasionally acting on its own accord. but it behaves like it might be mine, and not something borrowed, not something uncontrollable.

for the first time since arriving at camp, i feel like my magic wants to belong.

as one thought after another flits through your head, the cat’s fur mirrors every single one, turning to a fiery black pelt that trails golden smoke, becoming embedded with cracks of black-tinged lightning, taking on a writhing surface of gold and black. your magic runs wildly as ribbons and scatters everywhere in reckless abandon. it’s chaos, it’s power, and it’s rampant, untamed, feral, until you will it to be otherwise.

until you make it belong inside you.

now, the ragdoll cat’s fur is a mass of dark, wispy smoke, but its eyes are so unbelievably golden like they are coins enchanted to glow in the dark. its size is that of a bear now, looming over you. you are not in your studio apartment anymore, but you don’t seem to be in anywhere recognizable either, the world around you a curious blank.

“interesting,” the cat purrs, with what seems to be a bemused laugh lurking underneath each word. when it prowls ahead, it has the leisure of a ghost and, of course, the grace of a cat. “so instead of letting your power run wild, you wish to harness it and make it yours.” golden eyes land on you. “show me more, son of witchcraft – paint for me what you desire.”

as the words trail, the world around you spasms and dances. the calligraphy lines from before spiderwebs from beneath you and you are certain that they want you to paint – want you to draw a world that belongs only to you.

paint what i desire.

under any normal circumstance, this would be easy. this would be just another piece i hang in a gallery, allow someone else to buy, allow them to take a piece of my future home with them.

i look down at my hands and i clench my fingers into a fist, dig my nails against my palm, inhale and exhale. i close my eyes, allowing my magic to coil within me, allow it to purr like a cat and strike like a viper.

and then i begin to mold the world as i see fit.

paint what i desire.

there is a mountain that looks like divinity atop it, a radiant glow that can be see like the stars in the night sky, like the moon that hangs above. the painting moves, shifts, strokes of paint trail away to unravel and become something more. it is their camp, their home, but it is much different—fit for the gods, not their children. marble thrones, marble statues, carved into their likeness, altars and offering bowls at their feet. each statue looks draped in traditional greek god attire—white robes, golden belts, laurel wreathes atop their heads.

then there is me, in the middle, amongst them all.

paint what i desire.

divinity, godlihood—not half measures—a new era, a new god of witchcraft, a new king of olympus.

paint what i desire.

ambition made truth. deepest, darkest desires laid bare. unspoken words turned to canvas; a secret never uttered aloud.

the calligraphy lines unfurl and writs as you will them too and paint spills in colors of your choosing. after everything cures, the sight you’re greeted with is grandiose, your own marble face staring down at you from the pantheon of gods. it’s a dream, but you also feel that it can be real, that you can make it real.

languidly, the cat paddles through the air and floats above head of the statue that bears your likeness in stone. it has a cheshire grin on its face now. “good,” the words are a purr, an agreement. “so you wish to remake the world in your own image.”

slowly, the cat swells again until it’s as large as a temple, a colossal thing. its golden eyes glint when it stares down at you, but you don’t feel any sort of fear. it’s like looking into a mirror, a reflection of yourself.

“this will not come easy, little weaver,” it speaks and the words are a deep rumble in your chest. “magic always has a cost, and the path ahead you is full of dangers. are you ready to accept your power, and the challenges it will inevitably bring your way, remaker? are you ready to bear the heft of witchcraft?”

i look at the statue that stares down at me and my gaze moves to the cat.

"not in my own image, but better than it is now, better than it could be." i wave my hand through the air and the image stays as is, framed. "change needs to happen and i want to bring it."

i wonder, for a moment, if this is what eris thinks, too.

i nod my head, the black and amber-gold of my magic trails up my arms until it dissipates, returning to normal. "since i said yes to my birthright there's been danger. i've almost died. i've been captured, i've been face to face with the goddess of chaos." he smirks. "but i am chaos. magic is chaos. and she won't control me or anyone else."

i close my eyes. "heavy is the crown and all that bullshit. i am magic. i can bear it."

“and your mother is the goddess of magic, of cross-roads, and all arcane mysteries,” it laughs and the sound echoes in your bones. “when danger comes, we’ll simply have to show them who’s more dangerous, won’t we?” the cat’s smoky body begins to swirl then and you can see its arm outstretch, pointing one gigantic claw at you, wispy near the tip like the specters that you summon. “paint runs out, little weaver, but magic never truly does.”

the single claw is beckoning, asking you to touch it.

i outstretch my finger toward the claw and, right before i press tip to tip, say:

"not even in death."

the instant your finger touches the claw, you feel all of it pour into you, the cat, the world you’d created, and the magic, as wisps of gold slither down the fingertip and into your mouth and your eyes. it’s all-encompassing, it’s dangerous, and but it’s also so incredibly righteous. this is your birthright and every inch of you accepts it.

then, you fall, stumbling through the dream, only to wake up on your bed. the moonlight is cool against your skin, and nothing rustles in your room. was it only a dream? was it only a trick of your mind? as you begin to wonder, you notice amber lines shimmer faintly under your skin and draw what can only be a half-finished rune.

#psyche #kian prieto #path of the arcane weaver #thank you luke!!!

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microcurrentfacials-blog · 5 years

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Acne Treatment Los Angeles * Call (323) 653-4701 - Skin Sense Wellness

https://www.skinsensewellness.com SKIN SENSE WELLNESS 8448 W. 3rd St. Los Angeles, CA 90048 323.653.4701

Los Angeles Facials, Waxing & Body Therapy at SkinSense Wellness Spa SkinSense Wellness Center in Los Angeles is renowned for its customized facials, body therapy and massage services.

Founded by Marion Simms, we combine the latest botanicals with scientific innovation for the best results.

Each initial visit includes a detailed consultation that covers lifestyle and its effects on the skin and aging.

We also keep detailed records of each spa visit and update your information and treatment protocols as needed.

Our retail lines for skin care products include Guinot, 302 and PCA skincare, Glominerals cosmetics and Essential 3 aromatherapy oils.

Our body treatments are both functional and holistic.

Our body technicians are experienced in a broad array of healing, energy and massage modalities and we blend essential oils for all of our services.

We look forward to seeing you soon.

Spa Hours Monday: 2-5pm Tuesday: 10:30-8pm Wednesday: closed Thursday: 10:30-8pm Friday/Saturday/Sunday: 9-5pm

15/15 Referral System Refer a new client to us and get 15% off THEIR first facial and 15% off your NEXT.

Discounts We offer 10% off all services for those 65 years of age and over, to

teachers, and to all KCRW subscribers.

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the-angry-pixie · 5 years

Text

camboy AU... but make it romantic

Camboy Bill AU feat. the OT7.

- basic stuff really

- Bill is a camboy (billoncam) on those websites that I don’t know enough about to be able to give a name.

- and he does sessions every few days in private chatrooms

- mostly solo stuff - either a vibrator or dildo in his ass whilst jacking it to the camera

- his fans love him because he is really chatty and responsive. and when he gets really turned on, he stutters. he always moans and thanks the person when someone sends him a tip - its like the tip button is directly connected to his vibrator, the way he moans every time it *dings*

- he has regulars. people who always seem to tune in and leave lots of tips. he comes to recognise their usernames.

- “welcome mikey-mike. i hope you’re having a good week.”

- “its good to see you again bigdickrich, what filthy things are you gonna say to me today?”

- stuff like that.

- he holds competitions among viewers - whoever gives him the most tips in a session gets to choose a name for him to call out when he cums

- as a result billoncam ends up moaning out “oh fuck carsforeddie! oh fuck you feel so good carsforeddie! oh fuck OH FUCK!” a lot.

- like previously stated, he’s known for his highly interactive solo stuff but every now and then his audience gets a guest appearance from other people. it always seems to be the same guys but we never get to see their faces

- one has lovely golden skin that matches his golden curls that Bill loves to grab onto when he’s fucking him

- the other is this buff dude with dark blonde body hair that makes the most delicious sounds when he’s railing Bill

- thats right, billoncam be versatile as fuck

- even more versatile than first anticipated because one time during a session Bill is holding a photo on his phone up to show the camera and he accidentally swipes to the next photo which is of some redhead woman lying on a bed in lingerie

- the comment section goes wild and Bill is like “oh fuck, oh fuck you weren’t meant to see that, ah ha ha ha lets forget that happened pls” and he goes on with the session. trying to ignore all the questions hounding him about who the fuck that was and why was she on his bed??

- two days later when billoncam is next scheduled to cam it is immediately obvious that things are very different when the session starts on a shot of Bill sitting fully-clothed talking straight to camera

- “thanks for tuning in everyone. I just felt I wanted to do something a bit different today. There’s been lots of discussion and questions about what happened the other day and I’ve thought about it a lot and have decided that I would like to be honest with you. This is a part of who I am and I don’t want to feel ashamed of that. So the truth is... I’m bisexual. And this...”

- Bill holds up his phone showing a photo of Bill and the redhead from the lingerie photo hugging each other and smiling giddily at the camera

- “... this is Bev. She’s my girlfriend.”

- again, the comment section goes wild. Obviously Bill has been camming himself on a website for gay men and well... gays can still be mean and weird sometimes when it comes to bisexuality.

- “I know. I know. It’s not what you’ve come to expect from me. I’m sorry if you’re offended or something. Well actually I’m not sorry at all. I would never be sorry for being in love with Bev. She’s my rock. We’ve been together for so long and she means the world to me. And the only reason I’m showing her face on here is because she’s given me full permission. In fact she has her own camming channel. Which I can link you to if there are any fellow bi’s out there.”

- Because the internet is the internet, Bill notices he’s losing viewers quickly, but he’s kind of happy to note that some of his regulars are among the ones being super supportive

- sitonthis: you’re not really gay. get the fuckk outta here!

mikey-mike: thanks for being honest with us Bill. I’m bi too and some people on here need to be quiet and stop being rude.

erotic-cum-on-my-hole: where’s the dick??

bigdickrich: daaaaaaaaaaamn Bill. she’s fuckign hot! gimme dat link please >______>

br000ny: sick of these bi s trickin on us. im out.

carsforeddie: YO EVERYONE NEEDS TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LEAVE BILL ALOONE!@! WHO WOULDN’T WANT TO DATE BILL?! HE’S FUCKING GORGEOUS AND PERFECT!! I SWEAR TO GOD YOU ALL NEED TO MEET ME IN THE PARKING LOT RIGHT THE FUCK NNOW!!e@!

- but it doesn’t stop there. Bill has more to tell. He doesn’t get naked at all that session. But he does come clean about being polyamorous. Apparently Bill and Bev were together for years before she started dating Ben. Who then eventually started dating Bill as well (mystery solved on who buff dude is). And then a little while after that Bill started dating Stan who also began dating everyone else eventually (mystery number two solved on who golden curls is)

- of course to respect privacy Bill doesn’t give names or photos for those two (they’re not into camming and only ever fuck Bill on cam as a favour cause they know Bill loves it so much). But he does wax poetic for a further half an hour on just how much he loves all his partners and then unexpectedly signs off.

- billoncam disappears for awhile. his sessions just suddenly stop. his fans reckon its probably got to do with the negative response he got to coming out as bi.

- they try to reach out to him on his social media but never with any luck. its funny, billoncam’s sessions have weirdly become a bit of community thing. its strange. the regulars all kind of know each other and it feels wrong to not be coming all together (pun not intended) a few times a week on Bill’s channel. but whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore because it seems billoncam is no more. he’s been scared away.

- struggling radio personality Richie Tozier is definitely not expecting to run into Bill aka. billoncam in a random Los Angeles Starbucks one day. But he does. Thats him. That’s totally fucking him. The only way Richie could be more sure is if Bill whipped his junk out in the middle of this cafe.

- Richie is so stunned he can’t even think what to say. How to approach this guy that he has been jacking off to for the last year or so.

- He ends up chasing Bill down the street and kind of pouncing on him.

- Bill is understandably wary at first. But of course he’s kind of charmed by this nervous motormouth with his ridiculously syrupy-looking frappuccino concoction. Its strange how familiar he seems. He almost whispers the name to himself just as Richie practically yells “Oh by the way. I’m bigdickrich. Did I mention that? I might have forgotten to mention that. Fuck!”

- And well, a week or two later... billoncam makes a comeback suddenly.

- And he’s got a companion. A companion who is showing his face. Bill’s regulars know they definitely haven’t seen this guy (or his body) before but they don’t mind at all since the session is so much more intense because they can see both participants for once. And this new guy is very cute. In a hairy, gangly, bedraggled kind of way.

- Bill introduces the guy as his new friend. He says his new friend convinced him to come back online. And his new friend even gave permission for their first time together to be filmed live.

- New Friend’s eyebrows wiggle at the camera behind his thick dark-framed glasses

- this sends a thrill through the audience obviously. such an intimate thing that theyre witnessing. New Friend doesnt seem to mind though. In fact he seems to lap up the attention and is very willing to take suggestions from the audience of just what he should do to Bill.

- the vibrator and dildo remain untouched on the bed that day.

- and its right at the end, still panting and sweating and coming down from their highs that Bill mentions that his New Friend is a previous audience member.

- “some of you might recognise the username. This is bigdickrich. Sooo... I guess we now know he wasn’t exaggerating with that name ha ha” to which Richie just grins at the camera holding his hands up under his chin.

- the comment section goes BONKERS!

- carsforeddie: THAT ANNOYING CRUDE SON OF A BITCH!! WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS THE UNIVERSE SO UNFAIR! FUCK!”

mikey-mike: good for you bigdickrich. you’re a real lucky guy.

twinksfordays: i want to choke on bigdickrich’s cock

carsforeddie: HOW?! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! EW I JUST JACKED IT TO THAT ASSHOLE! FUCK I NEED TO SHOWER”

- Bill and Richie giggle and converse with the commenters for awhile and then sign off.

- billoncam returns to regularly camming again. much the way he was before. mostly solo. though sometimes with guest stars. and Richie becomes a more and more frequent feature. He’s the only one (besides Bev popping in now and then) who shows his face.

- and then, billoncam hits 100,000 subscribers

- and Bill. Well he has to make it special right? So he auctions himself off. There has to be some careful wording and labelling so that he can’t be done for prostitution but... essentially Bill auctions off the chance for him to travel and spend the night with the highest bidder.

- of course carsforeddie is not going to let this opportunity slide by him. He’s a successful businessman. He might only be 25 but he’s got money to burn and he’s been loving lusting after billoncam for a LONG TIME

- its undisclosed just how much Eddie Kaspbrak, luxury car rental business owner ends up paying for billoncam to fly to New York and spend the night with him - for legal reasons obviously. And no, Eddie does not give permission for the deed to be filmed.

- But! Its perfectly legal to say that the 2nd time Bill fucks Eddie - the 3rd, the 4th, the 5th and the 6th and all the times that follow - are done completely for free!

- Ben jokes to Richie privately about them going to need to move into a bigger house if Bill keeps adding people to this relationship.

- It becomes less of a joke and more of a reality as Eddie moves permanently to Los Angeles 6 months (and lots of trips to LA) later.

- And thats it. Theyre nearly there. There’s just one more thing missing. One more piece to the puzzle. Bill doesn’t know why he feels this way. He just does.

- Luckily Mike Hanlon (aka as mikey-mike) has been unknowingly working away on this very thing for months. Not that he would have dared to assume that anything would happen when he slid into billoncam’s DM’s 18 months ago.

- He’s just a country boy from bumfuck nowhere. There’s no reality in this universe where he and the likes of billoncam would ever cross paths. But he enjoys talking to him. They have a lot of laughs. And Bill is surprisingly sweet and very well spoken. They like a lot of the same things. The same literature, the same sports teams. Bill is always asking after the animals on Mike’s family’s farm. Mike wishes he could get to know him better.

- Bill wants the same thing. He’d give anything to meet the sweet-souled farmboy from Maine who brightens Bill’s day whenever he gets a new message from him. I mean, it helps that he’s also gorgeous with the most wonderful smile, but thats beside the point.

- Bill ends up putting his money where his mouth is. Just enough to buy a return plane ticket to LA, so that Mike can come visit him, and cover the cost of a hotel room (ya know, in case he doesn’t want to stay with Bill and the rest of them. Bill would never want to make him uncomfortable).

- Needless to say Mike fits right into the family almost immediately.

- its a couple of months later and billoncam still exists, but its like a relic now. Bill pours all his creative energy into his new channel “the-lucky-seven”. Its a channel shared by everyone and its outrageously popular. Sure there are still a few individuals who are too shy or anxious to show their faces but the audience doesn’t seem to care. There’s so much variety to be found on the channel. Different combinations of people doing a live cam nearly every second day.

- they’re all unapologetic, they all love each other, and they don’t mind sharing it with the world.

- :) :) :) :) B) :) :)

----

Did I really just write a romance story about camming? Why yes, I think I did. Ha Ha. Hope you enjoyed. :)

#sorry - you were probably expecting more smut #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#i do what i can #i was inspired and so i HCed #poly losers club #the losers club #pixie writes #pixie headcanons #IT movie #notsfw

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nailspalawndale · 4 years

Text

The Nail Spa (in LAWNDALE, CA)

Lawndale is a city in Los Angeles County, California, United States of America. The town is located in the South Bay region of the Los Angeles area. It's packed with parks, recreation centers, and much more and is one of the most popular destinations that's worth a visit. One will never be short of things to do in Lawndale.

There are unique things to do and places you can explore at this place. It is an ideal area to revisit to take a break and relax.

It is endowed with places to see and explore with signature experiences and reviews. Hotels and resorts are a mix of modern and charm to suit one's rest at affordable prices.

Restaurants, on the other hand, offer hot spots to drink, dine, and feast.

The top attractions to visit in Lawndale are:

· The South Bay Wedding Center - An all-inclusive wedding chapel and venue that offers a booking process with no hidden fees.

· Alondra Community Regional Park – Involves a public play course, swimming pool, skate park, and jogging around the lake.

· D&W Transportation – Get a complete and reliable service with on-time arrivals and superb communication.

· Lawndale Brewhouse – Listed as the perfect neighborhood bar, has great bartenders, a pool table, and plenty of TVs. It offers beers, wines, cocktails. Lastly, they provide complimentary snacks in case one is hungry.

· The Nail Spa

Other popular places to visit in Lawndale include:

· Universal Studio Hollywood – "Get ready for the ultimate Hollywood experience."

· Venice Beach – Swim and explore performers like bodybuilders at the urban shoreline, a colorful escape from the city.

· Staples Centre – A multipurpose sports arena that hosts some of the world's biggest musical acts and is home to two national basketball association teams.

· Long Beach Cruise Terminal – Explore the waterfront in Long Beach and experience the praised art galleries or attend a sporting event in this walkable area.

· Santa Monica Pier – You'll find beachside kitsch, boardwalk ambiance, and carnival fun at this attraction.

In this article, The Nail Spa will be reviewed in detail. If you include this in your travel plans, be sure of getting thrilled for doing so.

The Nail Spa

It is located at 16129 Hawthorne Blvd, Lawndale, CA 90260.

It was established in 2018 as a specialty in nail caring and the application of nail cosmetics. The Spa provides the best nail salon experience at reasonable prices. It also strives to better its skills to offer a client the most relaxing experience and high quality works.

Services offered at the Spa are:

· Acrylic Fill-In

· Acrylic Nail Removal

· Classic Manicure

· Eyebrow Services

· French Tip Fill-In

· Gel Full Set

· Nail Art

· Polish Change

· Paraffin Wax Treatments

· Pink and White Full Set

· Callus Removal

· Classic Pedicure

· Foot Massage

The Spa provides amenities; for instance, it accepts credit cards, offers parking for bikes, free Wi-Fi, wheelchair accessible, gender-neutral restrooms, and in-person visits.

Visit this site too.

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eyebrowwaxing-blog · 5 years

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tumblr

Ultrasound Facials * Call (323) 653-4701 - Skin Sense Wellness

https://skinsensewellness.com/

Los Angeles Facials, Anti Aging, Waxing & Body Therapy at SkinSense Wellness Spa

SkinSense Wellness Center in Los Angeles is renowned for its customized facials, body therapy and massage services. Founded by Marion Simms, we combine the latest botanicals with scientific innovation for the best results. Each initial visit includes a detailed consultation that covers lifestyle and its effects on the skin and aging. We also keep detailed records of each spa visit and update your information and treatment protocols as needed.

We look forward to seeing you soon.

Spa Hours Monday: 2-5pm Tuesday: 10:30-8pm Wednesday: closed Thursday: 10:30-8pm Friday/Saturday/Sunday: 9-5pm

15/15 Referral System Refer a new client to us and get 15% off THEIR first facial and 15% off your NEXT.

Discounts We offer 10% off all services for those 65 years of age and over, to teachers, and to all KCRW subscribers.

0 notes

barfzal · 5 years

Text

nocturnal me

word count: 6,600

warnings: rough, choking, daddy kink, getting tied up, possessive adrian

requested: yeah!

a/n: hey, hunnybees! i’ve been sitting on this one for a minute. i was feeling rather uninspired to post my writing on here, but bad times pass, and i want to say a giant thank you those of you who have consistently supported my writing and have reblogged it, i really appreciate you so much. this one is featuring a very possessive adrian kempe, and the title comes from a song by echo & the bunnymen. the swedish in here stems from my research, but if you’re a native speaker and find it a little iffy, please lmk. translations are at the bottom for my fellow non-swedish speakers. thank you so much for reading! ⋆ mia

Adrian’s tone sweeter than syrup masked his cruel intentions when he asked you if you would be interested in trying something new tonight. Your head was hung over his shoulder at the time, and his inquiry prompted you to lift your head and ask if he was hinting at anal. To that, he had let out a short, wheezed laugh, and he shook his head back and forth. With your fingers brushing over his toned, tattooed bicep, and the remainder of your third glass of red wine down the hatch, you foolishly nodded your head in agreeance, figuring that you could handle whatever it was he wanted to try. Under the yellow glow of the lamps that lined the streets of Paris and with a warm kiss from Adrian’s soft lips, you had sealed your fate for the evening.

At the door to your suite, Adrian leans over your body, his tall frame consuming yours, and he leaves delicious kisses on the surface of your shoulder blade while his wide palms engulf the fullest part of your hips. His lips against your skin fights at your attention, and you struggle in the search for the key to your room that had to be somewhere in your Saint Laurent shoulder bag. “Adrian, baby, I can’t focus when you touch me like that,” you whine to him quietly as his fingers glide under your dress, and you can feel his lips stretch into a wide smile against your shoulder at your complaint; he absolutely adores when you lose focus because of him. When you finally find the key, you fumble with the lock before turning the knob on the door. Once inside, you turn into his big arms while he closes the door behind him. Your fingers instinctively reach for his satiny, sand colored hair, and your lips reconnect. You let out a sigh of relief against his bottom lip while you loop your finger under the gold chain around his neck and tug him in closer; you are desperate for more of him, and by now, you have completely forgotten about how you had sold your soul to the devil when you agreed to Adrian’s innocent request.

His callous-lined palms are rough in contrast to the skin of your face, and he grasps you by your chin and pushes back on you. When your lips are pushed away from his, you unintentionally pout, and Adrian lets out a quiet chuckle at your expression of disappointment. The tip of his noise lightly brushes against yours. “Oh, my poor baby,” he mumbles sarcastically while he grins down at you. Your eyes follow his beautiful smile, while you feel his fingers trace over the apples of your cheeks delicately, and he tenderly sweeps your hair from your face and tucks it behind both of your ears. One of his hands hooks behind your neck and the other cups your chin again, and you hold his gaze for a few long moments; it’s not until you hear his voice, that you realize you have been holding your breath the whole time. “Go into the bathroom. I left something for you,” he tells you, and you note the difference in his tone; his voice has grown dimmer; Adrian is not asking you to go into the bathroom, nor is he suggesting it. He’s telling you.

Turning into the bathroom, you almost expect Adrian to come behind you, rather you hear the quiet sound of the door clicking shut behind you. The bulbs that line the vanity give off a diffused light, and sitting atop the countertop is a scarlet box. On the box, is a cream envelope; you reach for it, and slide your finger under the wax seal to pull out a thick card stock. You read the contents of his note in his scribbled cursive.

I want you to get undressed and put on what’s inside this box. Jag älskar dig - Adrian

Your nerves coil, but a smile spreads over your lips. Neither of you had really ever done something of this nature before. Adrian liked to be rough, but he was never this demanding. Usually, he would scramble to strip one of his Team Sweden shirts off of you in the apartment you shared in Los Angeles, but this was something entirely new. The nerves dissolve to anticipation as you pull the box open to find a skimpy set of black lace and mesh lingerie. The fabric was flimsy as you pulled it over your naked body, and you were certain the little material could not have been your size, so you check the tag, but sure enough it was exactly the size you were consistently. The little black straps and mesh were obviously designed to leave little to the imagination, and it flatters your figure impeccably. Your breasts are accentuated by the delicate straps of the bra, and you turn to your profile to look over your body in the mirror. Stepping into the red-bottomed black heels, you let out a quiet giggle at Adrian’s appetite for designer clothing and shoes; he was always picking out the most needlessly expensive clothing and accessories for you when he shopped for you, which was quite often, and he undoubtedly paid a lot for this micro set.

Moments pass of examining your own reflection and ruffling around with your hair before you walk out of the bathroom to see Adrian reclining in the artisan leather chair that was placed in the corner of the suite. His shirt has been stripped off, and the light carves out the muscles of his abdomen. His black denim hangs off the defined dips of his hips. His expression is stoic, so it takes you off guard when a smile creeps over his face. He couldn’t help it when he saw your beautiful body on display for him. “Come here, älskade,” he calls to you from his seat, beckoning you with two fingers to him. “Let me see what’s mine,” he whispers as you near him, and he wants no time, letting his hands brush over your stomach and wrap around your hips.

Looking down to where he sits, Adrian doesn’t meet your eyes; he is far too busy scanning over every inch of your body, and like every other time his intimidating stare was zeroed in on you, you feel the warmth build behind your cheeks. With a strong hand, he twists your hips, and he not so subtly guides you to turn for him. His short nails press into your hips and sink into your skin, sliding down the side of your thighs. “Fuck,” he hums against your skin before pressing a kiss into the dip of your lower back. He slips his fingers down the outside of your thighs, collapsing his hands around them and forcing your thighs apart gently as to not make you stumble in the shoes. Now you can feel his teeth press into your butt cheek, and the sensation makes you whimper, but you can feel the familiar tickle between your thighs. His grins with your flesh between his teeth at the noise you make, and his bite dissipates into a sweet kiss on your left cheek. When he pulls his lips from your butt, he is smiling widely with satisfaction after seeing the pink print of his teeth on your soft skin.

The warmth of his hands travels up to the front of your hips, and he yanks on you, pulling you down into his lap. You gasp when you find your seat on his thighs, and he lets out a quiet chuckle at your immediate shock. You stifle a whimper when his hand slides down your chest and past your stomach. His fingers roam between your thighs, and he rubs you through your panties. As you are about to let out a soft noise to indicate your approval, you can feel Adrian’s other hand wrap around the front of your throat. You let out a strained gasp at the contact of his hand over your throat. He doesn’t squeeze your throat with much strength, but like his fingers to your clit, he leaves a firm pressure there. Your noise makes him hush you quietly. “Shhh, that’s my girl,” he murmurs possessively into your ear as he slips his fingers under the material, and he runs his middle finger between your pussy lips. Your hips buck forward into his palm involuntarily, trying to get more contact, and Adrian’s hand clenches over your neck. “Don’t be greedy, baby,” he grumbles into your ear before leaving a kiss on your earlobe and releasing some of the pressure on your throat. With his long fingers, he lightly traces your clit in circles, and your toes curl in the Louboutin pumps while you exert an extreme amount of self-restraint to keep yourself from rocking your hips into his hand again.

By now, the wetness has seeped through the meager fabric of your panties, and when he lifts his fingers out from under the fabric they are glistening with your nectar. Using your jaw, he turns your head so your eyes will meet his. “Open up, sötnos,” he murmurs while looking into your eyes. Holding the gaze from his pale blue eyes, you open your mouth while he cradles your jaw with one hand. His eyes fall to watch his two wet fingers slide down the center of your tongue, and he groans out when you close your lips around his knuckles. When his eyes come back up to yours, his hand slips back to the base of your neck, and keeps his grip there. “Tonight is a little different because I want to have complete control. I want you to listen to and obey everything I say, yeah?” Adrian begins, his eyebrows furrowing as he questions you. With his fingers still in your mouth, you nod your head along, and blink once to confirm that you agreed to his terms. “Good girl, and when you answer me, you call me daddy, okay?” he murmurs as he pulls his fingers from between your lips, so you could respond. “Yes, daddy,” you let out for him as your fingers slide down to find his rigid cock prodding through his distressed denim. Adrian clasps his hand tightly around your wrist and pulls your hand up between the two of you while he shakes his head. “No touching unless I give you permission,” he orders and gives your jaw a light tap with two fingers.

Nodding your head up and down at this rule, he opens his lips to give you his final instructions. “Two last things,” he says while clearing his throat. Your eyes watch his dark pink lips move as he speaks. “If the pain or pleasure becomes too much to bear, say the word ‘nine,’” he instructs. You start to grin just a bit at this: his number. He uses his thumb to tilt your chin, to focus your attention away from his lips and back to his eyes. “And no matter how cruel I can be, don’t forget how much I love you,” he says in a tone just above a whisper. You hold his gaze with questioning eyes before he gives you a single nod, and you lean in to give him one last gentle kiss. His tongue tenderly rolls against yours, and you suck on his supple bottom lip before you reluctantly pull away from the kiss. “I love you too…” you murmur to him before adding “daddy,” which causes him to give you a wide smile, and he holds you by the throat and brings your forehead down to his. “Good girl,” he praises you quietly before bringing his lips up to your forehead and placing one kiss there.

His hand finds its way to the base of your neck, and the other hand tangles in your hair, strands of your hair lace between his knuckles, and he tugs on the hair at your scalp. “You’re gonna be good for me right, baby girl?” he asks with a sugar-coated voice, and you eagerly nod your head for him. “Yes, daddy,” you say obediently, and you watch as he bites his bottom lip. The word felt strange leaving your lips. There were times before where you almost accidentally yelped it out, but you never admitted that to Adrian. The word is new and provoked excitement, and a smile smooths over your lips after saying it.

His hand grasps the underside of your jaw, and his fingers press into your cheeks, squeezing them together while he smiles back at you, showing you the slight indent of a dimple in his left cheek. “You’re so good already,” he mumbles to you as he brings your wrists together behind your back, gathering them with only one of his large hands. “Now, down on your knees,” he says to you, “and keep those hands behind your back.” Following his order, you sink down now onto the floor between his open thighs and look up at him while lacing your fingers together behind your back. You see the bulge in the denim, and it takes every ounce of control to keep you from unbuttoning the pants for him. He loosens his pants slowly, his slender fingers working over the button and zipper. He pulls down the black material of his boxer briefs with the denim and slips it down his calfs before kicking them off. His firm cock rests, growing to its full, thick size, against his stomach, and he leans back in the chair.

His arm lifts and his tattooed bicep flexes as he sweeps back some of the long hair from his eyes. His other hand slides down his toned abdomen, and there is a shadow that emphasizes the definition of his Apollo’s belt. He slides his hand to the base of his long cock, and he lifts it, so it’s standing up straight for you. Your tongue instinctively slides over your lips, and hungrily, you wait for his command to take him into your mouth. Your eyes lift from his cock to his eyes, and you can see that they’ve darkened considerably to a dark slate. He has a cold stare, and though he had been your boyfriend for two years, you feel your stomach twist at his intimidating eyes. His fingers sweep up some of your hair, and without words, Adrian pulls your face in closer to his core, and he starts by slowly rubbing the tip of his cock over your soft cheeks. The tip of his cock slowly presses to your lips, and with great discipline, you keep your lips closed, only letting them be drawn open as his cock drags down your bottom lip. He slowly rubs himself over your lips like the wand of your lip gloss.

Taking this opportunity, you soak in all of your boyfriend’s physical perfections. His profound cheekbones, and the scar that lined his left cheek; the way his necklace dips in the crevice of his collar bones; the way his blonde hair curls at the back of his neck; the way his supple, dark lips hang open as he watches you. When you hear him order you to open your mouth, you are drawn back from your state of musing, and you obey, allowing your tongue to slide out for him. Adrian lets out a guttural noise as he slides the head of his cock over the center of your tongue. With a soft curse leaving his lips, his eyes shift from your open mouth to your eyes. Your mouth closes around the tip of his cock, and a quiet sigh leaves his lips. Your cheeks hollow as you suck on his shaft, moving slowly and intentionally, looking up at him with a cautious glance. He gives you a nod to let you know it was okay to continue, and you work your lips up and down his length. His chest heaves at your work, and his fingers delicately slide over your cheeks and sink back into your hair.

Saliva rolls down the center of your chin, dripping onto the brown leather between Adrian’s thighs. Your slow lips frustrate him, and his hips rock forward, shoving the remainder of his long cock down your throat, and it forces a quiet gag from your throat. “That’s my girl,” he huffs out. Sweat is beginning to form against his golden hairline, and you watch him try to stifle the pleasure, but behind you, his toes are curling into the floor boards, and you can see the muscles of his abdomen tense up. With his fingers winding into your hair, Adrian’s hand falls to your throat, and he begins to fuck your mouth. You feel him push himself down your throat again, but this time he holds himself there. For a few suffocating moments your throat contracts around him, and with the feeling around his shaft, and the way he can feel your throat move under his palm he lets out a long, loud moan. “Fuck,” he groans as he pulls his cock from your lips. You are panting now, eager for oxygen that you were just denied, and Adrian starts into a wide smile after seeing the string of saliva that hangs from your darkened lips.

Adrian drags your face up to his, his hands cradling your cheeks as he presses an open-mouthed kiss into your lips. His tongue dips into your mouth, and he moans quietly against your bottom lip. You let out a content sigh into the kiss, and absentmindedly your fingers slip between his thighs and wrap around the base of his cock. Your fingers slide up the entirety of his length before his lips tear from yours with a quiet grunt, and he firmly grabs your wrist. “I’m sorry,” you breathe out instantly, wide eyed when you realize your mistake, and he lets out a hushed chuckle while shaking his head. “That’s not how it works, little one,” he murmurs to you as he runs his fingers down to the edge of your jaw, and he rises to his feet. Adrian guides you by the neck until you’re standing in your heels, still coming up short compared to his height over you. “If I don’t punish you,” he starts while twisting your hips and walking you to the edge of the bed. “How are you ever going to learn?” he murmurs into your ear and presses a kiss into your earlobe before he pushes you down to your knees on the bed, positioning you like a figurine on your hands and knees. “You wanna be a good slut for me, don’t you?” he prompts you while yanking the slight panties down to the middle of your thighs. “Yes, I do daddy,” you moan back.

Your heat aches from the exposure, and Adrian revels at the sight of you propped up for him like his own doll. Your response strokes his inflated ego, and he revels in it. He starts with one strong hand, and the first slap to your ass comes like a thousand volts through your skin. You audibly cry out into the pillow, and he peppers the tender flesh with a few kisses. “What do you say?” he speaks up from behind you. You lift your face from the pillow with flushed cheeks. “Thank you, daddy,” you sigh out, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he responds “you’re welcome, älskling.” His fingers press into your ass, squeezing you tightly into his palm before he presses a kiss to the right cheek. His hand raises and cracks across your skin like lightning. You choke back a yelp, and your toes scrunch into the soles of the designer heels. He smiles, and slowly, his palm runs over the splotchy pink hand print forming on your ass. His fingers slowly slide between your thighs, and he slips his fingers down your slit, tracing your pussy lips with his fingertips, and your thighs tense at the sensation. You let out a moan through closed lips, and sigh blissfully into the pillow under your head. You begin to relax, arms stretching out, like a cat, melting into the sensations of Adrian’s gentle teasing until you feel the edge of his teeth pierce your skin and you gasp. He lets out a low laugh from his throat, and nibbles on the skin of your left cheek.

He roughly paws at your hips now, and with a firm grip, Adrian rolls you over onto your back. You let out an audible breathe as you’re turned over; your hands grab fistfuls of the sheets underneath you. You are met by Adrian’s cold eyes, and you unintentionally bite into your bottom lip upon eye contact. Slipping your panties off the remainder of the way down your thighs and calves, he carefully unhooks them from the heel of your shoes, and he brings the damp fabric up to take it between his teeth; he groans at the satisfaction of tasting you. You watch on eagerly while he goes on to tease you to great lengths. His fingertips are light for the first time tonight as he slides his fingers over your lips, every finger intentionally avoiding your clit while he watches you squirm. He pulls the panties from his lips and puts them next to your hip, not throwing them over the edge of the bed like he normally does. “Stay still for me, love,” he commands, and your hips come to a rest, but the task is proven more difficult than you thought when Adrian lightly slaps the skin of your warm pussy again, and it makes you flinch.

His fingers slap the surface of your pussy over and over before he slips a finger down your folds. His attention is fixated on your pussy, and he admires it as if it was his first time looking at it. “Look at this cute little pussy,” he says to you while his eyes follow the direction of his finger, and you try to mute a moan, but it hums through your lips, and it only feeds Adrian’s confidence. This would usually annoy you, but when you are as desperate as this, you are not above begging him for more especially when your pussy is throbbing for attention. “So small and tight,” he carries on, only adding in the last word when he presses the entirety of his middle finger into you, and it makes you whimper audibly. Adrian gives you small doses of the pleasure you crave, but it was only scratching the surface, and it is making you restless. “Please, daddy,” you finally breathe out, and the innocent tone of your voice make his cock jump against the sheets. “Please what, baby?” he teases with a dark smirk. His finger curls inside of you, prodding the surface of that spot that makes your mind go blank. “Please lick me. Touch me. Anything, please daddy,” the begging fall out of your mouth in a quick desperate stream, and Adrian’s lips curl into a wide self-satisfied smirk before he pulls his finger out and slips a second finger into you. He groans as he presses his fingers into you, and he feels you constrict around his knuckles. Adrian never responds to your pleads verbally, but his arm wraps around your thigh, and he rests his tattooed forearm over your lower stomach. With his hand resting over your pubic bone, his thumb lightly grazes your clit that he had been ignoring. He pulls his fingers from inside of you and wraps his lips around them to taste you again.

Groaning at your flavor, he pulls his fingers from his lips, and he presses his fingers into your thigh, to push your leg out further. He lowers his head in to your heat, and his tongue starts leisurely sliding over your slit. His tongue is warm, and it tickles you when his tongue only faintly slides along your mound. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he breathes out against it, his eyes lifting from your pussy up to your eyes. The blue of his eyes are darkened to a cloudy grey, and you can see his tongue while it presses in deeper between your lips. Your pussy is being spread open by his tongue, and his tongue provides a firm pressure that makes you ball the sheets under you in your fists. His tongue slips through your folds in long licks, and he slides it over your clit very sloth-like. Your juices have rimmed the hair on his upper lip, and he moans as he presses in deeper. His nose rests above the hood of your clit, and he sucks your small clit into his mouth. His tongue lightly flicks it over and over, and the suction of his lips around it makes you moan helplessly. The stimulation is so much that you fear you might need to pull your hips from him. Just then, Adrian releases your clit from his mouth, and he lets out a groan from the back of his throat. His fingers that were pressed into your thigh to hold it out for him, come to your pussy and he lightly smacks it again, smacking over your clit gently. “This little pussy tastes as good as it looks, huh?” he mumbles to you with a small grin, his lips are glossed over with saliva and your juices. “Thank you, daddy,” you answer back, meeting him with a shy smile, and he grunts at your sweet tone.

His lips meet the surface of your thigh, and he presses a kiss into the skin there before dragging his teeth along it. Your nails dig into the mattress, and he brings his lips back to your pussy, placing a kiss on the lips of your pussy before he spits onto it. His saliva trails through the folds of your pussy before collecting at your hole. He presses his tongue into you slowly, and now he wriggles his tongue into your entrance, making you squirm. His arm that rests around your hip, forces it down into the bed, and his thumb rubs over your clit. Before long, your body temperature feels like it has risen, and your body is hot all over like you were in fever. Lost in the heat of his tongue, and captivated by the sound of his muffled grunts and tongue fucking you, you instinctively bring your fingers into the softness of his blonde hair. Your fingers grasp at the soft strands of hair, raking your fingers through his scalp without registering the rule you had broken. His fervent tongue stops, and his lips pull from your throbbing core. “Baby girl, you get too handsy,” he murmurs while letting out a quiet tsk under his breathe. He raises to his knees on the bed, his cock is harder than before, waving in front of him, and he reaches for the little fabric of your panties under your hip.

He gathers your wrists together in front of your stomach, his one hand clasping your wrists together, your breasts pushing together with your arms crossing in front of you. He wraps the material around your wrists, and ties it until you are no longer free to use your hands. He leans over you, and his face meets yours. He gives you a dark little smile. “That’s until you learn to ask permission,” he says while bringing his lips down to yours. You eagerly meet his lips, and you sigh at tasting yourself on him. His tongue tastes of you and the wine you two shared earlier. His lips drag from yours and you feel him roughly pull down the material of your bra. The mesh cups bunch up under your breasts, lifting them, and providing an incredible view for Adrian. His lips work marks into the side of your neck. Bruises come to flesh on your chest, as he moves his lips down your breasts, and he meets your nipple with his tongue before sinking his teeth into it to see you wince at it. The edge of his cock rubs into your inner thigh, and your hips brush up into his in response. His lips graze against the side of your breast before he sits up between your thighs.

The heat between the two of you has left Adrian with a light sheen of perspiration. The muscles in his arms flex when he ties his long, blonde hair back into a small bun. One small sweat slicked strand of his hair persists in hanging in front of his forehead, and with one hand on the base of his cock, he uses it to gently slap his length against your glistening pussy. You are warm and wet between your open thighs, and your body feels electric under him. His teeth press into his bottom lip as he teases you by rubbing his cock over your folds, but he knows he can’t hold back much longer himself. He rolls his hips back before easing the tip into you, once the head of his cock is inside of you, he lifts his broad hips, and presses them into your, his length tearing into you, and making you gasp out at the sharp pain and pleasure that floods you all at once. “Fuck,” you whine under your breathe at the sting before he pulls his hips back and brings them back to you with a strong force.

It starts off slow. His cock leisurely filling you up, but inch by inch he buries himself inside of you. You feel yourself stretching around his shaft, and while you liberally let out moans, Adrian holds them in his throat, only letting deep grunts out sparingly. “Look at that pussy stretching for me,” he groans out while his hands press down on your hips, pinning you into the bed with his thumbs connecting under your belly button. The muscles in his arms look tense and his veins are prominent as he anchors his weight in your hips making them ache and bruising the skin there, but the pleasure masks the damage being done. His cock fills you just right, and by the time he picks up his pace, you are dripping onto the bed, and your orgasm is nearing. Your inner thighs are coated with your juice, and you are a moaning mess withering into the sheets. “Please let me cum,” you let out through strained moans while Adrian presses a sloppy kiss into your ankle that rests over his shoulder. One of his hands slides up your stomach and takes hold of your throat, and through the blinding pleasure of his thrusts, you feel his thumb drags down on your bottom lip, before he pushes it between your lips, and you suck on it lazily, consumed so much by pleasure it was hard to focus. “Cum for me, baby girl,” he croaks out, grunting as he thrusts into you, his pace somehow picking up to bring you over the edge. Your orgasm is one that makes your legs tremble and your muscles spasm. Your back arches off of the mattress as you cry out, the noise strangled by Adrian’s thumb on your tongue and his hand around your throat. “Holy shit,” Adrian moans under his breath while relentlessly fucking you through the orgasm, and he admires the way you lay on the bed: spread open and helplessly shaking. Your breasts jiggle under the pressure of each thrust, and you moaned around his thumb, relishing in being used by your lover. “Fuck, that’s my girl,” Adrian groans over you while sweat rolls down his forehead, slowing his hips to a stop.

He moves to untie the panties around your wrists, so you don’t risk getting bratty with him. Red impressions were left from the tight knot around them, and you rub the marks gently, thankful for the break he has given you to recover from the orgasm. His chest is flushed a shade deep like he had been out in the sun. Sweat sheered over the two of you, and his chest glistens deliciously. He wraps his palm under your neck, and lifts you up to meet his lips. In a desperate kiss, you moan against his tongue, and he slides his hands under your spine, and starts to turn you over. He peels the bra off of you, and he leans you back into his lap. He sits back on his feet and pulls you back into him, your ass resting comfortably against his hard, wet cock. He presses a kiss into your shoulder and nibbles into the nape of your neck. “You have been such a good girl,” he praises while pressing another kiss into your earlobe that releases serotonin like a flood over you, his accent heavier as he pants into your neck. “Tell me who you belong to, älskade,” he prompts you while his fingers cup underneath your breasts, and now he firmly squeezes them. “I belong to you, daddy,” you purr back quietly, pressing a kiss into his temple while you delight in your boyfriend’s words, his fingers pressing into your chest, smiling at your bliss. It’s a confusing, almost exciting thing to discover just how much you adore being used by him, and how much you love to be his personal fuck toy.

Your thought is interrupted by his palm falling down your spine, and Adrian pushes you onto your hands and knees. His hands fold under your hips, pulling them up, and you arch your back for him. You can feel his cock slowly rubbing over your ass, and it makes you hum impatiently, just wanting him back inside of you. You rejoice when he rubs his cock over your entrance, and it seeps into you with no fuss on your end, however, your frustration grows when he just rests inside of you. His cock feels incredible in you, but you were desperate for the friction that would bring you to another orgasm. “Work for it, baby. Earn it,” he says with a grin forming on his face as his hand comes down with a stinging spank to your ass, and you moan out. Sliding down to rest on your forearms, you slowly rock forward, and bring your ass back onto Adrian, your ass resting against his pelvic bone. He mutes a moan by biting into one of his knuckles, and he watches as you find a rhythm. Encouraged by your boyfriend’s deep moans over your shoulder, you rock your hips back and forth, and your moans muffle into the pillow, loving the way his hand comes down onto your ass with a sharp slap. You turn your head, to look over your shoulder at Adrian. His eyebrows are knit together, his mouth ajar as he takes in heavy breaths, and his chest heaves at your pace. You hear him huff out “herrgud,” just above a whisper, and your blissed out smile turns into a smirk. “Like this daddy? Am I earning your cock?” you tease, and Adrian’s hand comes down onto your ass in a swift motion that makes you inhale sharply. He realizes he is losing the control in the situation, and he roughly gathers your hair into his fist, dragging your head back, so you’re forced into a deep arch. “Don’t get too cocky on me,” he chuckles lightly; his other hand still rests on your hip, supporting you, but now his short nails press into you there. “You remember who’s in charge don’t you?” he challenges while his teeth drag down your shoulder blade, and he bites into your skin. With a gasp, you nod your head profusely. “Yes, daddy,” you respond obediently, and he releases your skin.

Adrian’s fingers release your hair, so you relax onto your elbows and his hands slip back to your hips. His nails drag up to your hips, and the ghost of the sting lingers on your skin. His cock pulls out and now he thrusts back into you, filling you up, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot in this position. His hands clasped around your ribcage while he finds a new pace. It is hard and fast, each pump of his cock, makes you let out a moan like a desperate yelp, and your excitement drips down onto the sheets. You can feel it rolling down your thighs as it rolls down Adrian’s cock that is burrowed inside of you, and constantly thrusting into you. He fucks you cruelly and ruthlessly, his nails slipping up your spine. One of his hands cups the front of your throat, and the other tugs at your hair, bunching it up into a fist. His sweat rolls down his forehead and some drips onto your back from his momentum. Your body is electric, the pleasure courses through your veins like venom, and your mind begins to feel pleasantly numb. You feel the muscles in your core tense at the first hint of your second orgasm, and you know it’s going to leave you seeing stars. “Daddy,” you struggle to let out, “I’m gonna cum,” you gasp out. Adrian’s hips are sloppier, but maintain the same speed. “Fuck that’s it,” he murmurs to you, his lips are over your shoulder, his wet chest is pressed into your shoulder blades, and his hand slides over yours, his fingers lacing between yours to steady himself on the bed. “Cum with me,” he growls into your ear.

A lewd sound leaves your lips, and with a core-throbbing orgasm, you crumple into the sheets. Adrian lets out a carnal moan against the edge of your ear, and you can feel the warmth of his thick cum spill into you, seeping deep into your cervix. His last few thrusts are weak and groggy, and he pulls his cock from you with a heavy sigh. His arms drapes over you, as he collapses into the bed next to you. Both of you are left panting for air with eyes that are lidded from the bliss of having orgasms that made the world go fuzzy. You swallow hard, rolling to see Adrian admiring you again. His eyes are lingering over your naked figure, and he looks up at you with a wide smile. “I love you so much,” he says bashfully with a breath-filled laugh, his hand coming up to graze over your cheek. “I love you, too,” you giggle back to him, laughing at his shy demeanor after how rough he was. Your hand slides up his tattooed arm, tracing over the skull on his forearm. Your eyes are focused in on the line work of the tattoo, when he clears his throat. “I wasn’t too hard on you?” he asks, while pressing a warm kiss into your forehead, and bringing his concerned eyes down to meet yours.”Not at all,” you assure him, eyes lifting up from your doodling, and you press a kiss to his damp chest while all the joy and dopamine washes over you. “As a matter of fact, maybe next time you can spank me a little more,” you joke. His laugh vibrates through his chest, and you look up to the light blue rings in his eyes, and with your finger brushing over the hair on his chin, you bring your lips to his, and you close as kiss to his lips. “Jag älskar dig,” you murmur sleepily to him, and his wide, gorgeous smile and a kiss on the bridge of your nose are the last things you can recall before giving into the exhaustion and drifting into a sound sleep.

jag älskar dig - i love you

älskade - lovely

sötnos - sweetheart

herrgud - oh my god

älskling - darling

#adrian kempe #adrian kempe smut #adrian kempe fic #adrian kempe imagine #los angeles kings #mia's writing

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

Note

It’s Brian’s birthday! Can we get some happy flappy autistic!bri when the boys surprise him for his birthday?

Brian’s face turns a delightful shade of pink, his fingers flicking rapidly as he walks into Roger and Freddie’s flat.

Everywhere, plastered onto the walls and hanging from the ceiling were crudely colored and cut stars and planets. There were even blobs of random colors, which he assumed were space clouds and galaxies.

In the middle of the room stood his closet friends, all yelling, “Surprise!” at him, Freddie singing it, Roger using his falsetto and John jumping awkwardly. They were holding a cake that was clearly homemade but expertly decorated with even more stars and a icing drawing of a cat, clearly made by Freddie.

Roger bounded up to Brian, swinging an arm around his neck, pulling him down so he was crouched slightly, eye level to the blond. “Happy birthday, mate! How old are you now? 50 or something?” he said chuckling, a beer or two already in his system.

Brian giggled, letting himself be manhandled. “26 but close enough for a biology major,” he said, earning himself a noogie.

“Roger, stop harassing the birthday boy. Brian, come! Sit, sit!” Freddie beckoned, pulling out a chair from the dining table. John had set down the cake, scrambling to put the few presents next to it. It wasn’t much but it would be enough.

Brian sat on the chair, rocking excitedly. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like birthdays. There’d be sweets and friends and family. Although he wasn’t a fan of the attention. He’d survive it for the sake of getting a pair of new nifty socks.

The boys gathered around Brian, smiling and wriggling. Birthdays were their favorite too.

“Now! We’re here to celebrate the birthday of our tall friend here. Any last words, Brian, before we sing that miserable song?” Freddie said, a hand on Brian’s shoulder. Brian’s fingers flicked faster.

“This is quite the surprise, you all. I love the decorations! Thank you!” he said, looking up at his 3 friends.

“I made them!” Roger said, beaming. It took him all night. Because of beer.

“I can tell!” Brian said with a snicker. Roger rolled his eyes.

Freddie waved them off, looking at Roger and John. “Ready?” he asked. John blanched. Close enough!

“1, 2, 3! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear, Brimi!! Happy birthday to you!!!” they all song, even Brian, who felt weird if he didn’t sing too.

The worst part was over. Brian was ready to blow out the candles.But there weren’t any. “No candles?” he asked.

John giggled nervously. “Well. We did. I mean, I did have candles. But they melted in my car. Unless you’re okay with a..birthday wax disk..”

Brian snorted, shaking his head. “I’ll suffice. Thanks for trying though, Deacy.” John smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s alright. Make your wish on the birthday matchstick!” Roger said, pulling out his matchbox from his pocket and lighting a stick. He held it in front of Brian, who was a little skeptical, but played along.

“Here goes nothing, I suppose,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and making a wish.

I wish Queen will make it big..oh! And that the 4 of us stay friends forever.

He blew out the matchstick.

Everyone clapped. Brian grinned.

“Birthday Brian, you want to open gifts first or have cake? John’s mum made it,” Freddie asked, waggling his eyebrows at the last part. Ms. Deacon was known for her baking skills. She’d always make at least 3 cakes for John’s birthday because of how fast it all went.

Brian’s eyes lit up, letting out a little flap. “Cake!”

Roger yelled “Yeehaw!” rummaging for a knife. It was John’s turn to roll his eyes at Roger.

Freddie was all smiles handing everyone a plate, John getting pop from the fridge as Roger chatted up Brian about this new pub that just opened and how they all just had to go afterwards.

Meanwhile, Brian was utterly content with it all. He had his friends and some tasty cake and some measly presents and they all hopefully had a future together.

He wanted to take a snapshot of the moment, just in case things turned sour.

What Brian didn’t know was that nearly 5 decades from now, he’d be on tour, in Los Angeles at a club, a white haired, beer bellied Roger sitting next to him sipping wine as music blasted. He’d flick his fingers happily when his phone vibrates, a new text message from John. ‘Happy Birthday, Bri. Wish I could be there. X’ He’d smile so wide his little vampire teeth would show.

“Come on, Birthday Brian. Let’s get on the dance floor,” Roger would say, struggling a bit to get up from his seat. Brian would follow him to the dance floor, flapping his hands once the bass started to vibrate through his core.

He'd want to take a snapshot of this moment. Just in case.

#brian said he'd be in la at a club for his bday this morning so #brian #autistic!brian #Anonymous

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archangel-icarus · 5 years

Text

icarus | bnha oc info

▸ ʙ ᴀ s ɪ ᴄ ɪ ɴ ғ ᴏ ◂

基本情報

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∥ ғɪʀsᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.

michael

マイケル

maikeru

∥ ʟᴀsᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.

harris

ハリス

harisu

∥ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴ.

their mother actually chose the name. michael is of hebrew origin and means "who is like god". michael is also the name of an archangel in the bible.

the last name harris on the other hand, is of anglo-saxon descent meaning "son of harry". harry being a derivation of henry which means "home-ruler".

∥ ᴀʟɪᴀsᴇs.

god - michael does not have a god complex and has been called a god under ironic circumstances. they are a tad cocky in nature and finds the nickname mildly amusing.

micha - a more or less gender neutral name that they tend to use on occasion. they primarily use this nickname when around friends or classmates.

baby/baby face - this adorable nickname refers to the fact that michael has a somewhat soft yet androgynous appearance, looking both masculine and feminine all at once. there is also the fact that when around those close to them, michael may act childish.

∥ sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀᴄᴇ.

human ; white

∥ ᴀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sᴛᴀʀsɪɢɴ.

sixteen (16) ; sagittarius - as a sagittarius, michael is bold and truthful. they tend to say whatever it is on their mind, even if it may hurt.

∥ ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ.

5'7 (170.18 cm) ; 126 lbs (57.13 kg)

∥ sᴇx ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ.

male ; genderfluid

∥ sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

panromantic homosexual

∥ sᴏᴄɪᴀʟ sᴛᴀᴛᴜs.

upperclass

∥ ᴀғғɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴs.

first year at UA (transferred from an American school with the help of their father)

∥ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ.

los angeles, california, united states

∥ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ.

musutafu, japan

▸ ʀ ᴇ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ s ʜ ɪ ᴘ s ◂

関係 ∥ 家族 ∥ 友達

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∥ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.

carolyn was their mother's name. michael barely remembers her face but is aware that they are a near spitting image of her. she disappeared when they were young and hadn't been found since. their father rarely ever talks about her as a result. she was the only parent with a 'real' quirk, which had both of her arms transform into dove-like wings.

∥ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ.

michael's father, samuel, has a quirk that allowed him to turn his fingers into writing tools such as pens or pencils. he never saw it as a real quirk per se seeing as he looked up to those with flashy quirks. like all people, he fell in love. however, he grew distant and cold towards his wife not long after michael was born. he has a great dislike towards michael as a result but tries to make things work when out in public with them.

❝ it's not that i don't know how to cry. I just can't cry in front of other people. ❞

▸ ᴀ ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴄ ᴇ ◂

基本情報

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∥ ϙᴜɪʀᴋ ᴇɴʜᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs.

their shoulders and upper back appears more or less defined as the result of their wings when they manifest.

∥ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ.

static p on youtube

∥ sᴋɪɴ ᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇxɪᴏɴ.

fair toned with a porcelain-esque appearance. they are clean of acne for the most part and there is no signs of any facial hair (with the exception of eyebrows and eyelashes).

∥ ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴᴅ sʜᴀᴘᴇ.

michael has golden yellow doe eyes. their eyes have also been described as being doll-like, naturally round in shape.

∥ ғᴀᴄɪᴀʟ sʜᴀᴘᴇ.

they have well defined features. during their youth, michael had been described as looking like a real life angel which gradually evolved into them having the appearance of a greek god or statue. their overall facial shape is a heart.

∥ ɴᴏsᴇ sʜᴀᴘᴇ.

they have what is called a celestial nose shape which remains unaffected by the use of their quirk.

∥ ʟɪᴘ sʜᴀᴘᴇ.

a natural pink color that matches the faint blush that dusts their features from time to time. the shape of them overall is what could be considered wide.

∥ ʜᴀɪʀsᴛʏʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ.

pale blond hair that falls a bit past their shoulders, grazing their shoulder blades. the hair itself is naturally in loose waves and appears thicker than in actuality.

∥ ғᴀᴄɪᴀʟ ʜᴀɪʀ.

n/a

∥ ᴇᴀʀ sʜᴀᴘᴇ.

they have average sized ears that aren't physically affected by their quirk but their hearing is heightened during the period of which they have their wings out.

∥ ɴᴀɪʟ ᴄᴏɴᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ.

their nails are pristine and almost always clean, whether they have a clear coat or painted nails. however, they tend to get nervous or antsy at times which result in them biting at their thumbnails.

∥ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴛʏᴘᴇ.

ectomorph

∥ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴍᴀʀᴋs ᴏʀ sᴄᴀʀʀɪɴɢ.

they have a few freckles dotted about their figure, most of them being located on their shoulders and stomach.

∥ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄɪɴɢs ᴏʀ ɪɴᴋ.

they have no piercings or tattoos but michael always enjoys joking about having a tramp stamp and willing to 'prove it'

∥ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs.

n/a

▸ ᴛ ʀ ᴀ ɪ ᴛ s ◂

特徴

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∥ ʟɪᴋᴇs.

they enjoy the energy that comes with social events and being around other people. michael is also seen frequenting local thrift shops and anything vintage.

∥ ᴅɪsʟɪᴋᴇs.

michael despises having to sit still and any quiet places. they also dislike anything too frilly or poofy. that and the feeling of velvet.

∥ ʜᴀʙɪᴛs.

they bite their thumbnails when nervous or antsy. michael also has the tendency to tug at their sleeves, hair, or hands when talking or standing.

∥ ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘᴇᴇᴠᴇs.

disorganized spaces and when people completely miss the trash or recycling bin.

∥ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ sᴄʜᴇᴍᴇs.

warm colors, golden or toasted. primarily yellows, oranges, and browns. also a soft, pastel blue, kind of like the sky.

∥ ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄs.

generally the 50s or 90s when talking about eras. fragrances would be the air when it's about to rain or warm blankets and sheets. lilies and sunflowers would best suit them.

∥ ғᴇᴀʀs.

the future, actually sitting down and thinking about what they would be like a year from now, two or five, maybe a decade from now. those thoughts never end in a purely positive way so they tend to push them away as much as possible.

∥ ᴘʜᴏʙɪᴀ·s.

the fear of love (or falling in love) phobia is known as philophobia. The word originates from greek “filos” which means 'loving or beloved'. individuals who suffer from this phobia fear romantic love or forming emotional attachments of any sort.

∥ ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛs.

the feeling of velvet or the general feeling of suffocating in awkward situations.

∥ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛs.

touch. whether it be the brief brush of a hand or a full on bear hug, michael needs physical contact.

∥ ᴅᴇsɪʀᴇs.

stability in an emotional sense. michael needs the reassurance that their friends and loved ones are with them for the right reasons. they yearn for as much physical contact as possible.

❝ when I say I am okay, i expect someone to take one good look at me...and realize i'm not. ❞

▸ ϙ ᴜ ɪ ʀ ᴋ ᴅ ᴇ ᴛ ᴀ ɪ ʟ s ◂

詳細

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∥ ϙᴜɪʀᴋ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.

owl wings

∥ ʜᴇʀᴏ ᴏʀ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.

the archangel hero : icarus

there's nothing too fancy about the reasoning behind the name. the greek story their heri name is reference to tells the story of the son of daedalus who to escape imprisonment flies by means of artificial wings but falls into the sea and drowns when the wax of his wings melts as he flies too near the sun.

∥ ϙᴜɪʀᴋ ᴛʏᴘᴇ.

transformation

∥ ϙᴜɪʀᴋ ʀᴀɴɢᴇ.

close to mid-range

∥ ᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ.

michael was roughly four (4) years of age when their quirk manifested. they were in their backyard with their aunt, who was tossing them up into the air 'like a bird'. they kept making various bird noises as a joke when a pair of owl wings sprouted from their shoulder blades. both michael and their aunt were startled but they were also excited to 'actually be a bird'.

∥ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴜsᴇʀs.

their mother has a set of dove wings and hawks has a similar quirk but the difference being that michael's wings aren't connected to them via their mind/telepathy and they are unable to 'fly'.

∥ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ϙᴜɪʀᴋ.

the user is able to manifest a pair of owl wings near their shoulder blades that spread out and covers their arms in an almost shield when brought together. the user must also wait from anywhere to twenty-five (25) seconds to a full minute for the wings to fully form and spread out.

∥ ϙᴜɪʀᴋ sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜs.

they are able to slow their fall by spreading out their arms and perform a sort of gliding action.

∥ ϙᴜɪʀᴋ ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇssᴇs.

michael's wings aren't strong enough to grant them the ability to fly. there is the possibility of flight in the future with more training.

∥ ᴅʀᴀᴡʙᴀᴄᴋs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴍɪᴛs.

if the user is drenched/soaked with the wings present, they will be unable to retract them until dried off. as previously stated, the user is unable to fly but can glide to lessen their fall.

∥ ᴄᴏsᴛᴜᴍᴇ.

∥ sᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟɪsᴇᴅ ᴇϙᴜɪᴘᴍᴇɴᴛ.

the material that covers michael's shirt/top is made with special fabric that allows their wings to manifest without ripping or tearing.

∥ ᴄᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ sᴛʏʟᴇ.

they have a mixed combat style which fluctuates between offense and defense depending on the current situation. their years of taking ballet classes during their childhood helps as well in terms of agility and flexibility. to describe their actual way of combat would be a combination of dance (ballet and breakdancing being the main inspiration) and martial arts.

∥ sᴛᴀɢᴇs.

not necessarily unless you count the minute or so it takes for the wings to fully form.

∥ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴᴇʀs ᴍᴏᴠᴇsᴇᴛ.

the user is able to summon their wings as well as put them away.

∥ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴍᴏᴠᴇsᴇᴛ.

they are now able to hover in place roughly two (2) feet or about sixty (60) centimeters off the ground for at most fifteen (15) minutes. if michael was to leap off of something a bit taller then they could hover at a higher height but for half the time.

they are currently working on flight but have succeeded at gliding from building to building with a running start.

∥ ʟɪɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

michael knows that not everyone can be a hero but they sure as hell can try and achieve it. they are in class 1B at ua but also is fine with becoming a sidekick.

#bnha oc #oc info #ooc post

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