Pastel Purple Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I managed. ‘Nice. Great job, Morgan. Very smart of you.’ I internally rolled my eyes. "Nice," he repeated. "Can you be more specific?" Heat crawled up my neck. Everyone in the room was looking at me now. Waiting. "I think the color palette works," I said, forcing my brain to function. "And the styling feels... aspirational without being unattainable. Which is what you want for luxury positioning." There. That sounded halfway intelligent. Damien nodded slowly. "And the concept of featuring you in various intimate settings? Bedroom. Bathroom. Private spaces. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"We find the style here. Then we hunt the floor. Move." We sit on a display sofa that smells of fresh leather and synthetic spray. I flip the pages with fast, jerky movements. The sitting room needs to feel heavy. It needs to look like a pack space. "Purple," I say, pointing a finger at a deep, velvet lounge sofa. "That. And a dark timber table. Plus the high-backed armchairs. It needs to look proper, but I want to be able to sit there without freezing." "You want a desk in the corner too," Adriel says. His thumb taps the edge of the catalogue. "For your sketches. You think I do not notice you drawing on loose sheets?"

Stretch yourself comfortably over a tired body. Looking around, I realized that this was not his room, the room belonged to a person with artistic blood. The main color is white combined with pastel green, creating a cool look to the eyes. Small but not pushy, a great room. Unique paintings, most of which are images of wine bottles rolling but not cluttering on a green grass. He guessed that the owner of the room was very knowledgeable about wine, the details on each type were meticulously carved.

Atlas’ POV Onyx. That was my new favorite name. It suited her perfectly describing the color of her long, black shiny, silky hair that I wanted to run my fingers through. Fuck. Her scent was better than anything I had ever smelled in my life; coconut and with a hint of warm vanilla. I wanted to inhale that scent forever. Her eyes were the prettiest shade of purple I had ever seen. I never even fucking liked purple until I saw those gems. I was a compete sucker for her. Her skin was smooth and pale like porcelain, and her lips were so full and pink. I needed to feel them against mine.

“I don’t want to. You eat them.” “...” Her mother’s smile falters. It was a forced smile, something she wants to fake to ease the atmosphere. Althea knows how her mother was slowly losing it. She was too. Any more time they spend in this room is slowly eating them away. Althea’s eyes caught a glimpse of the wall and saw the new paint; It was bright purple. Seeing it almost makes her stomach turn. ‘I use to like this color, but looking at it now makes me sick.’

“You know, most people would consider tampering with someone’s personal belongings a violation of privacy.” “Good thing I haven’t tampered with anything then.” I adjusted the weights, sneaking glances at his hair. The purple really did suit him, which was annoyingly unfair. “One-seventy-eight. Though I have to say, purple’s a good look on you.” “Glad you approve, since it’s your handiwork.” He stepped off and moved to the height measurement. “Creative choice. I’ll give you that.” “You know,” he said conversationally, “I have to hand it to you. Most people would have gone with something obvious like green or blue. But purple?” He ran his fingers through the tinted strands. “It’s almost artist

It's probably the effect of the weed, or maybe we such good friends that we make each other laugh so hard? Nah, it's definitely the weed. "I'm pink," Ashley says, continuing with this little game. "Because of my hair." She starts to play with the ends of her mostly pink hair. "I'm grey, the color that's between dark and white," Kristen says. "Because I'm the innocent one here but I'm also moving to the dark side." She starts to giggle. "You are definitely going to the dark side." Tatiana agrees with her. "I still can't believe you are a virgin though."

like it was nothing. I knew that kind of man. Anikta’s mate was beautiful. Not in the sharp, commanding way Ian was beautiful, but in something softer, something almost ethereal. His hair was snow white, so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight. His lips were thin but well-shaped and when he frowned it didn't quite hide their natural elegance. And his eyes were purple. A deep, rich violet that seemed to hold secrets. He was striking in a way that made me think of old stories, of ancient bloodlines and forgotten magic. He was the kind of handsome that stopped conversations, that made people turn and stare.

Or is he planning to bring more kids here, she just doesn't know. And the room, goodness. It was crazily beautiful. It was painted in Rosie’s favorite purple color. Everywhere was painted and designed in purple. Even the bedding was purple. It was like she just entered a living Disney movie. How much was Marcel going to spoil their daughter? This was just their first day here and he was already doing this? If he keeps on with this, Rosie might not want to go home anymore.

He had a penthouse suite, which I wasn't surprised by. When we got in, he excused himself to go and change and then told me where I could get some wine and where the glasses were. The penthouse was gorgeous. It had some inviting warm colours like velvets and whites and oranges. It was very tastefully curated. Probably done by a designer. Nobody had recognized when we were out because he was wearing a cap and had the hood on most of the time.