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onlyseokmins · 2 months ago

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ash and cinders • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, royalty!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 which just means a minor power play between them at first okay 😬 i promise it's not that bad lmao i'm just paranoid, lots of making out, oral (fem. receiving), lil bit of temp play tbh, little bit of choking, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? it's just basically me attempting to write prettily uwu WC: 4.24k A/N: soooo, this has been rotting in my drafts FOREVER!!! but yeah seokmin is my most darling, favorite boy i've ever stanned anyways ofc i couldn't help but use his elle magazine photos (yes that's how long this has been ROTTING) ahhhhh - ahem anyways this goes hand-in-hand with Mischief Maker so definitely recommend checking that one out too! heheh <3

He only stayed during the night.

When the blanket of darkness covered even the moon with a hazy layer of clouds, leaving tiny twinkling stars for a traveler’s guide. The fire once dancing in the hearth dwindled down to scarlet embers barely emitting enough heat to fill the large quarters.

Not that it mattered.

Even as you lay naked amidst the silken sheets strewn upon the grand bed, the thought of your lover’s return alone was enough to engulf your body in a flame of burning anticipation that settles and simmers between your legs.

He had been gone far too long. A lengthy patrol around the surrounding territories had taken him away from your embrace. Although every morning the sun’s rays tickled your face as a sweet greeting and bathed you in a radiant light through the day, nights without him were by far the worst.

Cold.

Lonely.

Dark.

On usual accounts, it was a grievous crime to keep the queen waiting. But you would forgive him for anything, wouldn’t you? It’s exemplified in the way he bursts through the doors without so much as a courteous knock that even your most trusted servants must abide by, water droplets dripping from his auburn bangs.

Despite the eagerness to see you as soon as possible, he refused to step foot into your chambers when reeking of blood after fierce combat and soiled with dirt from travel. You always protested. The gilded throne you reigned from, the heavy crown upon your head, and even the bed you shared — all were built upon those very foundations. But your lover insisted on only showcasing the glorious side of things to you.

The gold.

The diamonds.

The luxuries.

All which adorned you by day. Glowing, glistening, and shining. Gems and jewels, fabrics woven from the highest quality quickly reduced to layers that only became a hindrance once it came time for his descent upon you. For you were absolutely beautiful clothed — this he very well knew — but when your whole body was bared naked for him and him alone? You were truly the definition of divine.

Those who dared to speak ill of you tried to foster ridiculous claims. Critical of the wealth in your possession. Mocked what they presumed was a lack of ambition. Wailed that you were a witch. A young monarch on an undeniable downfall to tyranny, one that would lead them all to hellfire and ruin.

Anything to validate that you were not worthy of the royal seal emblazoned across the lands in honor of a valiant leader with a royal bloodline still running through your veins.

Hypocrisy at its finest when you were the reason that they were bestowed or able to retain property linked to their names, money in their pockets, and a legacy to live by under your prosperous reign. Arrogant to cast down the very thing that elevated them to their current standing. But their greed would eventually come back to bite them. One day.

Even the religious sect whispered lowly, hidden in the shadows of the grand temples. Doubts that the king actually held a shred of affection for his partner — if the seldom visits seen visiting your chambers only when night falls were of any substantial evidence to go by. That he only lay with you out of duty, shackled and bound to an imposter who was never a faithful servant to the gods like they were.

Because not one of them truly believed that a god could ever favor, let alone love, a human.

You knew you were a savior to as many as you were also an enemy. A hindrance and a threat. A bold refusal to control or be controlled. There was nothing more to do other than lead your people as fairly as you judged.

All the preposterous assumptions infuriated him — your devoted knight, unorthodox husband, and scandalous lover. But he manages to temper his fiery rage out of respect for you. Behind your ruthless, steely intent is a righteous and kind heart that always calls out for him, now fully vocalized and embellished by the sweet voice he's missed hearing dearly.

“Seokmin,” you murmur, grasping his warm hand once he's within reach.

An entity of many epithets with an existence worth a millennium beyond comprehension and full of worship. Yet his favorite phonetic combination he'd ever heard was the one that fell breathlessly from your lips. The closest the human tongue could get to a god’s true name. And his second favorite would be yours, the syllables rumbling in his chest like a song and you smiled in contentment.

He was back, he was home, and he was yours.

Even in the darkness, Seokmin glowed. The ethereal radiance surrounding the broad expanse of sinewy muscles easily proved his lofty status as the great god of the sun. But it was also his eyes, flickering with the unmistakable presence as one of many deities. The kind of power that has managed to refrain from turning you into ash and cinders.

Whether it's attributed to your resilience, a ruler born to stand out and lead, or an entirely different reason — or a mixture of all — Seokmin isn't really sure. He's not the first to appear in a human vessel nor the last, with at least twelve of his known brothers wandering the mortal world for various reasons.

He wonders if he's the first to bow his head willingly, though, holding back his more devious and destructive tendencies. To pay back tenfold the worship he's received since the beginning of time all to you — a mere human — yet nonetheless, his queen.

The event of swearing his undying fealty feels like it was yesterday. For a being that persists forever, it may as well have been that short ago. Every memory he etches and sears into his mind for eternity consists of you, and only you.

How could he forget? How was he supposed to bury away the confident smirk that graced your lovely lips? Would he ever not recall the first time he bent the knee in such desperation? Not for a trick or as a dark seduction that tumbles into a dreadful demise, a conquest for carnage, and an abuse of his powers. But instead for the good of humanity — however short of an era it may be.

And maybe… for more. One that his heart fears to admit, for it does not beat within his chest, but in a plane beyond the reach of mortals.

"Would you kill for me?"

"For you, anything," the god affirms. "I have laid waste to kingdoms, countries, empires, and even continents themselves. There is nothing I'm incapable of."

"And if I asked you to behead the entire entourage that has traveled with you?"

"… If it is what you will, then it is simply my command to follow. For you, I am a lone knight at your disposal."

Silken skirts flare out as does your anger when you turn away from the large windows in the tower's tiny excuse of a throne room — hardly fit for the heir — showcasing a brief flash of the lethal dagger strapped to your thigh. "Do you wish for my downfall before I've even risen to the throne? You expect me to be a tyrant, despised by the people I am meant to save? To lead?"

"Do you think I, a god, care what thoughts others conjure up in their silly little minds? I am to act on your behalf, get my hands dirty in lieu of you. No matter how morbid your desires may be."

Stepping closer, you lift his chin with the tip of a dull sword intended to be ornamental. But it may be even deadlier than the one hung at his side, metaphorically sharpened and honed by a rebel princess's innate rage.

His little show of bowing means little with the way he stares straight at you without a shred of respect in those galaxy-filled irises. However, it is the mighty sun god who is taken aback by the hellfire burning in your gaze, hungry and powerful enough to rival his own as you scoff.

"I will show you what kind of queen this land needs, the methods we will follow, and the morals I wish to uphold. You will learn in order to understand them and enforce my will. Not only to help guide the vision I desire but to keep me accountable lest I stray. A critical misstep such as that is when I'll ask you to cut me down. Will you swear to do that for me?"

"… You dare question a god of what he can do? Your tiny, impudent human mind couldn't fathom a sliver of my capability."

"I dare to question what you can't or won't do."

"I told you, there is not a thing beyond my realm of —"

"Leave."

"… Your Highness?"

Painted lips curl in a snarl at the first address of your proper title since his arrival. "Begone, I said! Return when you feel like acting like the god you are, not simply a tool to be harnessed and used at will. Until then, I have no need for you."

Seokmin's jaw drops as you seat yourself back on the throne with a sneer and flick of your wrist for the guard to usher him out.

A challenge.

He's been abandoned many times. Discarded and tossed to the side once his usefulness has been expended. He's left before betrayal can even be thought of — for no one points a blade at a god's back — but never has he been rejected.

It was only the beginning of how you would become many of his 'firsts' and all of his 'lasts'.

Seokmin is lost deep in the memory even with the feeling of your lips curling in a gentle smile against his — a stark contrast to your initial meeting. A nail grazes his chin, digging lightly into the skin to fully bring the god back to the present.

You'd be offended by the habitual spacing out if he hadn't admitted to only getting lost in thoughts of you. Something he'd picked up during the routine patrols away. Though you strive to bring the god out of dwelling in the past when you're sitting right in front of him — the present — and deepen the kiss.

Yet he pulls away to tilt his head. "Do you remember what you offered to me?"

"Have I not offered you my all, my king?"

Charcoal lying dormant in the hearth flares back to life, emitting playful sparks when he chuckles. "After I returned to pledge my loyalty to you."

"Ah, even though I had you wait outside the gates for five days."

"Unfathomable for a god to hang around at the whim of a meager human, isn't it?"

"Meager?"

"To me? Yes."

His warm exhale of amusement feels just like the breeze that fondly brushes your cheeks every morning despite the eternal humidity. It may very well be him because no matter how far away physically from you he is, Seokmin's essence radiates in every sunray that stretches across the grand skies and below.

He is everywhere and everything all the time. But he is here with you tonight once again, kissing the palm you'd placed on his cheek. With mischief flickering like a teasing flame in his eyes, the god brings your hand to his throat, encouraging you to splay your fingers across his Adam's apple.

You free yourself from his light grasp to run them ticklishly up and down the bumps of his vocal cords. The movements of swallowing ripples beneath the light scratch of your nails until he halts you by replacing a veined hand over yours and murmurs, "Squeeze."

"Ah — but I…"

He repeats it again louder when you fail to do as asked, not even daring to move a muscle. Simply staring in almost awe-filled hesitation until he guides you to tentatively do exactly as he states, "You would have done anything to strangle me back then, what has changed?"

"… You know what."

"Tell me," he says it like it's a command, eyes brightening and swirling with an authoritative amber hue though it's all in jest. "Tell me what it is, my queen."

Never one to be deterred, only Seokmin could render you motionless for so long. You do as you're instructed, the gentle pressure applied by your hand around his throat causes auburn eyelashes to flutter. The slight restriction to an airflow that isn't all that necessary for a god's survival has his eyes rolling back before they re-focus on you, half-hidden by hooded eyelids.

"Love," you murmur. For it is the answer to everything, is it not?

"Love," is echoed with a resounding voice that doesn't fully come from the tongue of the man beneath you, but bellows out from an otherworldly essence that surrounds the entire world and beyond. And at the same time, he speaks it so fondly because ultimately, he's addressing it as a title for you.

The god of the sun, as immortal as he might be, has died before. Mortal vessels manage to persevere for a fixed number of years and a feeble human body can only endure so much wear and tear. Yet Seokmin's soul still shines steadily onwards despite the memory of death over and over again lingering… and he unsurprisingly realizes that he wouldn't mind dying like this — by your hand.

Was that love?

But the amount of power, energy, and time, along with the unpredictable wiles of the creator would never guarantee him returning to you. Preservation of this human shell was of the utmost importance, the first time he's ever handled a vessel with care before.

Perhaps that was love.

Rather than be swept up in unpleasantries, he entertains the amusing thought of how much fragility you exercise with him. Having already released your grip far too quickly and instead, fiddle with the untied laces on his loose shirt.

"Love," he repeats, this time as a call in a raspy drawl of his own voice.

"Hm. Or maybe it was… pity."

An eyebrow raises and the corners of Seokmin's mouth twitch upward. "Only my queen would dare to pity a god."

"It was for what you were. And who you weren't. I despise those uppity, repetitive displays of unwavering loyalty that either party can easily discard."

"Like the former king's imperial court."

"Yes."

Your angered hiss is exactly the same as the first time you informed him of your plans to take down your father and his cult. The disgust and rage have barely ebbed even after all the progress made for a better future and as many years that have passed.

Seokmin scans your expressions. He's always admired your spitfire that could rival his own flames. But in times when it burns long enough to possibly exhaust or hurt you, he worries. You're strong — he knows that — so many times he simply becomes the safe space where you can seethe aloud without interruption.

"Would you rather grow dull and be poisoned because someone is not even worth keeping an eye on or the thrill of unpredictability? A constant sword dance that keeps each other on their toes, never deviating gazes from one another."

He smirks. "That sounds familiar."

You think back to earlier days with him. A stubborn royal and an even more stubborn deity. When did the challenging, pointed glares at one another change to simmering looks of desire?

Instead of your swords tangling together in an angry clash over a small matter, it was your tongues after a heated sparring session. How condescension switched to respect to something more passionate… more primal… more intimate.

"Perhaps so. But look at you now — look at how you shine."

His skin indeed glows a bit brighter as he melts further into the soft touch of your palm returning to his cheek. Thumb tracing constellations between the pair of moles on his cheek while your other finger follows the nearly invisible scar below his eye.

"Little blemishes," he had once told you, "even the body of a god bears its flaws after fighting on a battlefield."

You thought they only made him all the more perfect.

"And look at how I've fallen."

As if to demonstrate his murmured words, Seokmin moves at the speed of light — his normal pace — to lie on his back, umber strands of hair spread out like flames of fire against the grandiose bed's silken sheets.

Somehow, he'd positioned you on top of him. Much accustomed to the tiny displays of omnipotence here and there, you remain unbothered. Affectionately, you brush back his bangs. Fiery wisps of hair that seemingly move on their own accord with the amount of power that ripples through their thin fibers.

He might just be the most powerful among his fellow deities and you could wield all of that as your own because he sits obediently in the palm of your hand. Lays dociley among your silken sheets. What he's trying to prove to you — the hold you have over him — immediately enthralled under your spell as you play with his locks and softly whisper, "You're Seokmin. My Seokmin."

Despite your bare chest quite literally in his face, the god waits. Fully clothed in soft linens where he can feel every tempting pulse thundering in your precious mortal body on top of his.

And still, he waits.

His hands don't even reach out as you unlace his shirt. Though he has wrecked and ruined your body in a thrillingly sensual, blistering, and passionate heat of love-making before, tonight he gives himself over to you. Vulnerable and all yours for the taking, watching with faint amusement as you impatiently urge him to shed the rest of his garments.

"My queen."

"My king."

"There is no rush. We have all of eternity."

"Do we?" you breathe out and look him in the eyes as your fingers dance along his inner thigh. "Or is it only you, divine ruler of the everlasting dawn and never-ending night?"

"My graceful moon," Seokmin sighs and distracts you from grasping his weeping shaft, urging you to straddle his legs. You follow his will despite the object of your desires lying neglected between your bodies, coating your stomach in the molten saltiness that drips from it.

"My stars, my sky, my galaxy, my universe." Each title of affection is seared into your skin with a burning kiss to brand your body. Your cheek, your ear, your neck, your shoulder, and your hand. "Without you in it, the world ceases to exist."

"My sun, my warrior, my knight, my shield, and my sword." You repeat a version of your own display of worship and what he means to you — mimicking the same actions across his lithe body. "My love, it would do you good to live in the present with me. Must you think of a dire future so soon?"

"Each inhale of life thus returns an exhale of death. I dread every moment that brings me closer to your end."

"Such morbid thoughts you carry, my darling. Where is the fearless god that took a poisoned arrow to the heart and pulled it out without so much as a flinch?"

"You think me weak when I'd take the blow of any weapon as long as it does not harm you."

The irony when you'd both been struck by invisible, non-lethal darts fired from the god of love's feathered bow. But the terrifying memory of Seokmin taking the assassination attempt in your place causes a rare, but true, fear twisting in your gut. The flash of life before your eyes changed the trajectory of your tactics and your relationship with the god. And as always he reassures you with what he knows to be the truth — for the most part.

"Nothing can hurt me as long as you're alright."

"Then make me your goddess in return so that I will be invincible enough to protect you from harm's wrath too."

"But that… you know I can't," he whimpers, "no matter how much I long to."

A tear trickles down his cheek, crystallizing when it falls. Like many before and well after, all bodily fluids of the god will be found transformed as various tiny diamonds and gems. Tangled within the bedsheets the following morning as they always are and stored away in the queen's treasury.

Seokmin cries, not just at his frustrations, but at how you gingerly hold his hot and hardened length. Heavy in your palm that rubs and strokes it lovingly before sinking down with practiced ease, having already stretched yourself out earlier while waiting. Undulating your hips in slow, controlled circles that make him dizzy with desire. Your words pierce his chest, paining him like no sword that sliced him open could ever compare.

"If fate will not let it happen, then bury me in the ground so I can thrive beneath your warm rays that whisper sweet nothings. Let me smile up at you after winter passes while I bloom brilliantly through spring and long into the heated days of summer. Weave my soul among the stars so I may greet you in the morning and kiss you goodnight every evening. Scatter my ashes into the windy gusts of the north and down the silver rivers flowing south so I may laugh and dance in the skies alongside your sunbeams."

He sobs at the poignant emotional tug of your words, every poetry waxed by your breathy voice punctuated by a tantalizing undulation of your hips. You reassuringly clench around him, foreheads and bodies pressed together, hands clasped tightly in each other's grasp.

The god's chest heaves and the mountains on the eastern border shift to the left. Sometimes the air cools when this occurs but tonight, it shimmers and glistens as if straining against his commands. A hot wave that threatens to distort the very seam of reality itself.

"I will always be yours," you kiss the corner of his trembling lips, "and you mine, my darling god."

"My sweet goddess, my everything… my love."

Seokmin's hips buck up anxiously and you let him lead the pace. Wild thrusts take over as he chases that high, wanting and needing to take you over that peak with him. Your body lays prone against him, along for the jostling ride as the god seeks his own pleasure through and with you. Praises and worship fall from his lips, never failing to be in awe of how your cunt molds and works his cock like a blacksmith shapes an iron rod yet he can bully it as he wants to fit him. Only him.

You were made for the god of the sun.

Golden ichor thrums through his veins, lighting his skin in flashes like the sparks of embers. He's beautiful. Otherworldly. Your lips capture each glowing pulse of godliness that erupts beneath his flesh with a tender peck. He's all yours.

And he was made for you.

When Seokmin plunges into your welcoming warmth that is his alone to claim before he finally succumbs, it's blinding. On the other side of the earth, the sun shines a little brighter. A harsh glint that already emits a sweltering heat from its fiery nature flares even hotter in the blue sky. A blessed priestess looks up in contemplation, waving away the worried maidens who tend to her every need.

You feel his large hands — one presses in a bruising hold between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. Keeping you flush against him, holding your body to his while you welcome inside the scorching spurts of his seed within your womb that feel like lava. Your walls flutter around him and he basks in the feeling of them pulsating as you jerk your hips

"Come," he begs out. It's loud and resounding. More of an instinctual command if anything and your body almost obeys unwittingly, unaware of his intent before he lifts you up with inhuman strength and clarifies, "Up here," and sits you on your rightful throne — his face, "where you deserve, the queen of queens. My queen. My love. My goddess."

He laps at you like a dehydrated dog. Both cleaning you up and creating an even bigger mess. Your thighs squeeze tightly around the sides of Seokmin's head, one hand tugging harshly at his hair and the other mercilessly wrinkling the silk bed sheets. His moans are sweet songs of praise but muffled as he sucks his release out of your cunt only to push it back inside with his tongue. The addition of globs of spit accompanying the still-hot, smeared mess causes your own sounds to grow much louder, writhing on top of him from the sloppy sensations.

Back and forth he repeats this a couple of times, the firm point of his nose stimulating your sore clit in his efforts. And finally, you come undone — spasming on top of Seokmin's chin and suffocating him just like he likes. Breathing and drowning in your essence, the very elixir of life.

"I shall make you mine," he whispers later, dutifully laying your deliciously aching but clean body onto freshened sheets. Your lover is ever so attentive, rarely nearly needing the same amount of aftercare he showers upon you.

For he is a god from the heavens to bestow blessings upon his desired mortal.

"I am already yours."

"But for all of eternity, it shall be so."

Satiated and content, you reach for him. He lovingly takes your hand and presses a kiss to the tip of each of your fingers. "How?"

"The Mother. She's the closest thing we have to the Creator and might be older than the universe itself. There's nothing she doesn't know so I'm sure she'll have the answers I seek."

"Must you leave so soon?"

Seokmin smiles as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. "The sun never fails to rise, my dear. I will be back before you know it bringing with me tidings of great news."

"I'll be waiting."

Your shared kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet and full of sentiment. Indeed, you always wait for him and the sun god leaves with a full heart of hope. Little does he know, and little do you suspect, the true one lying in wait was the shadowed figure holding a poisoned dagger beneath their cloak.

And so, with the death of a queen so loved by the god of the sun… the prophecy begins.

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #seokmin smut #dk smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut

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c-oupsie · 3 months ago

Text

after nightfall (teaser)

❝ 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗒𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗒𝖺𝗍𝗂. ❞

𝖣𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗒-𝗍𝗐𝗈-𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝗌—𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗂𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗇! 𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗄𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖦𝖤𝖭𝖱𝖤 & 𝖳𝖠𝖦𝖲. 𝗋𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗎, 70𝗌 𝖺𝗎, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾, 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍. 𝗏𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍, 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝖼).

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝗉𝗋𝖾-𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝗑/𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖿𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗆.

𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳. 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝖼!

𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖣𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖳. 840 (𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋)

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 :𝖣 (𝗉𝗌. 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 @svthub 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝖻, 𝗍𝖺𝗉 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 )

As the evening wears on, the hum of conversation quiets briefly as your father, the Sheikh, rises from his seat at the head of the table. His commanding presence draws everyone’s attention, and the room falls into a respectful silence.

“My dear family, esteemed guests,” he begins, his deep voice resonating through the hall, “in honor of the joyous times ahead, a foreign troupe has traveled from afar to entertain us this evening and in the coming weeks. I trust their music will lift our spirits as we celebrate these upcoming unions.”

You sit up straighter, a faint flutter in your chest at the mention of music. Beyond your beloved books, music has always been a comfort for you—a way to immerse yourself in emotions you’re not permitted to show. When sadness overwhelms you or your thoughts grow heavy, you often turn to your qanun, an instrument you’ve been playing since childhood. Though not a professional, you’ve even taught children at the school where you volunteer. The memory of their excitement makes you smile.

Faint footsteps approach from beyond the grand doors, and a strange anticipation stirs within you, an unexplainable feeling that something big is about to happen.

The doors to the dining hall open, and a group of five performers enters, instruments in hand. They bow before the table, ready to offer their talents to the royal families. You notice the subtle nervousness in their expressions, but they mask it behind big smiles as they offer a brief introduction of themselves.

Standing under the brilliant chandelier, you discreetly scan their faces as they speak. It’s hard to believe none of them are famous actors—you can’t even decide who is the most handsome among them. Their simple attire somehow elevates them, as if they’ve stepped right off the cover of a foreign fashion magazine.

But soon, your gaze is no longer on the entire group. No, your attention is drawn to one figure in particular—the tall man standing at the back, offering the table the most dazzling smile while his troupe mates speak. His dark hair falls slightly into his eyes, but as he lifts his head, you finally see his face clearly—and the breath catches in your throat.

It’s him.

The man you saw earlier today, running through the palace gardens. You remember the brief glimpse of him from a distance, wondering who he was and why he seemed to move with such urgency. And now, here he is, standing only a few feet away—a musician, part of the troupe here to entertain you.

Your heart races, and you find yourself unable to look away. He hasn’t noticed you yet—his focus on his instrument—but something about him, the way his presence seems to light up the room, draws you in.

There’s a subtle grace in his movements, and though he’s meant to blend in with the rest of the troupe, he stands out to you like a beacon. The dull ache of loneliness that had weighed on you moments ago begins to lift, replaced by a flicker of something unfamiliar—curiosity, intrigue.

As the music begins, soft and melodic, you try to maintain your composure. You’re seated among royalty, surrounded by people who expect you to enjoy the performance with elegance.

Zahir’s mother comments on the beauty of the music, saying something about wanting the troupe to perform at your wedding as well. You force a polite smile and nod, but your mind is far from the conversation. You feel Zahir’s gaze on you, and when you glance his way, he raises an eyebrow, an amused expression on his face.

Is your sudden interest that obvious? By the look on Zahir’s face, it seems it is.

You almost want to chuckle. For the first time, you feel a pull toward something, someone. And of course, it happens during an important dinner with your entire family present.

The music swells, the strings of the musician’s oud weaving a hauntingly beautiful melody through the room. You steal another glance at the musician, telling yourself this will be the last. But this time, as you look, his gaze lifts—and meets yours.

In that brief moment, the air between you seems to still. No one else notices, but it hits you like a tidal wave. His eyes linger on yours for a second, but in that second, something deep within you stirs—something that has been dormant for far too long.

You quickly look away, your cheeks flushing, but the feeling lingers. There’s something about him—this stranger—that reaches beyond the surface, beyond the confines of your royal life.

The music flows on, but everything else around you seems to blur into the background. Your thoughts are consumed by him who, without even realizing it, has captivated your full attention. Perhaps it’s the mounting pressure of the impending wedding, the yearning for something genuine, or the desire to make a choice solely for yourself for once in your life, but you find yourself determined to learn more about this man, no matter how it unfolds

𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝖺𝗉 (𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍!)

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nataliawrites · 2 years ago

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Crowning Glory // Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Princess of the Netherlands!Reader

Max prided himself on his control. His job depended on it. His life depended on it.

Even when he briefly lost control — and he really doesn’t regret the infamous pushing incident — it was always of his own doing.

Until you came into his life.

A knock on the door to his driver’s room started Max. It was race day and it was rare for him to be bothered when he was preparing on his own. A home race meant that everything was heightened. The adrenaline thrummed deeper. The cheers were louder. The Orange Army was nearly blinding in the stands.

“Max,” the familiar voice of his team principal filtered through the door after another knock, “I have someone who would like to meet you.”

“Can’t we do this later, Christian? I know you know my routine by now.”

“Just open the door. I think you’ll be happy to change up your routine this once.”

Max heaved himself off of the small couch and went to send the Brit and whatever guest he brought along away so he could continue to focus on the race in peace.

He opened the door, prepared to shut it in a second, but stopped short when he saw who was standing next to Christian. The guest in question was wearing an elegant summer dress in a bright shade of orange sure to be similarly reflected upon thousands of Dutch fans around the track.

She was also the subject of his long running teenage crush. A crush he thought he had gotten over until he was staring open-mouthed at her right in front of him.

“Hallo,” she takes the initiative to greet Max considering he was still making somewhat of a fool of himself in front of her, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Max bends into a hasty bow, unsure of the protocols for meeting someone he had only ever seen on the news and the pages of magazines, “Your Royal Highness, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m the one intruding on your preparations,” she waves his apology off. “I just wanted to stop by and wish you luck before the race. It is my first time attending a Grand Prix in-person but my family and I have been fans for a long time and started following your career when news of an incredibly promising young driver racing under the Dutch flag first made its rounds.”

“I-thank you, Your Highness. I am honored.”

“Well, I will leave you to continue getting ready. Mr. Horner promised me a tour of the garage. Good luck again, you do your country proud.”

Max remained frozen in the doorway, watching the heir apparent walk away with the Red Bull team principal, bodyguards seemingly materializing from the walls to surround her as they made their way into a public area of the F1 Holzhaus.

Max managed to get you out of his head once the race began. The second he got into the car, nothing else mattered. Everything beyond the track ceased to exist as he pushed the car to its limit and passed the chequered flag for yet another home win.

But when it came time for the podium ceremony, there you were front and center, ready to present trophies to the three drivers. Max swore he could feel a spark travel up his arm as your fingers brushed his while handing him the trophy. “Well done! Tonight we celebrate.”

Turns out the celebration was a far cry from the ones he was used to. Instead of a club, Red Bull team members were invited to join you at a nearby royal residence for dinner and drinks. Max listened to you explain why from his seat next to you at the long dining table as you waited for the first course to be served, pleasantly warm from champagne already, “I used to love going out. Tried to have a typical university experience, you know? But I was almost kidnapped last year and despite security stepping in on time I have been forbidden from doing so again. Too much risk.”

And there it was. The reminder of just how different your lives wore despite both being Dutch public figures. One day Max will retire and can live a relatively normal life if he so chooses while you will ascend to the throne and lead a kingdom.

He didn’t exactly pity you — royalty was royalty at the end of the day — but he did sympathize with the constraints that it placed on you and how you lived your life.

Max clears his throat, “I’m not exactly sure how this whole thing works but I would love to take you out.”

He waits for a response and nervously cards his fingers through his hair when he doesn’t get one, “only if you want, of course, Your Highness. I have a sailing boat on the coast not too far from here. It’s not a yacht, though you are welcome to join me on that too if you are ever in Monaco, but I promise that it is peaceful and private. I just thought you would like to get away from all this,” he gestures around the room of mingling Red Bull staff and dignitaries, “for a little.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hhmm?”

You ask again, “are you sure?”

“Sure about what? That I would like to take you on a date? Quite sure.”

“Any privacy we have won’t last long.”

“I know.”

“The press can be brutal.”

“So I’ve learned. I don’t particularly care.”

“There are rules …”

“I will learn them.”

“Okay,” you finally allow a shy smile.

“Okay?”

“Yes, Max. I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But if we are to date you have to call me Y/N.”

“Gladly … Y/N,” he tests out how your name feels on his lips for the first time.

“Oh and you will have to meet my parents.”

That gives him pause. “Your parents?”

“Yes.”

“As in the King and Queen.”

“Yes.”

“I have to meet the King and Queen?”

“It’s all still a bit old fashioned, I’m afraid. We will need their approval.”

You’re quick to reassure him when you see how quickly the color drains from his face, “my father is a big Ferrari fan but he has a soft spot for you. You need not worry.”

“Your father is the King.”

“Yes.”

“My King.”

“Yes. And he’s my father. You’ll have to get used to it if you see us going anywhere.”

“Right. Of course …” A few seconds pass. “But he’s the King.”

You pat his hand where it’s splayed on the table, “you’ll be fine.”

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 7 months ago

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Timeline: Part 8 - November 2017

For earlier timeline posts: click here or here.

The one where Meghan's hustle finally starts paying off.

Also, Meghan's PR loyalties begin changing during this month. By mid-December 2017, she's stopped leaking to her usual sources - Star Magazine, US Weekly, and E News.

And when the engagement is announced, you can watch the official stories of how Meghan and Harry met begin changing in real-time.

11/1/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/2/2017: Meghan teases an engagement with adoption of a royal wardrobe.

11/3/2017: Meghan's role on a 2009 TV show resurfaces. Samantha Markle reveals internal family racism towards Doria and Meghan, and William's friends reopen a nightclub that Harry used to party at.

11/4/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/5/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/6/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/7/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/8/2017: Soho Farmhouse announces expansion plans. Meghan merches beauty products and calls Kate a fashion copycat.

11/9/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/10/2017: A television program searches for a Meghan Markle lookalike.

11/11/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/12/2017: Remembrance Sunday for the UK. The press points out that Harry is breaking military code by keeping his beard whilst wearing a military uniform. Doria sells her high school photos to the Daily Mail.

11/13/2017: Meghan papped filming wedding scenes for Suits.

11/14/2017: Meghan papped again on Suits sets. She fuels engagement rumors by hinting she plans to leave the show (but technically she already confirmed it last month).

11/15/2017: Affair rumors about Prince Philip resurface, ahead of The Crown Season 2 release. Promos reveal that the season will focus on tension in Philip and Elizabeth's marriage.

11/16/2017: Meghan lays groundwork for a PR narrative that the royal family is jealous of her popularity by reminding everyone that The Queen and Prince Philip were angry about Diana's popularity.

11/17/2017: Meghan's body-double/Suits stand-in reveals Meghan is moving to London soon. Meghan moves her dogs to the UK and merches her boots.

11/18/2017: Genealogists discover that Meghan's ancestor was beheaded by Henry VIII.

11/19/2017: Meghan owes her celebrity to her father's lottery win. Diana's former lover, Hasnat Khan, announces his engagement.

11/20/2017: The Queen and Prince Philip celebrate 70 years of marriage and Her Majesty appoints Philip Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order. The royals celebrate with a swanky party at Windsor Castle; Meghan is not invited (her absence is confirmed next month). Meanwhile:

Meghan is papped arriving at the UK airport.

Samantha Markle gives an interview declaring desire to be invited to the royal wedding.

Financial reports announce that the Royal Family has contributed 1.8 billion pounds to the UK economy.

A rumor begins that Prince George will make a special guest appearance on Fireman Sam.

11/21/2017: Meghan is papped in London doing her Christmas shopping. She leaks to US Weekly that she has officially moved out of her Toronto house, her furniture was put into storage, and her personal belongings have been shipped to the UK.

The Daily Mail fires a warning to Meghan about how the 'needy' King Edward trapped Wallis Simpson and made it so she couldn't leave him. The implication is that Harry is similarly needy and will trap Meghan in a similar unhappiness.

11/22/2017: Meghan merches her scarf.

11/23/2017: Meghan gets a facial and merches the spa, fueling engagement rumors.

11/24/2017: Revisiting Prince Philip's stag party. Kensington Palace announces William and Kate will attend the Royal Variety Performance. Meghan leaks to E News that she and Harry are "practically" engaged, fueling more engagement rumors.

11/25/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

11/26/2017: Meghan merches her facialist and her treatment. The Daily Mail scoops Buckingham Palace and reveals an announcement is coming. They also recap Harry and Meghan's relationship and reveal that both Doria and Meghan have received RPO security details.

11/27/2017: Kensington Palace announces the engagement of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle and:

The Telegraph republishes its "Meghan Markle: The Making of a Hollywood Princess" story.

Meghan merches her coat, shoes, health tips, beauty, skincare, and boots.

They hint at receiving Sussex titles.

Revisiting all of Harry's ex-girlfriends.

Meet Meghan's besties and potential bridesmaids.

The Markle family comments on the royal engagement.

Meghan and Harry will live in Nottingham Cottage.

How Meghan Markle went from seedy LA tenement to the Palace.

How Catholic Meghan Markle survived her parents' LA divorce.

Meghan's life in photos

Meet the Markles

Meghan and Crown Princess Mary (of Denmark) are style sisters.

Mishal Husain was hand-picked by Harry to conduct the engagement interview.

Speculation about the wedding dress begins, with Meghan teasing an Australian designer.

Meghan leaks to US Weekly that she and Harry spent the weekend away before announcing their engagement.

Meghan leaks about her preparation and support from Harry to become royal.

Diana and Meghan would have been best friends.

Meghan retires from acting.

How Meghan tamed Harry

Royal fashion showdown: Meghan, Diana, and Kate

11/28/2017: Engagement coverage continues.

Violet von Wesetenholz is the royal matchmaker.

Doria gives a statement on the engagement.

Meghan's sixth grade school photos are published.

Meghan's sexy online photos resurface.

Quid pro quo: How Meghan supports her friends

Meghan and Harry merch Luckington Manor as a prospective home.

No, it's not Violet. The royal matchmaker is Misha Nonoo.

Harry papped at the gym in Chelsea.

Meghan did the calligraphy for Robin Thicke and Paula Patton's wedding.

Actually, Markus Anderson is the royal matchmaker. (I believe this one; the source is US Weekly, which is a confirmed Meghan ally. The Violet and Misha stories are from the Daily Mail.)

Samantha Markle says Thomas wants to walk Meghan down the aisle.

Meghan leaks that she and Harry secretly visited The Queen after announcing engagement.

See? Meghan can do royal glam too -- 11 times she won the red carpet.

Meghan merches her fashion sense and style.

11/29/2017: Engagement coverage continues.

All about Meghan's genealogy (again)

Meghan reveals Bogart was too old to fly and was left behind in Canada. She also leaks that the BRF is forcing her to stop acting and that the BRF is also making her stop her private charity work.

Meghan the humanitarian

Ninaki Preddy sells pictures to the Daily Mail. The motherlode includes a photograph of Meghan posing outside Buckingham Palace.

Meghan expected to join the royal family at Sandringham for Christmas.

Meghan merches tongue massages.

Aaron Korsh, the creator of Suits, reveals that Meghan was written out of Suits in 2016.

Meghan leaks her expectations to be better than Princess Grace of Monaco.

Meghan merches her beauty routine again.

11/30/2017: New day, same story.

Meghan is on the cover of Elle France.

Meghan merches her nose.

Meghan's soap commercial resurfaces.

Meghan's sorority pictures are published.

Kensington Palace announces wedding will be in May.

Remember when Meghan was a fashion expert/consultant for the Today show?

Northwestern University remembers Meghan.

Meghan has royal ancestors.

How will Meghan become a British citizen?

#timeline #brf #sussexes #pr shenanigans

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jbaileyfansite · 3 months ago

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Ariana Grande interviews Jonathan Bailey for VMan Magazine (2024)

Jonathan Bailey’s acting career began at the age of eight when the prestigious Royal Shakespeare Company cast him in a role coveted by all little boys who like musicals: Gavroche in Les Miserables. Since then, he’s starred in contemporary plays, refined his iambic pentameter flow via several Shakespearian productions, and, in 2019, won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role for his work in the gender-swapped revival of Company. In other words, Bailey is a theater nerd.

This made his upcoming role as Fiyero Tigelaar in the movie adaptation of the Broadway hit, Wicked, all the more unbelievable to him. Over Zoom, with co-star Ariana Grande, Bailey admits that he’s only recently had the space to fangirl over the reality that he’s playing the lead in a musical that rocked his world when he first saw it at the age of 15. Tuning in from Thailand, he and Grande chat about his upcoming project, another adaptation, Jurassic Park, and the memories of Oz that he (reportedly) carries in his pocket.

Ariana Grande: Hi, good morning. What time is it for you?

Jonathan Bailey: It’s 8am. Feeling pretty fresh.

AG: You look beautifully fresh. Just for context, for people reading, Johnny, you’re currently in Thailand. What are you up to over there?

JB: I’m on a really long holiday in the jungle, pretending to run away from fake dinosaurs… Um, no, I’m filming Jurassic Park. And there are massive links between it and Wicked because it’s got so many of the same crew.

AG: Yes!

JB: The bereavement of leaving Wicked behind has been sort of solved by the fact that so many of them are still here. So, I’m keeping the Wicked dream alive, but with dinosaurs.

AG: That’s so beautiful. You’re so lucky to have a little piece of Oz with you still every day.

JB: I carry Oz in my pocket.

AG: Yes. How is it going?

JB: I am loving it. We’re doing a whole new version of the Jurassic Park franchise.

AG: What can you say about your character, about this new franchise?

JB: I can say that it’s written by David Koepp, who wrote the original. It feels like it’s in ultimate hands to bring it back to what the original achieved. (Jurassic Park) was the first film I went to see with my whole family, and I was way too young, I was terrified. There is a similarity between doing this and Wicked, I also saw the original run of Wicked in London.

AG: I would love to touch on Fellow Travelers, which was such an emotional and expansive project. What was the process of taking on a character like Tim, whose story is told over several decades?

JB: Fellow Travelers will always be something that I’m incredibly proud of. For me it [was] the most fulfilling creative, emotional, and spiritual thing I’ve done. Tim and Hawke (leads in Fellow Travelers) are allegories. So many men that lost their lives. It’s never lost on me, all the other actors that couldn’t come out or were vilified for being caught having sex in toilets. All the horrific ways in which a pure thing like man-on-man love has been misconstrued.

AG: It was absolutely palpable.

JB: I had this amazing weekend in Bangkok and I met this group of Malaysian dudes who were just so brilliant. They were doctors and they were really bright, intelligent, kind, sweet men who were having such a brilliant time. We ended up having dinner and, after a few drinks, they were telling me that they come over from Malaysia to Bangkok because they can’t be out to their families.

AG: My God.

JB: It’s so painful.

AG: I was gonna say, this leads us beautifully into The Shameless Fund, your foundation that you launched actually this week, congratulations. How does it feel that it’s finally out there in the world?

JB: It’s been a labor of love for about two years. When the second series of Bridgerton came out, I was suddenly aware of an increased platform, especially the fact Bridgerton is viewed in multiple territories where being gay is different. So, I just sort of fused the two together—

AG: It’s a beautiful way of making sense of it all.

JB: Thank you for being an icon and an ambassador for the Shameless Fund.

AG: I’m so proud of you and I love you and your heart so much. Okay, moving on. I was wondering what things have helped you recharge your human battery?

JB: I’ve adapted my life slightly. I don’t live in a city anymore, I do a lot of swimming and gymnastics, which is something that I’ve done [since] I was younger. I [also] think it’s friends, which I know is such a sort ofeye roll [answer]. I’ve got amazing friends, they’ve always been there and I’ve been friends with them for so long.

AG: And me, for 2 years.

JB: I’ve spiritually known you for 20 years.

AG: Yeah, 100. Let’s move on to Wicked. How did you prepare for the role of Fiyero?

JB: I mean, it’s a complete dream come true. The preparation started when I listened to the soundtrack when I was like 15. And I remember viscerally; it sent ripples through culture. Also, I remember hearing the orchestration. I hadn’t really heard the synth-meets-full-orchestra-meets-syncopation.

Something about it just completely grabbed me. My best friend from school, me and him went to go and see it together—we were soulmates through school. And it was so funny that, like, two lads just went with it. I think the themes of Wicked have probably expanded, and that’s what I’m really excited about with the film.

AG: Yeah, it feels like it needs to be now more than ever before, perhaps.

JB: I went to go meet Jon (Chu, director). We chatted for about two and a half hours and it was really emotional. The one thing that we talked about with Fiyero: everything is so easy to him. How do you tell the story of someone who seemingly doesn’t care? What’s he frustrated by? We discussed it and found quite a human thing, I think. And, obviously, with our film, it represents extreme privilege and it’s about his bubble needing to pop.

AG: I think our characters share that in a big way, Elphaba comes along and pops both of our bubbles. Perhaps for the first time we both are able to look at things differently. And it’s not that we’re not loving, heartful people. It’s just that we’ve never had to look outside of what affects us until we meet her.

JB: Exactly. And anyway, it was Jon. Basically, the answer to every question about Wicked is Jon Chu. Don’t you think?

AG: Yeah, I do. I think we were very spoiled to have done this with him. It felt like a teeny, little secret student thing—its intimacy. It felt so small and private until all of a sudden, we were outside, and the Daily Mail was hand gliding over our set—oh, he should play the pterodactyl in your film.

JB: I think he’s actually hovering over right now.

AG: Can you explain what this was, please?

JB: It was a man on a massive kite, floating around with his legs hanging down.

AG: I couldn’t believe my eyes. Well, firstly because I don’t have the best eyes. But secondly, because there’s no way. There’s no way! I was like, ah, guy on a hand glider.

JB: With a GoPro. With a GoPro on his toes.

AG: With a GoPro on his toes. Was your experience filming Wicked at all what you expected it to be?

JB: There were certain elements of it that I was incredibly impressed by and I think that is because of the love and care of Mark Platt and Jon Chu. Obviously we’ve grown up loving theater and musical theater, I always felt attached to that wonderment. I think my expectation might have been that somehow in the making of something, you lose that. But we were on those incredible sets.

AG: Oh my gosh. Best in the world.

JB: I think I was in Wicked fan survival mode for the last 18 months. I’m starting to really get excited about it.

AG: It takes a certain amount of time to grieve something like that. I mean you’re already in Thailand and a whole different person, but it’s interesting how it takes a while and then it hits you.

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#jonathan bailey #ariana grande #wicked #wicked movie #fellow travelers #jurassic world rebirth #jurassic park #interviews #interviews:2024 #vman magazine interview 2024 #vman magazine #NEW!

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happilysmythe · 8 months ago

Text

❥ 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚

trent frederic.

word count: 2.2k

warning: explicit content

"you the medication when i'm feeling anxious" — ariana grande

- - -

“D’you think anyone would notice if we went to the bathroom at the same time?”

Your head whipped around to face Trent, who had his face buried in his phone, scrolling through his music. The nonchalant expression that was present on his face made you wonder if he even said anything to begin with.

“Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“Trent, we’re…we’re on a plane,” you pointed out timidly, “with your teammates.”

A soft chuckle left his lips; an action made to taunt you. And taunt you, it did. You loved him, but god, he had a way of making you feel utterly embarrassed sometimes.

“Never done that on a plane before?” he asked you, turning his head ever-so-slightly so he could see you out of the corner of his eye.

“Actually, yes, I have.”

Your comment piqued his interest. “That so?”

“Once. And it sucked. Royally,” you told him promptly, looking back down at the magazine between your hands. “So I’d prefer not to have to do it again.”

“Tell you what,” he spoke, standing up from his seat, placing his phone down and reaching his hand out. “Try it, and if you hate it again, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

Truthfully, the offer seemed enticing. Hell, Trent was your boyfriend. You should’ve trusted that he’d know what he was doing. And shit, there wasn’t much in the world that you loved more than the way he fucked you—hands on your waist, your neck, lips touching every last inch of your body.

“Fine,” you reluctantly agreed, standing with him and allowing him to guide you toward the bathroom. Shamefully, you walked down the aisle, following closely behind your boyfriend.

“God, I feel like they’re all looking at us.”

He laughed. “The last thing they’re doing is paying attention, babe. Trust me. Just keep walking.”

You finally reached the door, on it a small plaque with the word lavatory engraved into the metal. A prompt check of his surroundings was made before he nudged the door open, holding it in place as his hand pushed you inside by the small of your back. The door clicked shut behind you and he locked it, then made his way over to you.

“There’s…a lot more room in this one,” you swallowed.

“Just enough,” he mumbled before leaning down and pushing his lips to yours.

Every time he kissed you, your body gave into him, and this time was no different. Every worry, every disapproving thought you had vanished in an instant. He was intoxicating; so fucking irresistible, and your mind struggled to conjure up an excuse or reason to stop, even though you could’ve rattled off near thousands before.

He knew exactly what he did to you, and that was why he proposed that little deal in the first place. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you’d accept his offer.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, meeting yours and slowly tangling with it. You relished in the feeling as his hands slid down to your waist, feet taking slow steps backward, hands pulling you with him.

He sat on the closed toilet cover and pulled you into his lap in one swift motion, hand moving to your front and sliding up, palm flattening on your stomach.

“Is this okay?”

His voice was a quiet rasp. You looked down to find his eyes already looking up at you, waiting for your response. As far as he knew, you were still on the fence.

But you already knew that you were far from it.

You nodded sharply, giving him the go-ahead. He took this and slid his hand down from your stomach to your inner thigh. As he moved his hand up your thigh, the cold surface of his ring grazed your skin, eliciting a soft whimper from your throat.

He loved the sound of your moans. They fueled his ego, showed him what he did to you. Just how good he made you feel, even when he had yet to try.

He was thankful you’d chosen to wear a thin dress that day; he didn’t have to be burdened by pulling anything off. Instead, he was able to push the fabric of the dress slightly up your legs, granting him easy access to the lacy underwear that drove him positively nuts every time he saw it.

His face was buried in your neck within seconds, lips leaving soft kisses as his fingers reached the lace and pushed it aside. Slowly, he dragged his knuckles across the skin, the cold touch of the metal adding to the sensation. He grinned as he felt your hips roll slightly. You were struggling to keep still, and he knew it, which was why it was all the more sweet for him.

“Not so bad, is it?” he cooed, tongue grazing just under your jaw.

“No,” your response weakly sounded, “it’s not.”

“Mm,” he agreed, then pulled back and brought his hand up to his face briefly.

Your eyes widened with shock when spit left his mouth and hit his fingers, leaving them shiny as he rubbed them together and slid them back between your thighs. Then, it was the sound of another faint moan falling from your lips as he carefully pushed them into you, making sure to keep you as quiet as possible.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for stability, nails tearing at the fabric of his shirt that you couldn’t wait to take off once the two of you got home.

He kissed you again, his mouth stifling the moans threatening to break loose as he slowly moved his fingers up and down. With them, your hips moved once more, bringing that cocky grin back to his face again while he continued to move his hand.

He didn’t plan on making this last for long—oh, no—he had other ideas. This was only him getting you ready for him, and truthfully, you practically already were from the start. There wasn’t much time for fooling around, or else the two of you would begin to run the risk of getting caught.

So his fingers were gone almost as fast as they came, the loss of his touch prompting a whimper to escape your throat. “Trent, why—”

“Shh,” he demanded, cutting you off, and you couldn’t help but sit in confusion.

A part of him enjoyed seeing you so needy. The satisfaction of making you squirm with just the denial of his fingers brought him the sense of control that he desperately needed. And he loved how quick you were to listen to his every word.

But he always made sure to reward you; he wasn’t the type to take without giving.

And it didn’t take long for you to piece together what he was doing once you noticed his hand fumbling with his pants. Soon, you found your hand moving down to wrap your fingers around him, pumping him slowly, earning a low groan of approval. With all of the times he’d been vocal about how much he loved that feeling, he didn’t even have to say it.

But, of course, he did it anyway.

“Fuck,” he rasped, “you’re so good.” He moaned again, hands molding to your waist and beginning to adjust your position. As he lifted you, your hand began to carefully line him up with you, and he sucked in a breath.

“Wait,” he paused. “Did you—”

“I never miss a day, Trent,” you quickly responded, cutting him off. “You’re good.”

He nodded sharply, then tightened his grip on your waist and lowered you onto him, the sound of mixed moans filling both his and your ears. You leaned forward slightly, placing both hands on his shoulders again as he shifted in your stomach, effectively rendering you unstable.

He loved filling you bare; he felt every bit of movement that way. Every sensation when you’d come apart around him. Not to mention it was a much easier cleanup to tackle.

“God, you feel so good,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“So do you.”

His eyes flitted up to yours as he squeezed your waist, silently asking for your approval to start moving. Of course, it was a no-brainer to you—a hard yes.

So you finally lifted yourself up slightly, then slowly sunk back down. You allowed his firm hands to guide you as you moved up and down, walls constricting around him in the process.

By now, your dress had ridden up your body; the fabric now sat just above your stomach, bundled up at your ribs. You could now feel his large, rough hands bare on your skin, cold ring digging into your side. And not only was he able to see how the lacy underwear—which you knew he loved—hugged your hips, but it also exposed the print of a small bulge in your stomach.

That just so happened to be the shape of his tip.

He could see the movement—every last inch of it—and he loved it.

It wasn’t just the visibility that you loved. It was the way his dick felt buried inside of you, filling you up with ease and hitting every single fucking spot imaginable. How deep he reached. It felt like he was made for you—you’d told him so countless times during sex—and this time proved to be no different.

For a moment, you forgot that you were on a plane with the rest of his professional hockey team. And when you let a moan slip that might have been just a tad bit too loud, Trent made sure to bring you back down to reality.

“Hey.”

Your head snapped up and aligned your gaze with his, your hips still grinding slowly. “Don’t be too loud. You don’t want to get us caught,” he cooed, giving your hips a squeeze.

You nodded sharply and buried your face in his neck as soft whimpers continued to spill from your lips. He sped up your movements slightly with his hands, a groan escaping his throat and humming against your mouth.

“Trent, fuck,” you mumbled weakly.

He felt you clench around him as he started to hit the sweet spot inside you, signaling to him that you were close. He finally removed a hand from your waist and brought it between your legs, thumbing the area gently and bringing you closer. Your reaction to the added sensation was telling—weaker, needier moans that were relentlessly pried from your throat.

“Like that, mm?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you tipped over the edge, his finger keeping up its pace and working you through your release. The moment your head began to lift he enveloped your mouth in another kiss, tongue slipping past your lips once more.

With a low groan into your mouth, he followed, spilling into you, the warmth beginning to spread throughout your stomach slowly. He moved his hand back up, this time finding purchase on your stomach to feel his gradually slowing movements under his palm.

You could feel the mixture of your releases between your legs, threatening to escape from the place you were joined. But luckily for you, it remained only there and inside.

Once the two of you finally calmed, your head fell to his shoulder, heavy breaths exiting through your parted lips as his arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you into him. He pressed small kisses to the side of your head as he let his breaths slow with yours, and the both of you chose to remain silent.

“See?” he finally spoke. “Not so bad.”

“No,” you replied softly, then lifted your head and smiled at him. “Not with you.”

He smiled back and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, then settled his hands on your hips again. Carefully, he lifted you off of him and allowed you to fix yourself while he did the same. He gripped the fabric of your dress and gently slid it back down your body. Finally, you stood up, reflexively reaching out to grab him when you realized the need for stability.

“I’ve got you.” He stood up with you and pulled you in, his fingers pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You go out first, mk? I’ll come out in a few.”

“Okay,” you agreed softly.

He leaned down and kissed you for the last time and loosened his grip on you, allowing you to walk out of the bathroom and timidly make your way back to your seat. He waited for a few minutes, checking his hair in the mirror and wiping his hands clean of any mess left on them.

You saw him coming back out of the corner of your eye and looked up, watching him closely as he sat back down next to you. Your hand subconsciously stuck out, silently asking for him to take it in his and he obliged without hesitation, thumb gently grazing the skin.

Not long ago, he’d started to notice how you would tend to become needier after sex—you only wanted to be closer to him—and he thought it was just about the sweetest thing, even now.

Your head rested on his shoulder and he turned, kissing it softly as he continued to hold your hand in his.

“Think you’d do it again?” he asked, his voice a near whisper.

“Definitely.”

#boston bruins #hockey #fanfic #trent frederic #trent frederic smut #trent frederic fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #trent frederic x reader #trent frederic imagine #boston bruins imagine #boston bruins fic

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