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[kwonkissed]

NEW YEAR'S DAY ☆ C.HS

Kissing at midnight on New Year's Eve is said to bring good luck and bounty to the upcoming year. It looks like you and Vernon both have to overcome your apprehension of being open with your feelings in order to have the best luck. word count: 3.1K warnings: mostly fluff, making out, mentions of alcohol (it's new years guys), dry humping

Vernon was upset with you. How could he not be? You'd been helping him with his New Year's Eve party all day. No matter what he did, there was no way he could get you to take a break. He had to admit though, your dedication was admirable. What did you say? Something along the lines of, "As your best female friend – best friend really – it's my job to assist with matters like these."

And as angry as Vernon was that you hadn't taken any time for yourself aside from changing outfits in his spare room, he was thankful for the work you had done. His house looked absolutely amazing. The Christmas tree was in perfect order, balloons and streamers strategically placed, hors d'oeuvres meticulously positioned in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible—all of which you masterfully orchestrated with that brain of yours.

Still, with all the effort you both had put into the event, Vernon wanted to ensure you were having a good time. You deserved it. 

He looked over to your spot in his kitchen. You were standing near the punch bowl with your head tilted back in laughter at something one of your mutual friends said. He smiled and nursed the champagne in his hand. You looked so beautiful in that black dress and your diamond studs. So lovely and warm and inviting. He wishes he could kick everyone out of his house this very second so that he could be with you all by himself.

Vernon began to feel his ears burn. You always said that when a person's ears burn, that means someone's talking about them. As his friends pull him into another conversation, he steals another glance over at you. He tries to make out the words. Maybe his name will be on your lips. 

Yeah, Vernon was upset with you. But he was more upset with himself for being too beside himself to make his feelings known.

The vantage point from the kitchen island provided the perfect view of you and Vernon's handiwork. You and he had managed to transform the interior of his cozy brownstone into a Home Magazine photographer's daydream in just a few hours. It was only right that you stood back and admired it. The mini bar was full, finger food dishes over half eaten, and your friends milling about the house, all buzzing with excitement. You smiled, thoroughly satisfied. 

With all your scanning of the area, your eyes were bound to land on Vernon at some point. A special kind of heat rippled through you, from the soles of your feet to the top of your head. He looked amazing. The sleeves of his crisp white button-up were rolled to his elbows, and his hair was pushed back and messy – like he'd been running his hands through it all night. And he was talking so animatedly with his friends that you could feel your heart growing 3 sizes too big, just like the Grinch's had. Vernon was beautiful, inside and out. There was never a day where you didn't remind him that he was "pale as the moon with a personality bright as the sun."

His typical response? That you were corny and way too into figurative language. You just hummed in agreement. Vernon was right, of course, he's your best friend. He's supposed to be right about you. Vernon was forgetting one thing, though. Yes, you were corny and yes, you adored figurative language; how can one not? It's very poetic. But the one fact he was missing was that you were head over heels in love with him. And that was the most important piece of information.

As you broke your surveillance of Vernon to glance at your watch, you felt a body slide next to yours on the counter. Looking to your left, you're met with the shit-eating grin of Sophia, Vernon's little sister.

"Like what you see?"

You blanch. "Oh please, give me a break," you say, turning around to face the cabinets. Sophia does the same. The heat is back, this time concentrated in your face. You pressed the back of your hands to your face in concern. The younger woman hums and fetches you a glass of water. "Before you shoot me down for even talking about it," Sophia says slowly. You glare. "I just say give it a try. You never know; he, like, will definitely like you back." You down your water and lay your head on Sophia's shoulder. "You really think so," you ask sheepishly. "I'm positive. And hey, if he says anything bad, I'll beat his ass and kick him out of this house. Then you and I can live here together. How's that sound?" 

You laugh at her proposal. While you and Vernon had always been partners in crime, you wholeheartedly admit to being a double agent for Sophia. She'd always be like a little sister to you, no matter how not little she was anymore.

"Deal," you said confidently. Sophia giggled and hugged you quickly before trotting off to God knows where. 

A small sigh escaped your lips as you watched her walk away. "You should get off your feet," a voice murmured behind you. You turn around to see Vernon's face propped up on the counter, his eyebrows raised accusingly. 

You made your way around the island to stand next to him. "What? And not be able to strut around your gorgeous house in these killer boots? No way." You clicked your heels to emphasize your point, which made Vernon chuckle.

"You've been strutting around my gorgeous house all day, woman. Sit down." He looked at you with his big brown eyes full of so much care and admiration that you almost puked all over his Converse. You sighed and nodded your head. "Fine, I'll listen to the man of the house for once."

"But for the record, don't go getting too sappy on me, Hansol. Too many people will see through your cool guy persona." You jokingly narrowed your eyes and jabbed a finger at his chest before waltzing away with a plastic flute of champagne in your hand. Vernon watched the way the material of your dress hit the back of your thighs as you sashayed away.

Who cares about being cool if it's not with you?

Vernon was still watching you as you sat on the couch, fingers mindlessly tapping against the plastic in your hands. You were listening to your friend drone on about her loser ex. He could tell by the frequency of your head nods and the unruffled expression on your face that you had heard all of it before. 

Someone snapped at him. "Um, earth to Vernon? Hello?" Vernon turned to see Mingyu's deadpan expression. Vernon swallowed. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Wonwoo playfully rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been staring at a certain someone, you would know," he said teasingly. Vernon frowned at the man. "I wasn't staring. I was just…checking in." Vernon watched as his two friends looked at one another skeptically. "Right, right," Mingyu remarked, sipping his drink. Vernon listened to the rest of his friends' commentary on his situation before the loud voice of a newscaster caught his attention. Someone had turned on the TV. 

"Oi! The countdown's starting soon," Seungkwan called out from his perch on the back of the couch. Vernon made a mental note to kill the man if he messed up the leather. 

"You know what, man? You should totally kiss her to ring in the new year," Mingyu insisted, nudging Vernon's ribs. "This is your chance." The mere suggestion made Vernon's heart jump to his throat. Sure, he’d thought about pulling you in for a kiss tonight, but someone actually saying the words aloud? That was too real. His feet felt like they had been bolted to the floor, his tongue a rock in his mouth. Sensing his apparent uneasiness, Mingyu and Wonwoo smiled at each other maliciously and decided to do what any great friend would – toss him into the deep end. Wonwoo grabbed one arm, Mingyu the other, and together, the two men marched Vernon over to you. 

The noise in the space was increasing by the second. It made Vernon's heart beat faster. "You've got this, champ," Mingyu said, laughing over the clamor of party blowers and enthusiastic shouting. "Yeah, go get 'em, tiger," Wonwoo said with a glint of mischief in his bespectacled eyes. They left him with pats on his back that almost sent him flying. 

"Oh, hi guys," you said, puzzled. The two men sweetly waved back at you as they retreated. Your friend had easily clocked whatever bullshit Mingyu and Wonwoo were pulling and decided to take her leave. You stood to look your best friend in the eye. The two of you were close, fronts just an inch from touching. Vernon cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey," he breathed out after a moment. You smiled at him with those pearly whites of yours. Vernon could have fainted.

"Hey yourself, you look like you've seen a ghost," you said. With furrowed eyebrows, you pressed the back of your hand to Vernon's forehead. "Are you sure you're not sick, hon?"

Vernon leaned into your touch and sighed. "No, it's — it's nothing like that. Just a bit tired 's all." You nodded as you pulled your hand back. Vernon almost groaned at the lack of touch. God, this was going to drive him insane.

He was going to tell you. He had to. Because if he let you laugh and celebrate, or God forbid, kiss someone else, he would have to vault himself down his staircase and ruin everyone's night. Slowly, Vernon's lips began to form the words he had been dying to say forever. Your eyes widened in anticipation, like you could feel the weight of the words on the Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted by a sudden cacophony in his home. 

"10!"

You took a step back and cleared your throat. "Looks like everyone's gonna start swapping spit in a few seconds, huh," you whispered. It hadn't been hard to understand what he was thinking. You basically live in each other's minds; it's what happens when people are in love.

One of Vernon's hands had found the back of his neck, an easy tell of his nervousness. "Yeah, seems that way."

"9!"

You bite your lip. "So, you come here often?" Vernon laughs at your terrible pickup line. The knot in his stomach was gradually unraveling.

"8!"

"Oh, come here, you idiot." Vernon opened his arms to embrace you. Continuing with your teasing, you looked at him in faux surprise. "Who? Me?"

"7!"

Vernon rolled his eyes as you stepped into his space once more. Your hands snaked around his waist, and you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, taking in his cologne. He smelled like bergamot and cedarwood. "You really like that cologne I bought for your birthday, don't you?"

"6!"

Vernon smiled. "Yeah. It's my favorite."

"5!"

You pulled your head away from Vernon's chest to get a look at him. Stunning, as always. You hoped your eyes conveyed all the words you couldn't say. They say the heart speaks through the eyes. And Vernon was hearing you loud and clear. 

"4! 3! 2!"

Vernon placed his hands on your face, the touch achingly gentle. Your hands move to lay flat on his abdomen. You fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. Vernon's warm breath fanned over your face. It smelled like champagne. "Ready?" He whispered the word as if he was afraid you might break if he were too intense. You nodded. 

"...1! Happy New Year!"

And just like that, your lips were on his. Fireworks could be heard in the distance, and you couldn't help but think that's what the inside of your chest sounded like, too. Your hand gripped Vernon's shirt, surely wrinkling the fabric. Not that it mattered, though, because Vernon's lips were so soft as they chased after yours. You sighed into his mouth, allowing his tongue to explore yours. 

A sharp whistle rang through the room, followed shortly by the sound of applause. You and Vernon (just barely) pulled away from each other to see what the commotion was all about. The realization came quickly because everyone was cheering for the two of you. You buried your face in Vernon's chest and laughed as he wrapped his arm protectively around you and cussed out the ringleader, who had been quickly identified as Mingyu. 

Vernon pulled away to look down at you. His cheeks were flushed a bright red. "You alright," he asked softly. You beamed at him and kissed the tip of his nose. "So much more than alright."

For the rest of the night, you and Vernon were attached at the hip. Lighting sparklers, helping tipsy friends into their coats, cleaning up. Always side by side. And it didn't look any different than usual from the outside, but to both of you and everyone in the room, there was a clear distinction. 

Vernon ushered the last of your friends out of the door with a contented sigh. The chaos was finally over. He turned to look at you on his couch, your body seemingly melting into the cushions. You had kicked off your so-called killer boots and were staring at the ceiling. Vernon made his way over to the couch and plopped down next to you.

"You think it was a success," you asked, picking at your nails.

Vernon turned to face you. "The party?" 

"Obviously," you snorted. 

"Yeah, I think it went great. But I don't know if I'm the right person to ask."

"And why is that?"

"Well, it might not have been great," Vernon smiled. "It could've been shit, and I wouldn't have even noticed because I got exactly what I wanted." You hummed at his answer. Turning your head, you gazed at him seductively. "Oh really? What did you want so bad, Hansol?"

There you go again, saying his name like that. Vernon chewed on his bottom lip and thought carefully about his next move. Slowly, he walked his fingers across one exposed leg, then the other. You shivered. Vernon tapped on your leg opposite of him. Receiving the message, you threw it over his and slid onto his lap. 

"You, of course."

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, suddenly shy. 

Vernon tenderly lifted your chin to get a look at your face. There was something so pretty about you in the light of his Christmas tree and vintage table lamp. It made you look like you did in his mind–like you were glowing. Vernon mindlessly ran his hands up and down your sides as the two of you sat in the quiet afterglow of the evening.

You leaned forward to press your forehead against Vernon's. Your fingers made their way to his jawline. It was transfixing how the muscles tensed and relaxed at your touch. A lopsided smile was splayed across the young man's face. You canted your face towards him but stopped, suddenly hesitant. For what reason, you weren't sure. It was almost like you were kindergartners again, and you could be walked in and scolded at any minute. Subconsciously, you were looking for a reason to stop, to not be in love with your best friend. You couldn't find one.

So, you kissed him. It was languid like you had all the time in the world. And there was. There was no countdown to rush you, no crowd of onlookers to be wholly invested in your actions. 

You wrapped your arms around Vernon's neck as he deepened the kiss. He could feel a bead of spit dripping down his chin. He couldn't care less. Vernon's hands grasped the back of your thighs, and his fingers traced patterns in your skin. It made you squirm. The heat was gradually returning to your body. You needed to move, or else you'd probably explode. And you didn't want to leave another mess for Vernon to clean up.

Slowly, you began to rock back and forth in his lap. Vernon moaned into your mouth at the movement. It was kind of sweet when you thought about it. The both of you are too tired and lazy to get each other off efficiently, but neither cares enough to stop. It felt too good, anyway. 

After a few minutes of making out with your friend-turned-lover, you reluctantly detached your lips from his. Making your way to his neck, you peppered kisses behind his ear. You listened to him sigh. 

"Vernon, baby," you said breathlessly. Your hips stuttered to a stop. "I've really gotta go." With shaky legs, you stumbled off his lap, and you could've sworn you heard Vernon whine. Turning to put your shoes on, you felt a tug on the hem of your dress. 

"We're pretty good at this being in love thing, aren't we?" His voice came out a little quieter, a little more shaky than he'd meant for it to. You looked at him with his swollen lips and blown-out pupils. Who gave him the right to look like that? Or to ask that question?

Vernon stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back. "I'd like to think we always were," you responded with a smile. Vernon chuckled.

"Stay," he whispered. "Please." Vernon spun you around to face him. You don't think you'd ever seen your best friend look so desperate. Shaking your head, you smiled.

"Fine."

And with that confirmation, Vernon grabbed your hand and guided you upstairs.

Scanning his room before climbing into bed, Vernon smiled to himself. All of your things looked so right sitting next to his. Your clothes kicked in the same corner as his. Phones charging next to each other on the same dresser. Hell, even your toothbrush on his bathroom counter fit in. But the biggest thing was you. You lying under his duvet in his oversized t-shirt and sweats. 

"What are you so smiley about over there, loverboy," you asked, amused. Vernon slipped into bed next to you. "Couldn't help but think all of this felt natural," he said thoughtfully. You looked him over. His eyes were closed, and his arms were crossed behind his head. "For someone so scared to tell me he loved me, you're being super casual about this," you said, poking him in his ribs. You laughed as he yelped. "Well, I think you not tearing my heart out and rejecting me has a huge part to play in it, ma'am." You hummed in response. "Fair enough." 

There was a beat of comfortable silence. 

"You know, our friends practically say we're married already."

"I know. Can't really blame them, can we?" You laughed.

"No, we can't," you breathed. "Oh, if only they'd seen us arguing over what records to play tonight." You turned and grabbed his bicep. "Hoshi would never let us hear the end of it." Now, it was Vernon's turn to laugh.

There was another beat of silence.

"Sol?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for starting my year off right." Vernon felt his chest tighten at your words. He pressed a kiss to the apple of your cheek. 

"It was a pleasure. Happy New Year, baby."

the art of dry humping is not lost on me!! this is one of those ideas that I woke up in a cold sweat from. like I just had to get it out of my brain. anyways, hope y'all enjoy

[ltash]

In the middle of the night pt-1

Your mom was dating Mr Riley, and you were staying as a guest in his house until Ghost decided to pay a visit.

Lots of slowburn in the chapter..

The quiet settled in like a heavy blanket, wrapping the room in a soft silence. You sat cross-legged in Mr. Riley's grand living room, surrounded by polished wood, high ceilings, and the kind of decor that whispered wealth and elegance in every corner. Your mother had only been dating him for a little over a month, but they'd already developed an easy bond. Colleagues by day, close friends after hours, their connection was undeniable. This was why you found yourself here tonight, waiting in his spacious home while they enjoyed a night out.

Dressed in a black jersey bodycon dress with a high, elegant turtleneck, you exuded sophistication. The diamond-studded Cuban link chain glistened against the neckline of your dress, catching the low lighting. You wore a matching bracelet, simple yet dazzling, a testament to your impeccable taste. Even sitting alone, you were the very picture of poise and confidence.

Absorbed in a magazine, you barely noticed how quiet the house had become. But the silence was suddenly interrupted by the sharp, unexpected sound of the doorbell cutting through the night. You frowned, glancing up from the page, your mind racing. It was late, and visitors at this hour were uncommon.

"Who could be here at this time?" You murmured to yourself.

Placing the magazine aside, you rose from the plush chair and made your way toward the front door. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the gleaming marble floor, and you adjusted the bracelet on your wrist as you approached the entrance. With a quick exhale, you turned the handle and opened the door, just enough to peek through.

Your breath caught as you took in the figure before you. A man filled the doorway, towering and imposing, his frame seemingly carved from stone. He wore a black skull-printed balaclava that partially obscured his face, making his eyes stand out beneath the dim light. He was dressed casually, yet powerfully, with a leather jacket thrown over a fitted shirt and dark jeans that outlined the sinewy strength of his legs. He held the straps of a duffle bag tightly in his gloved hands, and his posture radiated a certain readiness, as if he were used to having his presence respected without question.

You straightened your posture, raising a brow as you crossed your arms over your chest, unphased, or at least giving a good impression of it.

"Who are you?" you asked sharply, infusing your voice with just the right amount of sass as you snapped your fingers for emphasis.

The man's eyes narrowed, a spark of amusement flickering in their depths, though he seemed more interested in studying you than answering. He remained silent for a beat too long, his gaze locked on yours, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, like he was quietly amused.

"The question is, who are you?" he replied, his voice a deep rumble that held a hint of challenge.

You raised an eyebrow, not intimidated. "I'm Mr. Riley's guest. My mom's his colleague, and they're dating. So, no offence, but you're out of luck if you were hoping to see him tonight. He's out," you replied smoothly. "So, you can come back another time."

You moved to close the door, dismissing him with ease. But before you could fully shut it, his hand shot out, catching the edge with a strength that made the door stop in place. Startled, you tried pulling it back, but his grip was unyielding.

"Hey, wait! What are you doing?" you protested, an edge of alarm creeping into your tone as he pushed the door open wider, stepping into the house with the ease of someone who belonged.

The door clicked shut behind him as he regarded you, his gaze assessing. He took another step forward, and you instinctively took a step back, feeling the cold marble beneath your heels. His imposing figure loomed over you, but he didn't move aggressively. Instead, he reached out, and before you could react, he gently yet firmly took hold of your jaw, his gloved fingers grazing your skin.

Your breath hitched as he turned your face from side to side, his eyes travelling over your features with a calculating interest. He looked almost amused, like he'd found something unexpected in this encounter.

"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled softly, his voice low and edged with a kind of dark amusement that sent a shiver up your spine.

Heat flared in your cheeks, and you quickly slapped his hand away, taking a step back as you straightened your spine. You didn't let your composure falter, though your heart hammered in your chest.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" you demanded, voice fierce and unwavering despite the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. "You can't just walk in here and act like you own the place. Get out before I call the cops."

The threat seemed to amuse him further. He chuckled, a sound deep and rich, and shook his head. "Relax, sweetheart," he drawled, the British accent unmistakable as it rolled off his tongue. His words were smooth, yet edged with a casual danger that made you uneasy. "Mr. Riley is my old man. Thought I'd pay him a visit, but I see he's out... otherwise occupied."

Realization dawned, and you froze as his words settled in. Mr. Riley's son. Your mother had mentioned him a few times, always with a certain admiration for his military service, but his name and details had been kept a mystery. It seemed that mystery was very much by design.

You collected yourself quickly, determined not to show any hint of intimidation. "Alright," you said, working to keep your tone steady. "Well, he's not here, so if you're really his son, you can either leave and come back, or..."

But before you could finish, he took another step closer, his gaze sharp and unwavering. The playful glint in his eyes hadn't dimmed, but now it was mingled with a darker edge, something that made your pulse quicken.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice a low murmur as he held your gaze. His presence was suffocating yet magnetic, and the intensity of his stare made your heart beat even faster.

You clenched your jaw, lifting your chin defiantly. "Doesn't matter," you replied, voice laced with defiance. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he tilted his head as he regarded you, clearly entertained by your resistance. "Alright, then," he replied smoothly, a glint of amusement lingering in his eyes. "Guess I'll have to stick around a little longer, mystery girl. Nice to meet you."

He set the duffle bag down by his side, his gaze never leaving yours. It was clear that he had no intention of leaving anytime soon, and for the first time, you wondered just how long you might be sharing this empty house with the mysterious, dangerous son of Mr. Riley.

The tension in the room thickened as he sauntered over to the plush leather couch, his movements slow and deliberate. He dropped himself down with a relaxed confidence, sprawling across the cushions like he owned the place. His legs spread wide, his solid, muscular thighs straining against the fabric of his jeans. The pose was casual, but his eyes held an unmistakable glint of mischief. He was playing a game, daring you to react.

He leaned back, his arms draping across the back of the couch as he settled in, his gaze never leaving you. After a beat of silence, he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Guess you aren't hospitable enough to ask if I'd like a drink," he drawled, his voice heavy with mock reproach. "No tea or coffee? Do you treat all your guests this way, sweetheart?"

The words dripped with sarcasm, and his tone was pure challenge, his eyes gleaming as he watched for your reaction. He was provoking you, seeing if you'd take the bait. The casual nickname, the mocking edge-it was all designed to get under your skin, and he was clearly enjoying every second.

You felt a surge of heat rush to your face as you stood there, stunned at his nerve. The audacity of him! Not only had he barged into the house uninvited, but now he had the gall to make demands? You were tempted to put him in his place, but something about the intensity in his gaze, the easy confidence of his posture, made you hesitate. Despite the anger simmering beneath the surface, you couldn't help but feel the pull of his magnetic presence, that dangerous charm he wielded so effortlessly.

But you weren't about to let him see that. Squaring your shoulders, you folded your arms, levelling him with a glare.

"What the hell?" you snapped, eyes narrowed. "You barge in here uninvited, act like you own the place, and now you expect me to serve you like I'm some kind of maid?"

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he held your gaze with an amused intensity. "Last I checked, I am family," he replied, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. "But maybe you're right. I might've overstepped. Or maybe..." His gaze dropped to the bracelet glinting on your wrist before returning to your face, "...you're just afraid you'll end up enjoying my company more than you think."

His voice was a deep, smooth murmur that sent a shiver up your spine despite every attempt you made to ignore it. He was playing with you, inching closer to see how you'd react, testing how far he could push.

The challenge in his words only fueled your defiance. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through you, sharpening your resolve. "You think too highly of yourself," you retorted, lifting your chin. "Just because you're Mr. Riley's son doesn't mean I owe you anything. You're just another rude stranger as far as I'm concerned."

His smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew sharper. He relaxed back into the couch, studying you with the quiet confidence of someone who wasn't used to being denied. There was something dangerous in his stare, but it was the kind of danger that drew you in rather than repelled you.

"Maybe," he said, after a pause. "But there's one thing you should know about me, sweetheart." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory whisper. "I don't take 'no' for an answer easily. Especially not when I've found something I'm... interested in."

The meaning was clear, but so was the hint of intrigue in his tone. His gaze lingered on you, a subtle but undeniable challenge glinting in his eyes, daring you to react.

You felt your pulse quicken, a rush of both anger and something else you couldn't quite name stirring inside you. You weren't about to let him win, but part of you wondered if you were playing a game you didn't fully understand.

"Then maybe it's time you learned to," you replied, holding his gaze with equal intensity. "Because I don't plan on humouring your attitude any longer."

His laugh was soft but genuine, like he was thoroughly enjoying the back-and-forth. "You've got fire," he remarked, tilting his head slightly as if he were sizing you up, as if you were an unexpected surprise in a familiar game. "I like that."

The intensity in the air was almost tangible, like a taut wire stretched between you, sparking with every word, every look. His gaze softened just slightly, enough to reveal a hint of interest that went beyond simple amusement.

"I think I'll stick around a while," he said finally, settling further into the couch, still holding your gaze with that infuriatingly calm confidence. "Mr. Riley isn't back yet, after all. And besides..." His eyes travelled over you slowly, his smile widening as he took in the faint flush on your cheeks. "...something tells me the night just got a lot more interesting."

You stood there, torn between frustration and intrigue, watching the smirk dance on his lips. He wasn't going anywhere. That much was clear. And even though you wanted to resist every bit of his smug charm, there was something about the way he looked at you, the ease with which he held his ground, that was both maddening and thrilling.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your chin defiantly, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Fine," you said. "If you're staying, then you're on your own. I'm not getting you anything."

"Suit yourself," he replied, his smirk never faltering. He leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of the couch once more, settling in as if he'd just won some unspoken game. And as you turned on your heel, heading back to the chair you'd abandoned, you could feel his gaze on you, lingering, unrelenting, and full of promise for a night that was only beginning.

You watched, incredulous, as he pushed himself up from the couch and sauntered past you, his shoulders brushing close as he moved toward the kitchen. He had the same easy confidence, the same smugness, that had set your nerves on edge since the moment he walked through the door. You were rooted to the spot for a moment, caught between surprise and annoyance as you watched him open cupboards, pulling out plates and rummaging through the contents of the fridge as if he owned the place.

He moved with practised ease, grabbing some bread, deli meat, and cheese, and setting it all on the counter. With a small smirk, he began assembling a sandwich, and when he reached over to flick the switch on the electric kettle, you couldn't stay silent any longer.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice laced with disbelief as you crossed your arms and shot him a withering glare.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his expression completely unbothered, that irritating glint of amusement still present in his eyes. "Can't you see?" he replied smoothly, his tone mocking as he sliced a piece of bread. "You didn't bother to offer me anything, so the guest must help himself."

The way he said it, like it was a perfectly reasonable response, made your frustration bubble over. "Are you for real?" You shot back, rolling your eyes in exasperation. "Look, dude, come what may, I'm not about to offer you a single drop of water. Make your sandwich and be done with it."

He let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by your irritation. "Such hospitality," he murmured, shaking his head as he spread a thin layer of mustard over the bread. "You must be a real joy to live with."

"Luckily for you, you don't live with me," you snapped, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, unwilling to let him get away with his smugness. "I don't owe you anything, and I don't have to wait on your hand and foot just because you waltzed in here unannounced."

He took a slow sip of the tea he'd just poured, his eyes narrowing in challenge as he met your gaze over the rim of the cup. "True," he said, setting the cup down with a clink. "But there's something called common courtesy. Or have you always been this spoiled?"

You felt a spark of anger at his words, your cheeks heating as you straightened your posture. "Spoiled? You're one to talk! You just invited yourself in, started acting like you own the place, and now you're standing in the kitchen, making demands like I'm your personal chef."

He shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich as he leaned against the counter, utterly unperturbed. "I figured you'd offer me something eventually," he replied, giving a lazy smile that only fueled your annoyance further. "But since you didn't, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Besides..." He let his gaze travel over you, assessing a hint of that dark humour still glinting in his eyes. "...I've dealt with far more difficult situations than this. A little attitude doesn't scare me."

Your mouth opened in a mixture of disbelief and indignation. "Unbelievable," you muttered, throwing your hands up. "I swear, you're the most arrogant, self-entitled-"

Before you could finish, he held up a finger, silencing you with a cool, almost teasing expression. "Temper, temper," he chided softly, his voice like a warning wrapped in silk. "It's not becoming of such a... polished young lady, now is it?"

The deliberate condescension in his tone, the way he seemed to be enjoying every flicker of irritation you showed, only fueled your frustration. You felt trapped in his gaze, unable to look away as he took another bite of his sandwich, his movements maddeningly calm, as if he were watching an amusing spectacle.

"Maybe if you weren't so infuriating," you replied icily, "I wouldn't be so annoyed. Ever think of that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as if you'd missed some joke. "I'm simply getting to know my father's... interesting house guest," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine despite your best efforts. "But if you'd rather be alone, sweetheart, just say the word. I'll leave you to your magazine and quiet little life."

The comment struck a nerve, and you glared back at him, your voice sharp. "You're making a lot of assumptions, aren't you?"

His expression didn't waver, though his gaze softened slightly, just enough to hint at something unreadable beneath the surface. "Maybe," he murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he held your gaze. "But I'm rarely wrong."

The words hung in the air between you, charged with a tension that felt almost tangible. For a moment, you weren't sure whether to keep arguing or walk away, but something in his expression, in the intensity of his stare, made it hard to pull back. It was as if he was daring you, testing just how much resolve you had.

You finally tore your gaze away, clenching your fists as you fought to regain your composure. "Fine," you said, your voice calm but edged with steel. "Do whatever you want. Just don't expect me to roll out the red carpet."

With that, you turned on your heel, determined to put some distance between you and the arrogant, infuriating man who seemed to take pleasure in pushing every one of your buttons. But as you walked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, a lingering gaze that held a promise of more to come, leaving you both unsettled and strangely intrigued.

Frustrated and flustered, you had stormed off down the hallway, letting the silence of the empty house settle around you as you tried to cool down. Your footsteps slowed as you came to a door at the end of the hall, its dark wood polished and imposing. Without really thinking, you pushed it open, stepping into a room bathed in deep shades of charcoal and black, the walls and furnishings exuding a quiet, masculine elegance.

A faint scent lingered in the air-something earthy and clean, almost intoxicating. The heavy curtains were drawn partway, allowing a sliver of moonlight to spill across the room, illuminating the sleek, minimal decor. A large bed, neatly made with dark grey sheets, stood in the centre, flanked by matching nightstands. You found yourself inexplicably drawn to the space, its quiet allure enveloping you as you wandered in.

Before you knew it, you'd settled onto the edge of the bed, your fingers absently tracing the texture of the comforter. The room was strikingly different from the rest of the house, yet it somehow felt familiar. You took a deep breath, letting the stillness calm your racing thoughts, a sense of privacy washing over you that you hadn't felt all evening.

Then, footsteps. Heavy, confident, each step resonating through the floor. Your pulse quickened as you glanced up, only to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of you sitting on his bed.

"Hey!" You blurted, standing up hastily. "You can't just come in here."

He smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his gaze unwavering as he crossed his arms. "Why not?" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This is my bedroom. I can come here anytime I want."

Your heart skipped a beat, caught between defiance and the sudden realization that you'd accidentally wandered into his personal space. Before you could respond, he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The sound seemed to echo, and suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air charged with a tension that made you instinctively take a step back.

"Didn't expect you to make yourself so... comfortable," he remarked, his gaze flicking to the bed you'd been sitting on just moments before.

"It was an accident," you muttered, feeling a flush rise in your cheeks. "I didn't know this was your room."

He shrugged, clearly enjoying the effect his presence had on you. "Doesn't seem like you're in any hurry to leave."

His casual tone, his easy smirk-it all made you want to throw something, but you stood your ground, determined not to let him see how he was getting under your skin. "Maybe I just wanted some peace and quiet," you shot back, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent an unexpected warmth through you. Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall over the back of a nearby chair. His movements were slow, deliberate, and as he reached down to untie his boots, the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, emphasizing every powerful line of muscle beneath. You felt your mouth go dry, and you quickly looked away, your pulse pounding in your ears as you tried to ignore the heat that crept up your neck.

When he finally straightened, he met your gaze, his eyes sharp and knowing, as if he'd caught every flicker of reaction you were so desperately trying to hide. He took a step closer, and despite yourself, you felt rooted to the spot, your resolve wavering as he closed the distance between you.

"Seems like you're having a hard time keeping your cool," he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

You crossed your arms defensively, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "You're imagining things," you replied, though even you could hear the slight unsteadiness in your voice.

He arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. "Am I?"

He was close now, close enough that you could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes held that glint of challenge you'd come to both dread and anticipate. His presence filled the room, demanding your attention, and despite everything, you found yourself drawn to him, caught between the urge to push him away and the inexplicable pull he seemed to have on you.

"Maybe I'm imagining things," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Or maybe you're just not as unaffected as you pretend to be."

You swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight. You wanted to fire back with something sharp, something that would deflate his confidence, but the words caught in your throat as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered for just a moment, the warmth of his touch igniting a spark that left you breathless.

He leaned in slightly, his voice a murmur against your ear. "You know, you can walk out anytime," he said, his tone laced with that infuriating challenge.

The words jolted you, breaking the spell as you took a step back, forcing a shaky laugh. "Don't flatter yourself," you managed, though your voice was a bit weaker than you'd have liked. "I'm leaving right now."

You turned to head for the door, but you felt his gaze on you, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he already knew that you weren't unaffected, that maybe he'd left an impression deeper than you wanted to admit.

As you reached for the door handle, you barely had time to react before his hand closed around your arm, pulling you back toward him with a firm, unyielding grip. The movement was swift, almost instinctual, and before you knew it, you'd collided against the solid warmth of his chest. The impact left you momentarily breathless, the feel of his strength pressing against you, making your pulse race.

You looked up, your face mere inches from his, your breath catching as your gaze met his intense, unyielding stare. The amusement and mockery that had marked his expression earlier were gone, replaced by something deeper, something that sent a thrill through you even as you tried to resist it.

"Let go of me," you managed, though your voice was quieter than you intended, barely more than a whisper.

His hold didn't loosen. If anything, his fingers tightened slightly around your arm, his other hand moving to rest against the small of your back, anchoring you to him as if daring you to pull away.

"Funny," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that sent a shiver through you. "You're the one who wandered into my room. And now you're trying to leave so quickly?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. The nearness of him, the way his hand pressed against your back, steady and possessive, was dizzying. You could feel the rapid beat of your own heart, the conflicting impulses to push him away, and to pull him even closer, warring within you.

"You act like you're annoyed," he continued softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "But something tells me you don't really want me to let go."

A rush of defiance surged through you, but the intensity of his gaze, the magnetic pull between you, made it impossible to look away. Every nerve felt heightened, every sense attuned to him, his presence surrounding you, consuming you. You could feel his grip relax just slightly, his fingers still resting on your arm as if waiting, letting you decide if you wanted to stay or if you would pull away.

For a moment, you just stood there, suspended in that charged silence, your heart pounding, your breath shallow. The logical part of you screamed to walk out of the room to end whatever this was before it spiralled further out of control. But something deeper held you there, drawn to him, as if you were caught in a current too powerful to escape.

Finally, you found your voice, your defiance flickering even as your resolve wavered. "You really think you know everything, don't you?"

A slow, confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his hand shifted slightly, brushing the bare skin of your arm in a way that sent a shiver racing through you. "I know enough," he replied softly, his tone both a challenge and an invitation.

In that moment, standing in the shadows of his room, the world outside felt far away, and all that mattered was the electric tension between you, the unspoken possibilities lingering in the air.

You narrowed your eyes, tilting your chin up defiantly, meeting his intense gaze with a glare of your own. "What, you think I'm just going to let you win?" You hissed, the challenge clear in your voice. You could feel your heart pounding as the tension between you thickened, crackling like a storm ready to break.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, that confident, maddening expression that made you both furious and drawn to him all at once. He leaned in, his gaze never wavering, his eyes dark with something that sent a thrill through you despite your best efforts to ignore it.

"I always win," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air around you, "all my wars, all my battles. So you'd better decide to lose it, sweetheart. Makes it easier that way."

The words hung heavy in the air, a promise and a warning all at once, and the closeness between you felt even more charged. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his grip still light on your arm, as if daring you to test his resolve. There was a glint in his eyes, that subtle edge of challenge that sparked something fierce within you-a determination not to let him have the last word, not this time.

"Maybe you haven't met your match yet," you replied, your voice steady, though the quickening of your pulse betrayed the thrill his words had sparked.

He chuckled softly, the sound dark and rich, and leaned in just a bit closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Careful," he whispered, his voice like silk, his gaze never leaving yours. "You might find that losing isn't as bad as you think."

The moment he removed the mask, your breath hitched. His face, so impossibly handsome, so raw in its intensity, made your heart skip a beat. The lines of his jaw were sharp, defined, and his eyes were dark, smouldering with a predatory gleam that sent a rush of heat through your entire body. His gaze locked onto yours, a silent understanding passing between you as his smirk deepened.

For the first time, you felt that guard of yours slip away, crumbling under the weight of his presence. Everything you had told yourself about pushing him away, keeping your distance, fell apart in the face of his undeniable allure.

He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, sending a wave of warmth that made it harder to breathe. His lips were so close, just inches from yours, and his words, low and taunting, slid like velvet into your ears.

"Just give in to me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I'll show you the height of forbidden pleasures. I'll worship your body all night long, make you scream my name all night."

You could feel his breath hot against your ear, and before you could stop yourself, his teeth grazed your earlobe. The sensation was electric. Your knees buckled, your body betraying you as a soft gasp of pleasure escaped your lips, your pulse hammering in your ears.

The air between you grew thick, charged with tension, as if the entire room held its breath. The power dynamic shifted, and for a moment, you felt as though you were at his mercy, your body responding to him in ways you hadn't anticipated. You could hardly think straight, the heat of his touch, the way his words wrapped around you, making everything else fade into the background.

But even as your body reacted, as your breath grew faster and your mind swirled with desire, something inside you still fought. You couldn't just give in. Not like this. Not so easily.

"Stop," you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, a poor attempt at defiance. You placed a hand on his chest, but it was more out of instinct than strength, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "You're playing with fire," you whispered, though a part of you wasn't sure if you were still trying to warn him or yourself.

His grin only widened as if he'd expected this, as if this moment of resistance only fueled the desire to break down every last wall you had left.

"We'll see who gets burned, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your neck, sending another shiver through your body.

You were intoxicated, already succumbing and losing the battle you weren't even meant to fight.

[iboatedhere]

could I please get "heart shaped sunglasses" as a prompt? I love canon but if there's an AU that speaks to you I'd love that too

I went with a photographer/model AU.

—

Alex didn’t grow up thinking he wanted to be a photographer.

He cycled through dreams that almost every kid has—doctor, teacher, President of the United States, and astronaut. For a few weeks, when he was four, he thought seriously about becoming a T-rex.

When he was thirteen, he found an old camera in the attic that his father had left behind when he moved out.

He watched a half-dozen YouTube videos to figure out how to get it to work, then took a photography class in high school and got a position on the school paper, taking shots of football games and events around town.

He thought he looked cool, carrying around a vintage camera that used real film in the age of sleek digital devices and camera phones, and he was good at it. He received heaps of praise from his photography teacher, won awards in local contests, and even sold a few prints at farmer’s markets and craft fairs around Austin.

Alex majored in studio art in college, focusing on photography and media. He learned about color, composition, and lighting. He studied Ansel Adams, Dorthea Lange, Steve McCurry, and Robert Capa. He thought about becoming a war correspondent, embedding himself in the most volatile parts of the globe and reporting the truth through photographs—gritty, raw, and dangerous.

Where he ended up was someplace much softer.

–

Alex first saw Henry Fox on the glossy pages of one of June’s fashion magazines when he was twelve.

Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar. Maybe Cosmopolitan. He can’t remember. What he can remember is Henry Fox’s wide, blue eyes and golden hair. He remembers looking at the close-up photo of him for too long until June cleared her throat and met his startled gaze with raised brows.

He looked for Henry after that. Sneaking into June’s room or stealing the magazine straight from the mailbox when it was delivered. He’d bring it with him to the treehouse in the backyard and search.

Before Alex even had a word for it, most of the photos had felt exploitative. Henry, too young, around much older models. Odd poses and barely there clothing. Henry never looked happy. He never smiled. Alex would never photograph him like that. He never really thought about photographing him at all. Mostly, he just wanted to hang out with him. Maybe take him swimming at Barton Springs, to a baseball game in Round Rock, or ride their bikes together. He just wanted to make Henry smile.

Alex found out later that Henry’s father was a famous actor and his mother was a supermodel, making Henry one of the world’s biggest nepo-babies.

Maybe doors automatically opened for Henry. Maybe he has a trust fund or an inheritance and never has to work another day in his life. Alex is unsure of those things, but he is certain Henry is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

–

Alex lowers his camera as the art director flutters into the frame, tugging on the strap of Emily’s bikini top and sweeping Henry’s hair off his forehead.

“Perfect,” she says before waving in Alex’s direction. “Okay. Keep going.”

Alex rolls his eyes and lines up another shot.

He doesn't really know what the point of this shoot is. He guesses it’s supposed to be playful…a fun day by the pool where Henry has stolen her heart-shaped sunglasses and perched them on the top of his head while she’s taken his diamond-studded watch and is holding it against her throat like a necklace. But Emily’s bikini is practically see-through, Henry is wearing a pair of swim trunks that hide nothing, and Alex doesn’t understand what they’re trying to sell, aside from their bodies.

So goes the fashion industry.

“Did you get it?” Henry calls out to him without moving a muscle.

Alex blinks through the viewfinder. “What?”

“Did you get the shot?” He asks.

“Oh. Yeah. Probably.”

“Good,” Henry says, “my foot is beginning to cramp.”

He shifts, and Emily hops off his lap and into a robe a PA is holding while Henry stands up, stretches the arch of his foot, and accepts his own robe.

It’s all so fast and formal as if they didn’t just spend the last hour dry-humping each other by a pool at a mansion in Beverly Hills.

Alex isn’t sure if he could pull that off, being that close to either of them and acting like it’s no big deal. Things are easier behind the lens of a camera.

Alex busies himself by pulling the photos up on his laptop. He took nearly two hundred. At least one has to be good enough to go to print.

“May I see?”

Alex nods, and Henry steps into his space, pressing their shoulders together before Alex can make room.

“Christ,” Henry says as he peers at the screen. “Am I really that pale?”

“We can fix it in post?”

Henry hums. “Add it to the list,” he jokes, but it’s not funny at all.

Alex knows that no one is perfect, but he thinks the people he photographs—Henry especially—are about as close to the idea of it as possible. That won’t stop every photo he’s in from being scrutinized and edited to death. They’ll airbrush out the moles that dot across his ribs, the small half-moon scar by his left hip, and the line between his brows. Whatever they do to Henry, it’ll be ten times worse for Emily.

“You’re very good at this,” Henry tells him. It’s not the first time they’ve worked together, but it’s the first time Henry has complimented him.

“Thanks. You make it easy. I mean you guys—you two—you and Emily,” Alex flounders. “You look good.”

“Is it the sunglasses?” Henry asks as he reaches up and touches the thin, pink frames.

“Yes,” Alex answers. “They complete the look. Maybe they’ll let you keep them since they suit you so well.”

“I’ll be sure to ask,” Henry says, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

—

Unsurprisingly, it was June that helped him shape his view of fashion.

When he was younger, he’d point to the avant-garde looks in her magazines and genuinely ask who the hell would ever wear this?

“No one,” She’d tell him as she snatched the magazine away. “Sometimes clothes aren’t meant to be worn, they’re meant to be admired. It’s like how some people go to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. Other people find their art in fashion magazines.”

He reminds himself of that each time he attends Fashion Week in London, Milan, or Paris. It’s an art exhibit; the models are living sculptures.

In the front row of the Dior show at Bryant Park, Alex thinks Henry makes a stunning canvas.

His hair is dyed dark brown, a near match to the cropped leather jacket he’s wearing, only half zipped, his chest bare. Alex watches his long legs in oversized wool shorts as they walk down the runway, where he stops at the end, poses, and then continues back. He looks down at Alex as he passes, tips his head up, and disappears backstage.

Only after he’s gone does Alex realize he didn’t get a single photo of him.

–

They let me keep the glasses, by the way.

Alex frowns down at his phone as he tries to parse out the Instagram DM that popped up on the screen.

He has two accounts—an official photography account and a smaller, more personal one, followed only by his family and friends. Alex knows he isn’t famous, not yet anyway, but he knows that people can get weirdly parasocial, and he’d rather not have to purge his main account a few years down the line.

This message, from a GEJames97, was sent to his personal account.

????? Alex sends back.

The ones from the shoot, the next message reads.

This is Henry.

Fox.

Alex’s frown deepens. Henry has an Instagram account. He has nearly four million followers and posts photos of his most recent campaigns at least twice a week. Not that Alex is keeping track.

Prove it, Alex says.

A few moments later, a photo of Henry Fox in the pink, heart-shaped glasses pops up.

Pez told me about this account. I hope that’s okay.

Pez…..???????

Percy Okonjo.

Percy Okonjo is an up-and-coming designer who is best friends with Henry. They have the entire fashion world buzzing with speculation that Henry will start working with Percy the second his contract with Dior ends.

Percy also was a guest editor for Vogue and had an undefined thing with June. Alex doesn’t know the details, and he’ll never ask for them, but it was enough that Percy followed Alex’s personal account.

How long are you in New York? Henry asks, and Alex feels his heart rate kick up.

Why do you think I’m still in New York?

Henry sends him a photo Alex posted earlier of a friendly Central Park squirrel eating a small piece of bagel out of his hand.

Until Sunday, Alex tells him. Why?

Doing anything tonight?

Alex blows out a breath.

Not yet.

Alex has only been at the bar for three minutes before Henry shows up. Alex appreciates the promptness, it gives him less time to be nervous.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Henry says anyway, leaning in to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek that leaves Alex feeling untethered. “Traffic in Manhattan is insane.”

“It’s fine,” Alex says, “you’re good. You’re…” Alex trails off because Henry is beautiful in jeans, a t-shirt (that probably cost more than Alex’s hotel room bill), and a Yankees cap pulled low over his face.

“If you want to go someplace else–,” Alex starts.

“Why would I want to go someplace else?” Henry interrupts, raising his hand to wave down the bartender.

“I don’t know. I feel like this place isn’t your usual vibe.”

It’s not a dive by any means, but it’s certainly not the flashy restaurants and clubs Henry usually attends.

“A few months ago, Pez brought me to this place in Chinatown. We followed this woman down a narrow stairwell for what felt like forever, light flickering and water dripping from the ceiling. I would’ve phoned my sister to say goodbye, but I didn’t have cell service. If I can survive that, I can survive this.” He glances around the bar. “I don’t fear for my life at all here.”

“You’re in America,” Alex tells him. “You should kinda always be fearing for your life.”

Henry snorts. “I suppose that’s true, but I am enjoying myself.”

“You just got here.”

Henry shrugs. “Then maybe it’s the company.”

Alex ducks his head. “How long are you in the city for?”

“At least another two weeks,” Henry tells him. “I’ll have a good bit of downtime, but not enough to fly home between shoots. I’m trying to figure out ways to keep myself busy. Do you have any ideas?”

Alex has about a million. He’s been thinking about this since he was twelve years old.

“Have you ever actually been to a Yankees game?” Alex asks, and Henry shakes his head. “They’re in town if you wanna go.”

Henry smiles, big and bright, even in the murky lighting of the bar, and Alex feels like he’s suddenly accomplished everything he could ever want in life.

[richarlotte]

More about your leveling up process?

I wash with disinfectant soap, use hibiclens beneath my arms and anywhere else that’s prone to sweating or odor, and use sunscreen religiously. I’ve done a lot to clear up my KP and lighten my hyperpigmentation, but the most important thing I’ve learned is that all my time and money would mean nothing if I wasn’t consistent. I used to get bad body acne, and after a chest and shoulder peel, a trip or two to the dermatologist, continuous care, starting to wash and change my sheets daily, and really focusing on clearing the scarring, it’s finally gotten so much better and the scarring has nearly disappeared. I shower morning, after exercise, and at night and make sure to moisturize properly. 

I just recently had a 24-inch 2x6 closure and 4 24-inch bundles made into a middle part wig. It’s thick, luscious, bouncy, and it looks amazing. I used Raw SEA Straight bundles, I straighten it with minimal heat and it stays bone straight no matter the weather or humidity, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The hair I use looks healthy, feels amazing, and the price makes sense for the level of quality. I have a lot of wigs but this is in my top five; it works for everyday wear and it looks nice even when it’s tied up so it’s versatile and easy to wear in braid, a bun, or even a low ponytail.

I wear natural makeup most days. I’m currently using products from Charlotte Tilbury, Dior, Nars, Hourglass, Anastasia Beverly Hills, Urban Decay, and Tom Ford and loving how easy it is for me to create natural looks. I’ve been focusing on natural soft matte makeup and really learning how to apply bronzer to emphasize my cheekbones and the results have been better than expected. I’m very good at eye makeup and I love the lip combos that I do, but sculpting my face is the one thing that escapes me. I wear lashes but they’re pretty minimal and I do my eye makeup in a way that makes my eyes look wide open instead of overly seductive.

I wear jewelry every day. I usually wear gold Cartier that I’ve collected over the years or other small pieces, but I make an effort to accessorize. One of my favorite fashion magazines said that the key to looking put together was wearing at least a few pieces of matching jewelry, so I’ve made an effort ever since. I have a really nice pair of diamond stud earrings that I got on my 17th birthday, and I wear them on special occasions. I also have a small collection of more adventurous jewelry and charm jewelry, and then I have a few different tennis and pearl pieces. For everyday wear, I try to keep it basic.

I usually do my nails simply. I either do chrome or french tips; sometimes I do a really nice dark red, but I try to keep them short and neat. I have acrylics and usually do gel polish on them; I use a cuticle oil every day and make sure that I’m getting fills frequently because I want my hands to look good. I’m going to do perfume in this section because I do my spritzes of perfume right after I apply my cuticle oil. I love perfume. I think that perfume is amazing, and it’s an amazing tool, but you honestly do have to be careful with how much you’re applying. There’s nothing worse than the smell of overpowering perfume. I avoid strong perfumes, essential oils, and ouds and limit the number of sprays I do. 

[moonleeai]

Journey Back to You

·𖥸·Fashion Photographer! Jin x Fashion Model! Reader  ·𖥸·AU: Childhood friends to lovers | FLUFF ·𖥸·Rating: PG ·𖥸·WC: 5460

Story written for Sara - Heathfritillary - as part of the BangtanWHQ Exchange Event “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats”

Summary: Bound by an inseparable childhood bond and a shared adoration for fashion, you and an old friend find your lives diverging across continents. Years later, fate intervenes as your paths unexpectedly reconnect at a high-profile fashion show. The dazzling lights of the runway become a backdrop for your reunion, igniting a nostalgic journey through shared dreams and forgotten memories. What will become of this rekindled connection?

Thank you Lucy @lo1k-diamonds and Jasz @downbad4yoongi for beta reading! 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·​​· ·

Strolling along the River Seine, the water shimmers under the moon’s glow; you can’t help but sigh in awe, “What a perfect night in beautiful Paris!” The Eiffel Tower stands tall, adorned with twinkling lights, captivating your gaze—beautiful structures of Gothic architecture line the street with elegance and uniformity, illuminated by soft moonbeams.

A cool breeze carries the scent of garlic and aged wine as you feel the uneven cobblestone under your feet. The towering, half-timbered buildings on either side seem to lean in, creating an intimate, almost secretive atmosphere. Gas lamps cast an ethereal glow, painting the street in soft, golden hues. Tonight’s fashion show theme–Beneath the Eiffel's Glow–showcases the magic of Paris under the moon’s tender embrace at the foot of the Iron Lady.

You confidently approach the check-in area, where the production team organizes models, designers, and staff. Velvet ropes line the entrance, and security personnel stand guard checking credentials. The assistant recognizes you and checks off your name, greeting you warmly and handing you a pass for backstage access. 

Backstage, crew members hurry by with headsets on, and stylists rush to prepare for the show. The models move with practiced ease through the chaos, making their way toward the dressing room. You’re met by the designer’s team, who usher you to your fitting area. Garments hang meticulously on racks, shimmering under the soft lights.

You inspect the outfit you’ll be wearing—a dress with a plunging neckline cascading in bold, voluminous layers of black tulle, its dramatic silhouette broken by vibrant splashes of magenta and teal. The colors clash yet harmonize with unapologetic flair. 

As you get dressed, you admire how the outfit commands attention, a statement of daring elegance and rebellion against the ordinary. Then you take a moment to prepare mentally– calm and collected– ready to transform the moment when all eyes will be on you.

With your chestnut hair cascading down your back, you adjust the diamond-studded choker resting on your neck and strut down the sidewalk-turned runway for the latest luxury fashion brand. Striking a pose at the end for the photographers, a face sticks out, and as your eyes lock, your heart jumps. 

Kim Seokjin, tall and brooding, stands with his camera pulled away from his face. His obsidian eyes held a hint of surprise as he recognized you. Childhood summers spent chasing fireflies in a small French village flooded back. Countless trips to this same Eiffel Tower, where you played while parents had meetings and business lunches. Jin has become a renowned photographer, capturing beauty through his lens, and you, a sought-after model, gracing magazine covers and billboards.

You regain your composure and finish the show, keeping an eye on Kim Seokjin. When everything is over, you don’t even bother to change, running off with the last outfit you modeled. Weaving through the masses of people, you hear a distinct laugh and let it pull you toward him. You stand just a few inches from Seokjin with a soft smile on your lips, eyes shimmering like the diamonds around your neck.

Jin whispers your name, his voice a velvet caress that sends shivers down your spine. “It really is you.” In his memory, you were an adolescent with hair like a wildflower meadow, always returning from your adventures with nature's offerings caught in its tangles. 

Your laughter fills the air, tinkling like wind chimes. “Shut up!?” Your laughter echoes through the air as you embrace Jin. His arms wrap around you tightly, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest. Laughter and chatter slowly die down, and the once-noisy crowd falls silent as you pull away and focus on him. “Jinnie!? What are you doing here?” 

He gestures to his camera bag. “I chose the photographer path. I travel the world capturing moments, but I never expected to find you here. Modeling at that.”

“Ah, I know, right. I was just doing it to make some money while interning, but,” you shrug your shoulders, “here I am! It’s been so long. I really can’t believe it!” You reach out and touch his arm, gently squeezing as if you’re making sure it’s not a dream. You take in his features, noting how they've matured yet still hold remnants of the boy you used to know. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, busy with fashion week.” He smiles at you warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wow… seeing you brings back so many memories. You look stunning, as always.” The way he looks at you makes your heart flutter, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed since the last time you saw each other. 

“Thank you. And you, you haven’t changed a bit. Still the same Jinnie I remember.”

“What about you?” A fluttering sensation spreads through your stomach as his voice lingers on your name. You can't help but smile and shift on your feet as he waits for your answer.

“I can’t complain. I live here full-time now and love every minute.”

“I guess some things never change. Do you remember those summers we spent exploring every corner of that village? Gosh, what was the name?”

“Chevreuse. How could I forget? Those were some of the best days of my life. I’ve missed you, Jinnie.”

“I missed you too,” your name falls from his lips gracefully. “Life took us in different directions, but it seems the universe had other plans for us tonight.”

A booming voice from a distance snaps you into the present with stylists and security guards rushing toward you. 

“We should catch up properly. Dinner and drinks…twenty minutes? I just need to change.”

“Still as demanding as I remember, too.” Jin smiles, “I’d love that. Dinner under the moonlight in Paris sounds perfect.” 

“Don’t leave! Let me change, and I’ll be right back out to walk with you.” You turn just as the guards reach you, and you raise your hands in surrender. Smiling and apologizing, you hurry to the dressing room to return the collection pieces, changing back into the dress you showed up in.

You step back from the vanity mirror to look at your outfit from multiple angles. A sophisticated yet playful olive green short dress with a tailored bodice accentuating your curves, while the flowing skirt adds a touch of elegance. The neckline is a delicate V-neck, showcasing your bare neck and delicate collarbones. 

To upgrade your look, you pair it with gifts from tonight’s designer—strappy black heels and honey-gold butterfly earrings. The wings are adorned in a cascade of nude and chocolate diamonds, creating a stunning contrast. 

You leave the dressing room and head back to where you left Jin. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the crowd. You spot him immediately, standing by the edge of the bridge railing. His tailored suit fits him like a second skin. The lights from the tower catch the rich fabric, highlighting its intricate weave. As your eyes meet his, time seems to stand still. His gaze is warm and inviting, and a surge of electricity courses through you. It’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only you and him. You feel a sense of peace and belonging that you haven’t felt since those summers in Chevreuse.

You watch his eyes roam your figure as you walk closer to each other. He offers his arm before asking, “Where to, beautiful?”

You grin and turn away before he can see your cheeks flush, then point, “There’s a nice place that way.” 

The cobblestone streets beneath your feet seem to pulse with anticipation. You can smell the intoxicating aroma of buttery garlic, roasted meat, and the distant strains of accordion music. With each step, excitement grew as you approached your destination.

An elegant restaurant awaits you. Intricate wrought-iron railings and ornate windows adorned its facade, offering glimpses of the luxurious interior. As you enter, the soft glow of chandeliers, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the murmur of hushed conversations greet you. 

You request an outdoor table and follow the hostess through the restaurant. The anticipation is palpable, and you can't wait to catch up with Seokjin. As you sit across from each other at the intimate candlelit table, the inviting aroma of sizzling steak and bubbling wine fills the air. Your conversation flows effortlessly, pausing only when a delectable bite or sip interrupts you. It’s as if time slowed down, allowing you to savor every moment together.

Your brows crease as you tilt your head. “So you did follow the music path but ended up in photography?”

Jin smiles and looks down. “Yeah, something like that.” He looks around before locking eyes and lowers his voice. “Well, sometimes I do voice-acting gigs. Did corporate life get too boring?” 

“Something like that…” you grin as you repeat his words and reach for your cocktail glass. “I just–being in an office all day was…” You pause to find the right word.

“Not you,” Jin mutters as he raises his wineglass to his lips, eyes remaining on you. 

“Exactly.” You smile, feeling some way that he knows you. Your belly flutters with nerves and excitement as his lips curve into a familiar smirk. Despite the years that passed, he still knew how to make you feel special.

The conversation continues to flow easily, as if no time has passed between you. You share stories—of heartbreaks, missed chances, and dreams deferred.

“I never forgot you,” Jin confesses. “Even when the world pulled us apart. I still have this.” Jin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple pearl-like bracelet with a tiny charm, both of your first initials etched into the metal. 

As you recognize the bracelet—the one you designed so many moons ago—you gasp. You may have lost touch, but the bracelet remained a cherished memory—a symbol of an unbreakable bond. Opening your clutch, you pull out a small jewelry bag. Inside is the same bracelet.

Jin’s smile lights up the evening around you. His eyes soften as he takes the small bag from your hand, removes the bracelet, and gently slides it onto your wrist. The cool metal feels familiar, a comforting touch against your skin, but not as comfortable as Jin’s soft fingers sliding against yours.

"I knew you’d still have it,” Jin says, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and joy. “It was always a symbol of our connection, no matter how far apart we were."

A wave of emotion washes over you. The bracelet, a simple object, had become a powerful testament to the enduring nature of your relationship. As you look into Jin's eyes, you realize that the bond you share is far stronger than any distance or time can separate.

You felt a tightness in your chest. “This night can’t end. We can’t stop here. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow… to go back to New York, but I have an open schedule for a few days. Do you?” You patiently wait for Jin’s response, hoping he can hear the desperation in your voice.

Jin pauses, his eyes scanning yours for a moment before he speaks. "My schedule is open for a few days too... let's stay. We have so much catching up to do." 

Relief floods through you as you agree, grateful that your time together can extend for a little while longer.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·​​· ·

The following morning, the soft glow of sunlight filters through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting a warm embrace on the room. You wake to the gentle symphony of car horns and birdsong. As you stretch, the aroma of coffee fills your nostrils. You breathe it in deeply before getting out of bed. 

Walking out of the bedroom, you notice Jin has already folded the blankets from his stay on the sofa.

“You’re awake,” Jin murmurs and his lips curl up. “I was going to bring this to you.” His hand swipes above a mug of coffee and some pain au chocolat in a tray on the marble countertop.

“You went out to–”

“To get what I hope is still your favorite pastry.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “I could never get sick of them! Let’s enjoy them at the table.” You walk over, carry the tray to the dining table, pause, and stare out the courtyard window, where the sun casts a warm glow on the lush green garden outside. “Isn’t this garden beautiful?”

You feel Jin beside you and look over at him, his coffee mug at his lips. You watch his throat coax the liquid down, and then your eyes meet his. His mug makes a clink as he places it on the table. Jin’s lips part as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. You raise your eyebrows as if asking what he wants to say.

Jin raises his hand to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “Yes, quite beautiful.” 

Heat is radiating from your body. You clear your throat to steady your unexpected, elevated heart rate. "I can't believe we're back in Paris."

Jin hums in agreement, his gaze lingering on your face. There is a softness to his eyes that makes your heart flutter again. He'd always been handsome, but now, there is an added depth, an allure that is undeniably captivating.

After a leisurely breakfast, you explore the city, wandering through the Louvre and marveling at the art. Strolling along the streets window shopping and soaking in the Parisian atmosphere, hands brushing occasionally, sending a spark of excitement coursing through your body.

As the day wore on, a comfortable intimacy began to develop. Picking up where you left off so many years ago, peeling back layers of the people you had grown into. Laughing at memories and finishing each other's sentences, conversations flow seamlessly from one topic to another.

As the sun descends, casting the city in a golden hue, you find yourselves on a bench in front of the Eiffel Tower. The exact spot where you shared your childhood dreams. Only this time, the atmosphere is different.

"Remember when we used to pretend this was our castle?" you ask softly.

Jin smiles, his eyes twinkling. "And you were the princess, waiting for your knight in shining armor."

"You were a terrible knight," you tease, though your heart is pounding.

"Hey!" Jin protests playfully. "I was the best knight a princess could ask for."

You share a laugh, the sound echoing in the still evening air. As the sun dips below the horizon, the Eiffel Tower lit up, a dazzling spectacle against the twilight sky.

You turn to Jin, eyes sparkling. "It's still magical, isn't it?"

Jin nods, his gaze fixated on you. "It's perfect."

A moment passes, filled with a charged tension. Your heart races as you feel a magnetic pull toward him. Taking a deep breath, you step closer.

"Jin..." your voice, barely a whisper.

Before you could finish, Jin's lips were on yours. It’s a soft, gentle kiss filled with a lifetime of longing and a promise of what could be.

The world seems to fade away as you lose yourselves in the moment. The Eiffel Tower, the city lights, everything else is irrelevant. There were only the two of you.

When you pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other. You were both breathless, hearts pounding in unison.

"I wanted to do that our last summer together," Jin admits, his voice husky.

You smile with a heart overflowing with happiness. "Me too."

You found yourself drawn to Jin in a way you hadn't anticipated. His intelligence and sense of humor were intoxicating. He was more than just a childhood friend.

Jin, too, was experiencing a profound shift in his feelings. You had blossomed into a stunningly beautiful woman, but it was your essence and spirit that truly captivated him. He was falling, and with every passing moment, his feelings grew stronger.

As you nestle into Jin's embrace, the city seems to sigh contentedly around you. "I can't believe this is happening," you murmur, your voice muffled against Jin's shoulder. "It feels like a dream."

Jin's arm tightens around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "If it is a dream, I don't want to wake up," he replies, his voice low and warm.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, finding yourself lost in the depths of his dark eyes. There is so much to say, so many years to catch up on, but at that moment, words seem inadequate. Instead, you lean in, brushing your lips against his. 

The touch sends electricity coursing through your body, awakening long-dormant feelings. His breath catches as you pull back slightly, your faces still mere inches apart. Time stands still as you search each other's eyes, volumes of unspoken history passing between you.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raises a hand to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and savoring the warmth of his skin against yours. When you open them again, you find his gaze has softened, a mixture of tenderness and longing replacing the initial shock of seeing you after so many years.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the warmth of newfound love and the magic of Paris at night. The city lights twinkle with possibility as if celebrating your reunion.

"You know," Jin said softly, breaking the silence, "I always wondered what would have happened if we had stayed in touch after those summers."

You lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Me too. But maybe... maybe this is how it was meant to be. Us finding each other again when we were ready."

Jin nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "You might be right. We've both grown, experienced life. And now..."

"And now we're here," you finish for him, squeezing his hand.

As the night deepens, a cool breeze sweeps across the Seine, causing you to shiver slightly. Jin immediately shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment on your arms. The gesture was so tender, so reminiscent of the boy you once knew, that it made your heart ache with affection.

"Thank you," you whisper, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It smells of his cologne—a warm, spicy scent that you find instantly comforting.

Jin smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always looking out for you, just like old times."

You laugh softly, remembering how he used to fuss over you during your childhood adventures. A prince protecting his princess. "Some things never change, do they?"

"And some things do," Jin replies, his tone becoming more serious. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. "I never want to lose touch with you again. Whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I want us to face them together."

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After a beautiful few days together, weeks turn into months as you learn how to balance your new relationship with your separate lives. Your career flourishes, becoming the face of several high-profile brands. Jin's photography is in high demand as his work is featured in prestigious fashion magazines.

Your relationship became the talk of the fashion world, a fairytale romance that captures the hearts of millions. But for you and Jin, it was simply about two people who had found a way back to each other, a story as timeless and beautiful as the city of Paris itself.

Whispers and murmurs followed your every move as you stole precious moments from your chaotic lives, meeting in different corners of the world. Brussels–where fingers intertwined like vines while exploring an elegant art gallery. California–with a romantic late-night stroll on the beach, walking hand in hand as the warm ocean breeze mingled with the scent of salty sea air. 

After the bustling energy of the Met Gala, surrounded by fans seeking autographs and well-wishes, you found a peaceful sanctuary in the middle of Central Park, sharing a private picnic, basking in each other's company and the beauty of nature around you.

The initial euphoria of your reunion began to wane as the harsh reality of distance set in. Jin's career demands his presence in New York, while your commitments keep you grounded in Paris. The city of love, once a haven of intimacy, now felt like a gilded cage of loneliness.

Your days are filled with endless video calls, faces illuminated by the cold glow of the screen.

Chuckling, Jin says, “Remember when we got lost in the Louvre and ended up in the Egyptian exhibit?”

You laugh, “Oh, that was hilarious! We were so confused. And then we saw that giant sphinx and thought we were in a movie!”

“And then we found the Mona Lisa and got all excited, only to realize a crowd of tourists surrounded it.”

“We were so disappointed. But it was still fun,” you giggle through your words.

Jin leans closer to the screen. “I miss your laugh.”

You push out your bottom lip and blink rapidly, trying to ward off the tears that threaten to spill over.

Softly, Jin speaks again, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you. You know that?”

You bring the screen closer and pucker your lips, sending an air kiss. “And I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

Jin sighs, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. More than words can say.” 

“I'll visit as soon as I can, I promise.”

Every night ends the same, going over mundane details of your days and pouring your hearts out to each other. Yet, the physical distance was a constant ache, a void that no amount of virtual connection could fill.

The emotional toll of long distance was undeniable. You miss the simple pleasures of being together: holding hands, sharing a meal, falling asleep in each other's arms. The distance felt like a constant reminder of your separation, a painful reminder of what you were missing.

For now, you were two halves of a whole, separated by an ocean, your love a beacon of hope in the vast expanse of your lives.

But the strain of long distance began to wear on you both. A gnawing sense of longing and frustration slowly replaces the initial excitement of new love. Your schedules became increasingly difficult to align, with fashion weeks and photo shoots pulling you in opposite directions.

One particularly grueling day, after a 14-hour shoot, you collapse onto your hotel bed, fumbling for your phone. Jin's face appears on the screen, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "How was your day?"

You sigh. "Endless. I'm so tired, Jin. I miss you."

His expression softens. "I miss you too. More than you know."

A heavy silence fell between you, filled with unspoken longings and fears. You both knew this conversation was coming, but neither wanted to be the first to broach the subject. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke.

"Jin, I... I don't know how much longer I can do this. The distance… it's killing me."

Jin's face fell, his eyes clouding with worry. "I know. It's been hard on me too. But we're making it work, aren't we?"

You bit your lip, fighting back tears. "Are we? Sometimes, it feels like we're just going through the motions. I want more than just video calls and text messages. I want you here, with me."

Jin ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his gesture. "I want that too. You know I do. But our careers... they're important too. We've worked so hard to get where we are."

"I know," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "But at what cost? We're living separate lives, Jin. I feel like I'm losing you, even though I just found you again."

Jin's expression softens, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You're not losing me. I'm right here, always. But you're right, this isn't enough. We need to figure something out."

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "What do we do? How do we make this work?"

Jin was quiet for a moment, his brow furrows in thought. Then, his face lit up with determination. "I have an idea. It's crazy, but hear me out."

You lean closer to the screen, intrigued. "I'm listening."

Jin's words tumble out in a rush. "What if I move to Paris? It would be a big change, but... I think it could work."

Your heart skips a beat, hope blooming in your chest. "Jin, are you serious? That's... that's a huge decision. What about your career in New York?"

He smiles, a determined glint in his eye. "My career is important, yes. But you're more important. We're more important. I can build my career anywhere, but I can't find another you."

Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and disbelief. "But... are you sure? I don't want you to resent me if things don't work out."

Jin's gaze softens. "I could never resent you. Look, I'm not saying it'll be easy. There will be challenges and adjustments to make. But I'm willing to face them all if it means being with you."

Your heart swells with emotion. "Jin, I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll have me," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Say you'll let me come home to you."

A tear slips down your cheek as you nod. "Yes! Yes, of course! I want nothing more than to have you here with me."

Jin's face breaks into a radiant smile, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Then it's settled. I'll start making arrangements right away."

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After months of planning and preparation, the day is finally here. Jin secures a transfer to Paris and is finally coming to the other side of the world to be with you permanently. The day he broke the news was met with overwhelming joy and relief. He finally found a way to bridge the physical distance between you.

Jin eagerly packed his belongings and said goodbye to New York, the city he could no longer call home. He was giddy at the thought that you were now his home. As he boards the plane, his heart is full with a mix of excitement and anticipation. He is finally on his way to be reunited with the love of his life.

You were waiting for Jin impatiently at the airport. Your flowy white dress swooshes with every turn you make, pacing back and forth in front of the terminal exit, holding a bouquet with soft shades of purple, ranging from pale lavender to a deeper violet. Their sweet, intoxicating scent fills the air, settling you briefly. You look at the small, delicate petals resembling tiny hearts–perfect for expressing love and affection.

The moment you see Jin, your heart wavers. Wearing a casual outfit of jeans and a button-down shirt, he offers a warm smile, and his eyes sparkle with joy. He’s pulling his luggage behind him, and in his arms, a breathtaking bouquet of lush, vibrant flowers. The arrangement is a symphony of pinks and whites. Dahlias dominate the center with their ruffled petals, surrounded by delicate sweet peas and smaller, more compact flowers. The overall effect is elegance, which is precisely the type of man Jin is. 

You both brim from ear to ear and laugh that you are on the same page. You rush into each other's arms, sweet tears mingling with your embrace. The airport may be full of the hustle and bustle of travelers, but your love shines brightly, creating a moment of peace and happiness amidst the chaos.  

Simultaneously, you both speak, “These are for you.” Giggles erupt again as you exchange bouquets. 

Jin raises them to his face and exaggerates, smelling them. “They're beautiful, just like you.” He winks and thanks you.

You press the back of your hand to your cheek, which flushes with color, “You're too much.”

Jin pulls you into another hug, his lips grazing your neck. “I'm so happy to be with you again.” 

With one hand, you lace your fingers with Jin’s, and the other weaves through the nape of his hair. “Let's go home,” you whisper.

Smiling, he replies, “I am home.”

Jin grabs his bag, and you walk toward the exit; sounds of announcements in multiple languages and murmurs of conversations all fade into the background, replaced by a palpable sense of euphoria. 

As you leave the airport, a wave of warm air hits you. Jin's hand slips into yours, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. Jin settles into the driver’s seat of your car, and the city turns into a blur of colorful tapestry as you weave through the streets.

When arriving at your new apartment, which you picked together through a video call, Jin is welcomed by a charming atmosphere. Golden rays of sunlight pour through the wide windows, flooding the living room with a warm glow. The air is alive with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, its rich scent beckoning from the kitchen where you had set the timer before leaving. Jin sets down his bags and turns to you, an adoring glint in his eye.

"Shall you show me our new home?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, your heart filling with anticipation. As you walk through the apartment, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. This is where your new life together will unfold.

You end the brief tour by stepping out onto a private terrace, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Jin hugs you from behind and places his hands over yours on the railing, caging your body between his arms. 

Before you, the iconic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower stretches upward, a graceful masterpiece of iron latticework. The tower's every intricate detail is visible from your vantage point.

You twist around to face Jin, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently gliding them until your fingers interlock behind his neck. "I'm so glad you decided to take this leap," you say softly. "I couldn't imagine my life without you."

The corners of Jin’s mouth turn up in a gentle, playful arc, creating a soft, heart-like shape, causing your heart to flutter. "Me neither." 

"I have something for you," he said, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your heart races as he opens the box, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a pendant shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Embedded in the tower was a tiny diamond that caught the fading sunlight.

"Jin, it's beautiful," you gasp, touching the pendant gently.

"Turn it over," he urges softly.

With trembling fingers, you flip the pendant over. Engraved on the back are the words "our love story”.

As Jin carefully fastens the necklace around your neck, tears well up in your eyes. The cool metal settles against your skin, a tangible reminder of your journey together.

"I wanted to give you something to always remember this time, this place," Jin explains, his eyes shining. "No matter where our careers take us, we'll always have Paris."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. "It's perfect," you whisper against his mouth. "Thank you."

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, you and Jin sit entwined, watching the city come alive with twinkling lights. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance.

You stand there, nestled in Jin's arms. You couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had led you to this moment. From childhood summers filled with laughter and adventure to years apart, pursuing your dreams, and finally reuniting in the city of love. It feels as if every step, every decision, led you back to each other.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

His breath warm against your ear, he replies, "This is just the beginning."

[tiaramania]

Princess Leonor's 18th Birthday

The Princess of Asturias turned 18th today! She took an oath to uphold the constitution in front of the Cortes and received the Order of Carlos III which is Spain's highest civilian honor. It didn't have the fun or fancy events like some of the other recent royal coming of ages but it felt so much more important. This was a solemn occasion of the heir to the throne swearing allegiance to king and country.

They didn't release a formal gala portrait of Princess Leonor wearing a tiara but I wasn't expecting one. We'll probably have to wait for her to be finished with her military education and maybe even her university education before she starts attending tiara events.

Her only jewelry for the big day was a pair of earrings (plus a little diamond stud in one ear) from Gold & Roses Joyas made of diamonds and tanzanites set in rose gold.

I also want to say that I really appreciate Casa Real for always providing livestreams for big events. With other royal families I have to hope that the national broadcaster has non-geoblocked videos or that a magazine has a camera outside filming arrivals. With Spain I don't have to worry about it because I can just go to Casa Real's YouTube page. If you want to re-watch the whole thing you can see the events at the Cortes here and the events at the Royal Palace here.

[bellysoupset]

i’m sorry you’re having a bad night soup :(

if you’d like to would you mind just telling me some random little things about jonah

the more obscure and miscellaneous the better 😭

- 🧝‍♂️

Hi Elf! Eh, it's fine, my brain is constantly running a mile, but this will calm down soo enough, fingers crossed.

Alright fun facts about Jon!

He's big on gift giving. It's an art and he's really good at it.

Jonah has never been to a pride parade before. In fact, only Wendy out of all my OCs has.

Jonah has both his ears pierced, but nowadays he doesn't wear anything on them. He did wear diamond studs on them during a stretch of high school.

Jonah wears makeup pretty much every day. Not as in fashion (colors/glitter/etc), but he's really really good with concealer. You'll never see this man with a pimple.

Jonah DID want a sibling, which is something he'll not say out loud. It was such a huge disappointment to him when his step mom didn't let him be a big brother to Angie and then he was enrolled in boarding school. Like he eagerly waited during all of the pregnancy and was thriving when random strangers told him he'd be a big brother.

Jonah's favorite movie as a kid was the Parent Trap, he's the child of divorced parents and had an annoying, much younger step mom. Nowadays he likes indie queer/horror stuff and will not own up to this, but Luke knows.

If you're tenacious enough and look at teen magazines from the early 2010s, you'll find him in some of them. "Jackie Mallory's heartrobber son" you might read. You may even find pictures of him and Luke together if you search enough.

Jonah's granparents from his father's side are still alive, although he's not close with them.

His letterbox is his pride and joy and he leaves these long, winded reviews.

He's got a signature perfume: Hugo Boss Boss (the green one, that's got notes of green apple)

[whositmcwhatsit]

Cherry Pie Delight

It is the hot, long summer of 1956 and Annie's best friend Margie has discovered a new singer that is not only handsome, but can sing, move, AND lives in their home town. They have to go see him and find out what the fuss is about.

Note: Just a little one shot to help me get baby Elvis fangirl vibes out my head.

Words: 5283- Look, it's short!

The first time I saw Elvis Presley was a fiercely hot summer afternoon when I was seventeen years old. My best friend Margie had seen him on Milton Berle’s show and declared herself in love. Not only was he famous, not only could he sing, not only could he move, but he lived in our town. It was meant to be, Margie declared.

“You know, his favourite colours are pink, blue and black,” Margie recited, face deep in the music magazine she had brought with her as we waited at the fence of this regular ranch style house. We were not alone, there were almost a dozen other girls about our age lingering and fizzing with anticipation.

I looked at Margie in askance.

“Well, my favourite colour is pink! We’re so alike.”

“Uh huh.” I bet they both loved breathing air and eating food too.

The sun was beating down on us, I could feel sweat soaking the back of my blouse and my skirt was starting to stick to my thighs. Some of the other girls left, going home to sip cold drinks and lay on linoleum next to electric fans. Margie wouldn’t hear of it, begging for ten more minutes over and over.

Finally, eventually, there was movement out by the carport. The remaining girls, Margie included, started bobbing on their toes, leaning over the fence and not caring that the metalwork poked, prodded and dirtied their blouses.

Eventually a tall boy came wandering out towards the fence. He was wearing a motorcycle cap like Marlon Brando and a strange green shirt with laces. I looked to Margie, eyebrows twisted in a question. Him? Really?

“Hi there, girls, what are y’all up to?” he asked. His voice was higher than I had expected and he sounded real country to my sophisticated town ears. The girls all tittered and blushed.

“Well, they’re all about melting out here waiting for you obviously,” I said in exasperation. He gave them a bashful smile that allowed me a glimpse of what had turned them into giggling fools. The boy had a good smile that made my stomach warm in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Not you though, honey? What’re you doin’ here then?” He leant on the fence in front of me, squinting slightly in the sun. The light glinted off his pinky ring and watch as he rested his forearm on the scrollwork. I became very aware that his hand was almost brushing my arm.

“It’s Margie’s car,” I shrugged. “We go where Margie wants.” He snorted at the irritation in my voice and revealed the curves of his cheekbones as he stuck the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

“Lucky for me,” he murmured. Then he moved off to sign some pictures for the other girls, leaving me to wonder whether he had really said what I thought he said. I watched him talk to each of the girls, flashing them all that blinding smile that lit up his face, and smashing his pouty lips against their round cheeks so hard that it squashed their faces for a moment.

Suddenly he was back, his hand dangling promisingly close to the hairs on my arm that were already standing on end. I stared at the diamond studded horseshoe ring on his pinky finger, breathing through my mouth.

“How about you, honey? You got something for me to put my scribble on?” I frowned, looking down at myself.

“I don’t have any paper,” I answered finally, feeling like a fool.

“Aw, doesn’t have to be paper. Why, just the other day some little gal got me to sign her… her… arm.” The look on his face made it very clear that it had not been her arm.

“Won’t that just wash off?” I asked dubiously.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “but then you’ll have to come back. I got it all figured out, honey.” He winked and a weird, mindless giggle escaped me before I snapped my mouth shut.

There was a long pause. There was no way I was going to let him write on my skin, my mother would have a fit. I had already had to lie to her about where I was going. Showing up uninvited at someone’s house was up there with murder in my mother’s notion of sins.

He was tapping the metalwork on the fence, his long fingers as drumsticks, before he gripped hold and used it to help him balance as he swung back slightly, looking over his shoulder at his house. He reminded me of a little kid, a tall, handsome little kid.

“You know, I think I have some pictures up in the house,” he said slowly, like he was waiting for me to stop him. “Wanna come with me, honey, while I dig ‘em out? My folks are home.” 

I almost answered too quickly, but then I remembered Margie, who was standing a few feet behind me, her eyes searing into the back of my sunburned neck.

“Can my friend come?”

“Sure. Huh, so it turns out that Margie goes where… What’s your name, honey?”

“Annie.” He held out his hand, palm up and I awkwardly placed mine on top, wondering what was going on.

“Hi Annie, I’m Elvis.” He lifted my hand and pressed his lips against my fingers. It was the corniest move and I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t quite get my mind working right feeling those soft, warm lips on my skin.

We trailed Elvis as he walked in an easy long stride up the driveway, passing under a car port that looked a lot like ours at home with a sack of dog kibble by the back door next to some muddy boots. Except for the Harley Davidson motorcycle and Cadillacs.

In the yard, my first impression was of a lot of mud. A huge hole had been dug in the ground and there was digging equipment and a cement mixer scattered about. Elvis tried to look casual as he told us that they were digging a pool, his voice all off-hand, but you could tell he was proud of it. He directed us over to a white table and some chairs on the patio.

“Take a seat, ladies, I’ll be right back.” We watched him disappear through the screen door and into the house.

There still wasn’t much shade at the back of the house, though Margie was luckier as she was in the shadow of the roof overhang. She didn’t look any cooler than me though, her face like stone as she stared.

“What?” I whispered guiltily. She didn’t replied, she didn’t need to.

The next thing I knew, an older lady was coming out through the door with a tray. She was wearing a pale blue dress and had dark hair, and something about the eyes told me that this was Elvis’s mother. Elvis was just behind her, holding the door open.

“Hello,” she smiled. We sat up straight like she might be able to stare straight through our red faces into our shameful minds. “Elvis was telling me about how far you gals came just to visit with us. My goodness, your mothers must be worrying themselves sick about you!”

Standing behind her, Elvis was nodding emphatically with his eyes wide, trying to get us to play along. Frowning at him, my head started to move up and down too.

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured. “I mean, no, ma’am.”

“Are you sure? You know, I could call them on the telephone and let them know that y’all are here and safe? I really think I should.” Oh dear Lord, no!

“There’s no-one home right now, ma’am,” Margie put in quickly. Fast-thinker that one.

“Baby, the lemonade,” Elvis murmured, leaning over her shoulder. She blinked and offered us each a glass of cloudy lemonade with condensation trickling down the slightly misty glass. I almost spilled it down my front in my haste to get it to my mouth.

“This is delicious, ma’am, thank you,” I gasped after I had drank nearly three quarters of the glass at once. Elvis was still at his mother’s shoulder, smiling approvingly at us.

“You’re probably hungry too. Lord, are you sure there is no one I can call?”

“We’re about ready to head home soon, ma’am,” I promised. “Thank you though.”

“Well, let me get you some cookies at least. If you were my children, why I’d hope that someone would take care of you .”  

When she had gone back inside, Elvis grinned, looking very pleased with himself.

“You shouldn’t have lied to your mama,” I said disapprovingly. “We don’t want to put her out.”

“Aw, she likes it,” he returned dismissively. “You want a tour?” I downed the rest of my lemonade as we rose from the table and followed Elvis into the house.

It took a moment for our eyes to adjust, the blinds were all drawn closed, making the interior dark and a little gloomy. Elvis walked fast, making big movements with his arms as he showed off the living room, where I spotted several pictures of a girl with dark hair, the kitchen, the family room, as well as some of the bedrooms. The tour ended in his bedroom.

I thought he was kidding at first, because it didn’t look like his room. It didn’t look like any boy’s room. The wallpaper was pink and flowery- Margie probably loved it- and was complimented by the rosebud bedspreads on the twin beds. All around the walls were large angel ornaments on a blue background. And the room was completely surrounded by teddy bears.

“Don’t you feel like they’re always watching you?” I asked, glancing around nervously. He laughed, a playful hiccup of a laugh.

“Maybe I like ‘em watching,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

I didn’t know what he meant, but I suspected it was dirty and I flushed, turning to grab Margie’s wrist. I wasn’t about to stand in his bedroom if he was going to be crude with us.

“Hey, I’m only kidding, honey,” he said, pinching hold of my skirt at the hip. “Don’t go. You wanna take one?” He spread his arm wide. “I got plenty, you can both have one.”

I shot him one last warning look and then went to examine a cluster of teddies by the dresser. There was the cutest little black bear with a red ribbon around its neck. Margie chose a large bear with black button eyes and a light brown tummy.

Margie asked if she could use the bathroom and Elvis directed her to one down the hall. As soon as she was gone, he picked up one of the bigger bears and started to make it ‘talk’. He was being such a goof, making the bear say corny stuff about how I was pretty and how he- the bear- wanted to kiss me. Suddenly, he made the bear dive headfirst towards me and I shrieked, putting my hands up to protect my face.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll protect you,” he said, tossing the bear onto the bed and wrapping his arms around my waist.

He held me tight, much tighter than the boys usually did when we danced down by the river at the bandstand in the park on a Saturday afternoon. I stared up into his face, noticing how incredibly long his eyelashes were and how his eyes were dark blue rather than brown like I first thought.

When he finally kissed me it was fast and chaste like being pecked by a little bird. He pulled back, frowning as if to check my reaction, and I smiled to show him that I didn’t mind. This time, he put his palm against my cheek; it felt clammy, but that could have just been my sun warmed cheek. His lips were softer than any other boy’s I had kissed, though that was not saying much.

His brows drew together as he pulled away, sucking in first his bottom and then his top lip.

“Hey, that tastes delicious, what is that?”

“Oh, my lipstick.” I flushed, feeling like a stupid little girl playing dress up. “It’s flavoured. It’s supposed to be-“

“Cherry… right?”

“Uh huh.” He squeezed me tight again, his lips opening as he licked and nibbled and sucked on my mouth. Something was happening to my body, I thought I might be having a heart attack but all over. I shoved him back.

“You’re not meant to eat it!” I gasped.

“Oh, trust me, darlin’, every inch of you is meant to be eaten.” His face was so close that I could only focus on his lips, plump, round and glistening with the remnants of my cherry pie delight.

He was still holding me when Margie returned. Her gaze crystallised with betrayal.

“We should go, it’s getting late,” she said.

I trailed after her as she walked through the dim shadowy hall down towards the family room and the back door. The air felt too full of unspoken words and that made it difficult to talk. Mrs Presley was still in the kitchen and she handed us a paper sack of cookies for us to eat during our ‘long journey’. She made us promise to drive carefully and not get distracted by the radio or chatting.

As we crossed the patio, Elvis stopped us and went back to the table where he had some shiny photos of himself. He looked up at me and gave me a quick grin before huddling over the picture with a pen. His smile was flawless when he finally handed over the photo, but his cheeks were slightly pink. I glanced down.

‘Dear Annie, all my love and kisses, Elvis Presley.’

As we stepped out from under the carport and into the warm evening air, I had this overwhelming urge to show my gratitude. That afternoon would be a glistening glass bead that hung on the string of perfect memories I would carry with me, I felt sure of it. I rifled through my purse, pushing aside the signed picture and the little teddy bear.

“Here.” I felt silly as soon as I shoved the little tube into his hand. His eyes narrowed in bemusement, and he glanced down, his easy smile lighting up his face as he read the label at the end.

“Cherry Pie Delight.”

“Don’t eat it all at once,” I giggled, feeling smart and grown up. I could feel my back burning as I walked away, my sandals clopping on the path.

______________________________________________________________

The second time I saw Elvis Presley was in a movie theatre a month later. My friend and I each told our mothers that we were sleeping over at the other’s house. We thought we were geniuses.

I had never seen the place so packed, especially not for the movies we were supposed to be seeing. They were so good that I couldn’t remember what they were the next day.

Elvis didn’t show up until the lights had gone down and my stomach swooped in disappointment as I just saw a knot of shadowy figures move down the aisle on the far side of my row. It felt wrong, I knew something was supposed to happen. I knew it.

Just enjoy yourself, I tried to tell myself, you are eating popcorn, drinking soda, and watching movies for free. Count your blessings. That was enough, that was enough. It was not enough.

An odd, strangled sound came out of my mouth when I saw the shadowy figure moving up the aisle next to me. The height, the way he held his shoulders, the loose-hipped way he walked, there was no mistaking who it was.  I held my breath as he approached, putting all of my life force into my eyes. Notice me, notice me, notice me. He passed by without a pause.

It wasn’t right. I felt like I had written a fairytale and, at the last minute, someone else was revealed as the princess and I was just an ordinary peasant with no lines. I angrily threw a piece of popcorn into my mouth, where it hit the back of my mouth and tried to escape down my windpipe. I choked, coughing and spluttering, finally sucking in air as it dislodged from my friend pounding on my back. As I blinked away the purple blobs in front of my eyes, I realised I wasn’t alone.

“Hey, cherry pie delight! I thought I saw ya there.” Elvis was crouched in the aisle by my chair. He gripped hold of my forearm on the armrest to keep his balance. “You okay, honey?”

Resigned to my new role as villager number 5 in my own story, I raised an eyebrow and said flatly, “You don’t remember my name, do you.”

“Baby, of course I do…” He was smiling, but he didn’t go on, because of course he didn’t. There had been thirty, fifty, one hundred different versions of me since then.

“It’s Annie.”

“I knew that, I was just testing ya.” He leant forward, pressed his lips against the curve of my ear, and sang a few lines of a song, ‘Work with me Annie, let’s get it while the getting’s good.” His voice, so plaintive and pleading in my ear, combined with the damp heat of his breath and the smell of him, sweetness and musk, made me feel like the seat I was squirming in had started melting.  

“Well, I should be gettin’ back,” he said like he was chatting to a neighbour over the fence. He glanced down the aisle to where his date and his friends were sitting. “See ya later, Annie Pie Delight.”

My friend elbowed me, her eyes so wide that they flashed white even in the darkened theatre. I smiled, not needing to show my teeth, because I was mysterious and sophisticated now. Elvis Presley knew who I was. Sort of.

I couldn’t eat my popcorn, my fingers trembled when I dug my hand into the bucket and my stomach was twisted too tight anyway. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him down there in the dark, imagining a dark rope of longing knotted round my waist and tied to him.

Half the popcorn went on the floor when, out of nowhere, some tall, gangly boy with greased back hair tapped me on the shoulder.

“Hi there, Elvis wants to know if you wanna go for a ride.” It wasn’t really a question, we both knew that. I looked to my friend, who rolled her eyes in answer to the plea in mine. She snatched the popcorn from me before the rest ended up on the floor and almost threw me out of my seat.

The boy led me out to the foyer of the theatre, past the concessions. I could see the silhouettes of some unlucky fans standing by the glass doors, still hopeful that they would at least get to see their man at some point. When I was taken out of the side door and into the darkened parking lot, my neck began prickling with unease.

“Look, I’m not sure…” I felt so stupid. Some guy had probably seen Elvis stop and talk to me and had come to the conclusion that I was loose. And perhaps he was right if I rushed into this trap so willingly.

“Aw, don’t go getting cold feet on me now, Annie Pie, delight of my life.” A long shadow detached itself from the side of the building and stepped out into the pool of light by the side exit door. He adjusted the motorcycle cap on his head and grinned that lopsided smile, looking just like a picture on a record sleeve.

I hurriedly scanned the parking lot, checking that no one had heard him, knowing that as soon there was a whisper that he was out here, I would have lost him.

“I thought someone was pulling my leg,” I explained, glancing back to the boy, but he was already gone.

“Naw, I just gotta be sneaky if I want you to myself.” He came closer and my head tipped back trying to keep that face, that smile, in my sights. I felt him lock his arms around my waist, almost as tight as that invisible rope that we had between us, and jiggle me against him. A bolt of lightning ran up the inside of my thigh, terrifying me, though I didn’t know why.

“What about your date?” I asked, kicking myself. Don’t remind him, Annie, you fool!

“Well, I thought it would be better if it was just the two of us, baby, but if you want-“

“No!” I interjected, reaching out a hand to his chest and almost scrunched up his shirt in my fist. He smiled again, pressing his mouth against my cheek and nuzzling his nose along my temple.

“Then we’re on the same page, Annie Pie. C’mon, let’s go for a ride.” I shivered as he took my hand, his hot palm practically devouring me.

“Where’s your… car.” I exhaled as we stopped in front of a motorcycle. Even from ten miles away I could feel my mother’s horror. Annie Joan Hutchingson, don’t you dare!

“No car, baby, cars are for squares.” He winked as he walked round the bike.

 I hesitated, imagining my mother finding out that I wasn’t actually sleeping over at my friend’s house when she was called to the hospital because I had been in a motorbike accident with Elvis Presley. If I didn’t die, she’d kill me.

“C’mon, honey, I’ll be Brando and you can be that sweet little gal he meets. You seen that movie, right?” He patted the seat behind him and pouted like I had the power to break his delicious heart.

“He rides a Triumph in that movie, not a Harley Davidson,” I said finally, tucking my skirt between my legs and awkwardly straddling the back of the bike. My thigh muscles contracted as they made contact with his butt, squeezing around his hips. A fire raged down my front, my nipples stiffened and tingled, and my belly clenched as my skirt slid on the leather seat, pushing my hips tighter into him.

“Huh, my girl knows her motorcycles,” he observed, sounding almost impressed. I didn’t tell him that no, actually I knew my fan magazines. “Hold on tight to me now, honey.”

The motorcycle roared into life, echoing around the parking lot, and bouncing off the nearby buildings. It matched perfectly to what was happening inside of me. With a jerk, we took off across the concrete, managing to cross the sidewalk and make it onto the road before the huddle at the front of the theatre understood what was happening.

The streetlights flickered by in a stream of colour as the wind caught my hair, my shirt and my skirt, making me billow and ruffle like I had wings. My fear of falling won out over my self-consciousness and I wrapped my arms around Elvis’s waist and draped myself against his slightly damp back like I had been poured there. With my cheek pressed tight between his shoulder blades, I could feel the steady, heavy thump of his heart and it mirrored the pulse between my legs. I pushed my hips forward slightly to relieve the ache and his stomach jolted beneath my fingers.

After a while, the spaces between the lights started to grow longer and Elvis steered the motorcycle off the road into a rest area. I tried to focus my eyes, adjusting to standing still, but I didn’t recognise where we were. Elvis, however, certainly seemed to know where he was, and he strolled over to a wooden picnic table, drumming his knuckles on it.

“I think you’re right,” I said, just to say something. “Motorcycles are much cooler than cars.” His lips spread into a smile, a secret, small one that revealed his dreamy cheekbones. He inclined his head, beckoning me over and I moved like he was tugging on that rope round my waist, helpless.

“There’s something about ‘em, ain’t there,” he murmured, as he placed his hands on my waist, one long finger at a time. “Get you all worked up, make you feel a little wild…”

He kissed me in an ambush and it didn’t feel like any other time before. My heart was racing as I tussled in his grip like my body was not sure if it was under attack. I got my forearms between us, shoving them against his chest until he stumbled back, breaking his lock on my waist.

We stared at each other,  both of us panting. I thought he might be mad from the way that his eyes were narrowed on me, but I didn’t care because I thought I might be a little ticked off too, my jaw clenching and my muscles tensing like I wanted… something.

Slowly, his brow cleared and his eyes lightened again, twinkling in the moonlight.

“It’s okay, I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he said playfully. “C’mon Annie Pie, we’re all friends here.”

In spite of my misgivings and my throbbing heart, I moved back over to him. I didn’t have a choice. He rubbed his warm palm down from my shoulder to my wrist and back up again, really slowly and carefully.

“See, you’re okay, baby. It’s just me, just little ole Elvis.” He gave me an encouraging smile when I nodded and then he placed his fingertips under my chin.

When he stooped down,  he moved really slow so that I went cross eyed as I watched his hooded eyes and his luscious lips grow closer, but he stopped when our lips were barely touching, the cold tip of his nose grazing against my cheek. I waited and he still didn’t move; didn’t say anything either.

 I could smell the exotic tang from the grease and oil in his hair, hear the uneven drags of air he was taking in and letting out, and feel the firm muscles in his arms beneath his jacket. He was trembling.

We were in a dangerous situation, I knew that. I had known that ever since I stepped foot into the parking lot of the movie theatre, but I considered now if the reason that it was so dangerous was the man stood pressed up against me, or if I was the hungry tiger stalking her prey. Only one way to find out. I surged forward.

Inside I was roaring louder than any motorcycle, our lips dragging and sliding, and his tongue caressing mine. My hands, which had started out cupping his neck had gradually migrated down, palming his chest, the gentle curve of his stomach, moving round to his hips and… Oh my lord, I was squeezing his ass. I broke away in mortification, taking a few stumbling steps back so that the gravel beneath my feet spilled over the heels of my sandals and pinched the soles of my feet.

“What happened?” His eyelids were droopy, he looked half-drunk somehow and even staggered slightly as he moved in to scoop me back up. “Don’t stop, darlin’. C’mon, lil Cherry Pie.”

I found myself grinning madly as he nuzzled my neck, his hands kneading my hips and my butt as he mumbled and murmured. I felt powerful, no longer the peasant, not even the princess. No, I was the Evil Queen, with all the power and riches that everyone else coveted. They all wanted him. And he, he wanted me.

The picnic table jabbed me in the back of the thighs and my arms windmilled slightly as I fell back. Elvis didn’t stop, lifting me up onto it and jamming himself in between my legs before they could close. His hands slipped under my skirt and prodded at the soft, sensitive skin along my inner thigh. Any minute now, he would discover my soaked underwear. I tried shuffling away, but he could bend and flex like no other boy I ever met.

I gasped out his name when I felt a callused finger slide into the slippery core of me and he giggled a little at the way I writhed on his hand, trying to escape.

“You really are a sweet little cherry pie,” he mumbled into my cheek. “Let’s keep it that way, huh, darlin’.” I let out a whoosh of air from my paralysed lungs when he drew back and he pulled my skirt back down over my knees and smoothed it down my shins. “You won’t let no one else do that to you, will you, baby? Only me. It’s just for me.”

With a mischievous smile and his eyes glinting, he rubbed his glistening finger along the pillow of his bottom lip and sucked it in.

“Mmm, cherry pie delight.” He hiccupped a silly laugh as I shoved him in the chest and made him stumble back a few steps.

Riding back along the highway to the movie theatre felt like a long goodbye. I pressed my head to the nape of his neck, inhaling the scent of his hair, his skin, his collar, committing them to memory. There was an ache in my chest telling me that this was it, that moments were all I had left.  I pressed my lips to the seam at the back of his jacket and christened it with the salty tear that wended its way down my cheek.

The crowd outside the theatre must have heard us coming from blocks away, they were already racing to the parking lot as we pulled in and crowded around with no concern for their own safety.

The third time I saw Elvis Presley was that autumn as I stood with the girls by the fence at Audubon Drive. Elvis had just come back from Hollywood and had some new friends with him. Some of the girls said that Natalie Wood was his girlfriend and that she was so crazy about him that she had followed him all the way back here.

Elvis gave my linked hands above his waistband a quick squeeze, before he was grinning for the fans, scrawling his name on their records, books, and arms. I stumbled from the back of the bike and walked back to the side door, eyes over my shoulder to see if he would look back even once. He didn’t.

_____________________________________________________________

It was after dinner when he finally came out, still wearing that silly cap. There were others with him, loud and excitable boys that talked really fast. I watched them making faces behind their hands and rolling their eyes as one girl was telling Elvis how much she had loved ‘Love me Tender’, that she had already seen it twelve times. He smiled at her, kind of bashful, and thanked her, saying that she and his parents were the only ones keeping it on the marquee.

When he got to me, I handed him the latest glossy that had been sent out by the fan club. It already had a printed signature on it, but I wanted the real thing.

“What’s your name, honey?” he murmured, glancing sideways as his friends started rough housing in the driveway.

“Annie,” I whispered. He scrawled on it, barely legible since he was busy yelling hints and tips to his friends cavorting about, ‘To Annie, Best Wishes, Elvis Presley.’

And those were the three times I saw Elvis Presley. I say saw, because I don’t think I ever really met him. But I saw him and that was enough.

A big thank you to @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally and @ellie-24 for bad girl support

@literally-just-elvis-fics

[fancydiamonds]

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[styleofdiamandis]

PHOTOSHOOT: FOAM MAGAZINE

If there was a way to sum up the "Electra Heart" era in fashion — I think this shot did the job

On July 7th, 2012 Marina Diamandis was photographed by JUCO for Foam magazine in Los Angeles. Glam by Amy Chance, hair by Aaron Light and manicure by Michelle Saunders.

Simple as it may be, this is precisely the look, the beauty, and the styling I would have selected for this shot. Powerful in its stark simplicity. 

For our first look, she wore this lime-colored slip dress ($295.00 - sold out) with contrasting black lace details from Emerson's Fall/Winter 2012 collection.

Jeweller Erica Courtney seems to have been assigned as the official bauble provider for this editorial, as Marina dons several of her pieces such as these white pearl, yellow-gold and diamond drop earrings ($31,700.00 - sold out).

For the next set of photos, Marina is posing on a bed while wearing Aussie label SHAKUHACHI's mint-green and pink lace block cut-out dress ($525.00 - sold out).

As in jewelry, the Greek-Welsh beauty rocked a pair of Jared Jamin's green flower and pearl drop earrings ($220.00 - sold out), along with Erica Courtney's platinum and diamond white pearl fancy charm necklaces ($10,000.00 - sold out) and 18k gold and diamond London blue topaz Zoey ring ($7,200.00 - sold out).

Marina completed her girly ensemble with these to-die-for metallic green penny loafer pumps ($275.00 - sold out) by Fornarina.

This retro-inspired look includes a vintage beaded and fringed cream pencil dress which was paired with the stylist's own sheer silk scarf and jewelry by Erica Courtney which included the Super Cool gold coin charm bracelet ($20,000.00 - sold out) and Pillow Top ring ($19,000.00 - sold out).

My favorite look of this editorial includes Marina wearing these apple-green and purple cut-out lenses – fruit of the collaboration from Prabal Gurung and Linda Farrow for Prabal's Spring/Summer 2012 runway!

I wasn't able to ID her outfit down but Marina wears yet another stunning design by Erica Courtney. On her, we can spot a blue topaz version of these romantic chandelier earrings with diamonds.

For the penultimate look, Marina posed outside while wearing her stylist's own beaded vintage cardigan on top of a vintage white silk blouse, and vintage grey leather daisies-embroidered belt sourced at Modern Vintage Today.

Her white and black polka-dot organza circle skirt ($450.00) was created by emerging designer House of Ronald.

This very feminine look was further enhanced with the Serefina Dagger stud earrings ($50.00 - sold out) and her aforementioned Fornarina pumps.

For the final look, things get bright and pink with this SHAKUHACHI neon-pink poplin blouse ($263.00 - sold out) which Marina paired with a vintage rose lace pencil skirt from Hot Mess Vintage.

The jewelry for this look is by none other than Erica Courtney and featured the namesake Erica diamond stud earrings ($11,000 - sold out) and Shayne pearl and diamond pendant necklace ($44,000 - sold out).

Last but definitely not least, Marina completed the look with these Kurt Geiger Spring/Summer 2012 white and pink perforated leather platform wedges!

[bestedition]

so unlike usual appearance president is leaning in office chair, legs pulled up and feet resting on whoever's desk he invaded. it's a place he isn't unfamiliar with, one would even call it a second home, a place where he gets to relax and turn off the presidential facade of perfection and where he can be nothing but the brat he actually is. the silver spoon follows him even down here, hidden from other departments. " a crown, elena ? " brow arched, blue peaking at her desk turned to craft table cluttered by crystals and what other shining embellishments she's found. hands entwine behind his head. " if it looks good, i'll let you bedazzle one of mine later. " ( ME SEEING THAT GUN AND IMMEDIATELY FALLING IN LOVE, now i need her to bedazzle rufus' gun )

"Yes. A crown." Elena claims her style with no shame. This was her off time and this was how she was deciding to spend it with her own money. Her pink-painted fire arm lay flat with the magazine pulled out of it, each glamour item chosen specifically that she felt embodied her. The crown was something she was taking in her family. Emma held it far too long. This was her time to shine - like a god damn diamond.

"Of course it's going to look good! I've been doing stuff like this since forever," She declares with pride.

"Y'know Tseng's going to have a field day on your ass if one of your studs fucks up your gun on a gig." Reno gloated. Then again, she might like that.

Elena's face burns red. Perhaps her tongue is only held because the boss of her boss was directly observing her. Picking up a crown between her fingertips and holding it up to her vision so it looked like Rufus was wearing it, the Turk grinned ear to ear.

"New Era, new look, right Mr. President? I'll make your baby look good."

[sheenlux]

Sheen wasn't entirely sure how he had reached this moment. It had started as a Capitolite he was signing a magazine for telling him how good he would look with a diamond stud in his ear. That had led to Sheen posing in the mirror with rings next to ear his, debating how he would actually look with a pierced ear. Finally, he had found himself picking up his phone, and sending a text to an unlikely person, asking if they would come with him, Monty and it also happened to be his first time being alone with him since District Zero.

Cress was naturally his first choice to ask to go with him, but he felt with her being so pregnant, a walk to the piercing place he had found would be more of an inconvience for her than anything else. So his second choice turned out to be the other Victor. Hey, he was stylish and if it was a bad idea he'd probably talk him out of it. Rather, Monty responded in the affirmative and they were meeting outside the tower. The place wasn't that far of a walk, and Sheen needed to get away from his tributes for a little bit.

Giving a small when he saw Monty, Sheen wasted no time in approaching. A smile on his face, "Hey, so glad you were free to do this with me! Won't lie, I'm a little nervous, so it's nice to uh....have someone going with me. Especially considering how busy you probably are around these times. ."

@montgomery-cannon

[marinerainbow]

A list of some of the things that Shiny has attempted to/successfully stolen from the Toon Patrol.

Smartass' tie diamond (sometimes success, sometimes fail)

Smartass' gold chain (success)

Greasy's hat (continued success)

Greasy's switchblade (if not in hand, success)

Greasy's ~magazines~ (success- as a prank)

Wheezy's lighter (continued success- as long as someone else is blamed if caught)

Wheezy's cigarettes (immense fail)

Stupid's baking (success- now baked goods are just offered)

Psycho's voodoo book (continued success- as long as offering of paperclips and stray earing studs is made)

The TV remote (sometimes success, sometimes fail)

[royalpain16]

The Modern Emerald and Diamond Parure 💚

Duchess Catherine wore the emerald bracelet and earrings on December 9, 2014. Her Royal Highness was in New York City, at an event celebrating the 600th anniversary of St Andrews, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Catherine was pregnant with Princess Charlotte.

February 18, 2018, the then-Duchess of Cambridge, now Princess of Wales wore her emerald set at the BAFTAs.

This time Catherine wore the necklace and shortened her drop earrings to studs.

The Duchess also wore the set's matching bracelet.

At that time Catherine was pregnant with Prince Louis. She is also wearing a gown by Jenny Packham.

"many actresses accessorized with emerald jewelry at the Golden Globes amid the all-black dress code because green was often used to represent the British suffragette movement. In the early 1900s, green reportedly stood for hope as the suffragette movement gained traction across the United Kingdom" - Town& country magazine