#first the elle magazine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fairyysoup · 10 months ago

Text

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore.

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?”

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with.

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.”

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?”

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.”

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind.

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open.

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it.

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter.

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.”

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look.

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens.

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies.

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again.

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible.

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.”

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?”

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit.

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.”

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head.

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat.

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors.

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror.

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it.

Cocky bastard.

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?”

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places.

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation.

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for.

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time.

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back.

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?”

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?”

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?”

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right.

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander.

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all.

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.”

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.”

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.”

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?”

“Yeah, not too flashy.”

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up.

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you.

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven.

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room.

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck.

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh.

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?”

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.”

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you.

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat.

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more.

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather.

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already.

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same.

“Good girl.”

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume.

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling.

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.”

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours.

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.”

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger.

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes.

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs.

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down.

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.”

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it.

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #roses*#eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

2K notes · View notes

onlyseokmins · 4 months ago

Text

ash and cinders • l.s.m.

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

He only stayed during the night.

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

Not that it mattered.

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

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

Cold.

Lonely.

Dark.

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

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

The gold.

The diamonds.

The luxuries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you kill for me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Leave."

"… Your Highness?"

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

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

A challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meager?"

"To me? Yes."

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

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

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

"Ah — but I…"

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

"… You know what."

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

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

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

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

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

Was that love?

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

Perhaps that was love.

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

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

"Hm. Or maybe it was… pity."

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

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

"Like the former king's imperial court."

"Yes."

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

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

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

He smirks. "That sounds familiar."

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

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

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

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

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

You thought they only made him all the more perfect.

"And look at how I've fallen."

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

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

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

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

And still, he waits.

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

"My queen."

"My king."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were made for the god of the sun.

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

And he was made for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am already yours."

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

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

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

"Must you leave so soon?"

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

"I'll be waiting."

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

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

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

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

272 notes · View notes

grapejuicestyless · 5 months ago

Text

We Can Run Away

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: She was everything he ever wanted, and she was clueless about everything he ever was. And somehow, they understood each other all because of the subway.

Harry usually wasn’t one to take the subway after a long night. Often, he was in some black van on his way to his bed minutes after he sang out the last note, the crowd still roaring with excitement from the set inside as he departed from the venue. But tonight, Harry was still wide awake after his set finished. Instead, he’d stayed behind, fixing things up backstage until the very last fan had left the arena, leaving Harry almost completely alone in the large space that was once filled with the love and laughter of anxious fans screaming his name.

So tonight, Harry decided to walk among the quiet folk and take the empty train back to where he was staying for the night. The subway only ran this late on nights like tonight. Nights where people were destined to be out late, living their young lives dancing in the pit and accompanying their children in the nosebleeds.

Harry hopped on the last train home, the emptiness of the car relaxing, his bag settled down beside him and a book on his lap. He found the atmosphere was a perfect place for him to wind down from his extended high, to tire him out and help him doze off peacefully tonight.

There was only one other person with him late at night. A young woman who wore frayed jeans shorts, boston clogs with bunched up socks, and the deepest red sweatshirt he’d ever seen. She looked like she wasn’t aware of the time, wide awake with a calm smile on her face as if the day was brand new.

The morning had just began to roll around, but darkness still covered the sky. Not even breaking three a.m. yet and still, she could have fooled him into believing it was nearly noon if not for the emptiness surrounding them.

She was no bother to Harry though, so he patiently flipped through his book, rereading some of the pages because his mind wandered off in the middle of the paragraphs and he couldn’t focus. But just before he decided to set the book down for the night and enjoy the rest of the ride, a soft voice spoke up.

“I love that book.”

Harry looked up to see the calm girl looking back at him. She had red lips and gentle eyes. The kind that pulled you in if you looked too deeply. The kind any person would trust blindly, and the kind that held a complex kind of innocence in them.

At first, he simply nodded, unaware of what he was supposed to say and not up for a conversation, but he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the captivating girl across from him.

“A Little Life, right?” The girl asked, persistently looking for a small conversation to fill the gaps of silence on the short ride across the city.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, a small smile spreading across his face. “You have good taste.”

The girl simply shrugged.

“It’s a classic, right? I think everyone should read it at some point.”

“I don’t think everyone would enjoy it, it’s a little slow.” Harry commented, enjoying hearing the girls voice.

“Maybe.” The girl shrugged again, “But that’s what makes this one so good. It makes everything feel more real when it takes time for everything to crash down. The fall doesn’t happen overnight.” She defended.

“I take it you really love this book then.” Harry laughed quietly at the conversation.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

The train fell quiet again, but Harry couldn’t have gone back to reading if he tried. He placed the bookmark between the pages and instead took time to admire the way the book looked between his hands.

“I love the cover too. I wish I took that photo every day.”

Harry raised a brow, observing the cover more closely than he had before.

“I’m a photographer.” The girl added, and Harry hummed.

“What kinds of photos do you take?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I mainly help with shoots for magazines. Vogue, Rolling Stone, Elle. I’ve been around the industry for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I help take photos for movies, which is cool, but mainly I just take photos for myself nowadays. You know, just letting my friends play dress up and creating the things I’ve been wanting to for a while.”

With the way she spoke about her job, Harry had not a single doubt that she held the most sincere love for the art she worked within. The kind girl talking quietly, but quickly about what she did and why she loved it, Harry wished she had kept rambling to him so he could have kept listening.

“What about you?” The girl asked suddenly, catching Harry off guard. He stumbled around for an answer before deciding on something vague.

“I work in music. I sing.” Harry nodded his head, watching how the girls eyes lit up in interest.

“That’s so cool, do you play shows ever?” The girl asked and Harry couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. He was sure he had glitter from his outfit he danced around stage in stuck to his face still and feathers from boas curled in his hair.

“Sometimes, yeah.” Harry smiled at the girls innocence.

“Do you play around here ever?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Harry smiled.

“I’m just trying to pass time.” The girl responded quickly. “So do you?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, sometimes.”

The girl hummed.

“I’m Y/n, by the way.” She extended her hand, and Harry mouthed her name back to her after she’d spoken it. Just to see how it would feel on his tongue.

“I’m Harry.” She repeated his name softly like an echo as he took her hand in his to shake it.

The robotic voice announced the final stop, and Harry watched as Y/n stood in a way that mirrored his movements. He figured he didn’t mind the fact that his walk home wouldn’t be as lonely as he thought, and in fact, he found himself silently praying that she would walk the same way as him as they stepped onto the platform.

“I hope you’re not following me, Harry.” Y/n joked as their footsteps fell into sync, sweaty palms shoved into their front pockets and their eyes adverting each others.

“Maybe I just want to know more about you.” Harry smiled. He decided he liked the way Y/n made him feel. Like he was desperate for the next sentence to come out of her mouth. Like he needed to know what she had to say. But maybe he was just getting tired.

“There’s not much else to know. I live a pretty boring life, I think you’ll find.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t say there was.” Y/n smiled, and Harry found himself blushing.

“I think the quiet can be good.” Y/n stated softly, looking at the way her feet fell between the large squares on the sidewalk. “It can be lonely, and that can be sad sometimes, but I don’t really mind it if I get to keep my peace.” She explained thoughtfully.

“Do you think about this often?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“When you live alone you have the time to think about a lot of things.” She responded, and Harry simply nodded.

“I like the quiet life too. It’s nice to step into the storm once in a while and see where you get dragged, but it’s nice to know where you’ll end up in the morning without a doubt.”

Y/n hummed at Harry’s response.

“I used to party a lot in college.” She laughed at herself. “Which is hard to believe now because I feel like my back was broken by a thousand bricks somewhere in my mid twenties but, I get what you mean. It was fun when it was cool, and when I had people I liked going out with. But I think I’d much rather prefer to know I’ll end up in my own bed in the morning.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the girl beside him. Her toothy grin and her crinkles by her eyes. Harry imagined her a few years back, he imagined taking her to all the best spots in the city he could rack off in his mind. He figured she would be the life of the party. She made him feel like the subway was some first class plane ride and the trash rolling beneath his feet was golden.

“Are you always this talkative?” He laughed softly.

She shrugged.

“My mom would agree. She said when I was younger I would talk to anything that had ears. Sometimes she’d catch me pulling the grass outside because I liked to braid it, and she said I would be talking to myself. But I always told her I was talking to the butterflies.” She laughed at herself.

“What about you? Do you always entertain strangers on the subway?”

“Well, we aren’t really strangers anymore.” Harry argued. Y/n smiled at him.

“I guess not.” She shook her head thoughtfully.

“I don’t, usually, though.” Harry sighed. “But you’re nice enough. Easy to talk to, I guess.”

“Anyones easy to talk to when they can’t shut up.” She joked, and Harry simply laughed at her for the millionth time.

“I guess so.”

As their laughter fizzled out into giggles, a warm silence wrapped around them, the humidity of the summer air sticking to their skin like glue. Harry caught Y/n’s eye every few steps, swallowing repeatedly as if by doing so, he would think of something else to say.

“Are you from here?” She asked softly.

“Somewhat. What about you?”

She shook her head.

“I’m from the east coast. The United States.” She said softly.

“Why’d you leave?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“The city wasn’t for me. I wanted to live by a beach so I left to where I could find that. But then I guess that wasn’t what I wanted either. I think maybe I was made for the city, just not…that one.” She sighed in the middle of her sentence, like the memory of home was daunting to her.

“What about London? What drew you to it?” Harry asked softly.

Y/n shrugged, her eyes flickered to the ground.

“It reminded me of home without having to be there.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, but she didn’t really seem sad when she said it. Almost like it was some kind of relief.

“My mom said there was something really wrong with me when I was a kid, but I’ve always liked who I am.” She smiled up at Harry honestly, holding her hands in her palms.

“You know, I like that I can talk for hours, I like that I apologize all the time, I like that I’ve lived out my twenties the way I should have. I like when my bangs grow past my ears, and I like running because it reminds me of running in the park, and I’m not sorry because I love the girl who looks back at me in the mirror because she’s a collection of everything she’s ever loved and I think thats neat.” She ranted, a smile on her face the whole time, and breathy laughter escaping her lips.

Harry wanted to say something, to smile and agree that he also enjoyed her sticking around, but she had stopped a few feet back, her shoes wiping against a small brown doormat with no welcoming message painted on it.

“This is my stop.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Harry asked desperately from afar, like he couldn’t enter her space if he tried.

“Maybe.”

“Well, I really like the person you are too, I’d like to see you again.” He added, his words quick and desperate.

“You know where I live, Harry.” She stated simply, a smile on her face.

And it was true, he did. But she wasn’t on his way home. He’d passed his house a few blocks back, and somehow he hadn’t even noticed.

“What if you leave again?” He couldn’t help but ask.

She simply smiled.

“We can run away together.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles #yn x harrystyles #fine line harry styles #harry x reader

296 notes · View notes

sunsetchicane · 5 months ago

Text

Postcards - Part 2 [LN4]

lando norris x [travel] journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 7.3k

summary: The one where it's six months later and you still find yourself thinking about him. Maybe a another fated meeting will be the second chance you need.

warnings: fluff, banter, yearning, an unrealistic portrayal of London [probably], sexual innuendo, maybe a kiss or two idk, and...angst

author's note: Heyyy team. Back with another part for you. I think I really like this part and I hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback is appreciated!! So please feel free to leave any questions/concerns/comments you have. I hope you like it and keep your eyes peeled for what's coming next! Lots of love! [xoxo elle]

Summer Break July 2022

When walking down Camden Market, you can’t help but feel tucked into history. Life bustles in the walkways. Mothers corral starry-eyed children. Small bunches of friends are bent over their drinks while they taste each other’s. Couples promenade languidly, hands folded together and heads leaned in. Everything and nothing at all happens at Camden. Time stands still, holding tightly to memories and secrets. The brick that makes up the streets and walls stands proud and true, veterans at their trade. Music floats out of shops like dandelion seeds on a summer’s breeze, planting itself wherever fate leads.

It’s only your second day in London. You arrived late into the afternoon yesterday, not feeling up to checking out the subject matter of your project after traveling. Instead, you checked into the small townhouse that you’d be staying at for the duration of your trip and then wandered about the streets of London. You’ve never been to London before, but it was exactly as you’d imagined it. Tall red buses perused the streets. Towering buildings loomed over skinny walkways. But your favorite sight was the sun slipping just below the horizon, relinquishing the world to dusk, and the street lamps casting a warm glow over the summer night.

Today, however, you weren’t wandering the winding streets of the city, you’re acquainting yourself with one of London’s most well known attractions: Camden Market. When you were young, you saw pictures of it in some magazine you’d found in your school’s library. You’d adored the way the market looked on the page and promised yourself that you would see it for yourself someday and take pictures of your own. And now you are. The dream of a little girl flutters in your chest. You clutch onto your camera as your fingers tremble from the weight of your emotions. You really made it.

Closing your eyes and sighing, you bask in the moment for a second longer before fishing out your phone from your pocket. The market just opened, so you have the entire day to explore and find your story. The history of Camden is so rich that it can be found around every corner, tucked into every shop, and, most importantly, etched into the memories of the people.

Piecing together a story with stunning visuals here is difficult not for the lack of inspiration, but for the over abundance of it. How you’re going to choose what to share with the world, you have no idea.

This isn’t your first story with your publication, but it is your first major one. After working on small, local pieces, your boss finally caved and gave you a real assignment. It came in a nick of time, too, because you’d been getting antsy about staying in one place for so long. You needed to get out. But, there’s a lot of pressure to rise to the occasion. If you don’t do well on this piece, who knows when the next time you’ll be assigned something like this again.

You move through the market, stopping to watch or take pictures or talk with a shop owner here and there. The hustle and bustle keeps you moving, the current of moving bodies too strong to fight.

After a few hours of nonstop walking, you have dozens of ideas scribbled down and photos stored in your camera. You have a few specific shops and names written down to revisit when you come back with a more detailed idea of what your story is going to look like. The thoughts swirling through your brain move at lightspeed.

The only thing that breaks your intense concentration is the wafting smell of cooking food. Involuntarily, your stomach grumbles and your mouth waters at the savory smell. The only part of Camden that you haven’t sampled yet is the food. Suddenly, you’re desperate to find wherever that smell is coming from. You don’t think you’ve ever inhaled something so lovely.

After tucking away your notebook and slinging your camera off to your side, you hold your backpack over a shoulder and begin seeking out your lunch. There are a dozen different places to choose from, each producing a signature scent that crawls into the walkways. Signs that don each of the shop’s names does nothing to help you decide, everything speaking to your stomach in a different way. Frustration grows inside of you, fueled by hunger.

But then, as if the universe had a plan all along to keep you exactly where you were, you see him strolling down the walkway. Lando. Your breath catches in your chest, leaving you feeling lightheaded. Jaw slack and eyes wide, you take the sight of him.

His eyes are following the line of shops over his shoulder, seemingly focused on whatever they have to offer. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that hang from his hips and slouch against his sneakers. His plain black t-shirt hugs his arms and chest, but falls a little looser around his middle. To complete his look, he has a beat up black baseball cap atop his head. It pushes down his curls, framing his neck with soft brown coils. Even from this distance, you can see that his hair is much longer and healthier than when you saw him last.

The first thing you feel when you see him is immense exhilaration. Never were you expecting to see him again. After sending him his print and a postcard, there had been little in the way of communication. A few weeks after sending the package, you received a follow request from him on Instagram. Battling yourself for all of two seconds, you accepted it and then accidentally began stalking his page. He had posted a story only a couple minutes before requesting to follow you. Opening the story, you had found your photo of him tacked up on a wall in his home.

“My good side. Or so I’ve been told.”

The caption on the story had made you laugh. Staring at your phone, grinning like a fool, all for a boy a thousand miles and a different destiny away.

Following each other had been the only movement on either front. For a few weeks, you’d pull up his DM and write out message after message. Not one was ever sent. There was no reason for you to reach out to him. Plus, you didn’t know if he even wanted to hear from you. Following you on Instagram is a far cry from being cool with what happened between you half a year ago.

The night you spent together, though it was cut short, still haunts you and holds you.

You had been somewhat keeping up with this season of Formula One just to have a way to stay connected to him in a way. Even if you couldn’t see him or speak with him, at least you could watch from a distance. Every time you’ve tried to stop, tried to forget him, you’ve been unsuccessful. All of your tactics that you’ve been practicing your whole life haven’t been able to eradicate Lando from your system. He’s a bad habit that you can’t break.

You want him in a way that you’ve never wanted anything before. Slowly, you’re creeping to the edge of your own rules, wondering what fate looks like on the other side.

But, reality comes crashing in when his eyes lazily flick up to yours and the elation that was just coursing through your bloodstream turns icy cold. Terror seizes your chest in an iron grip. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, you can’t even run.

For a moment you both stand still, completely frozen in time while the world continues on without you. People rush in and out of view, obscuring your vision in millisecond intervals. Everytime you lose sight of him, you wonder if he’ll actually be there.

He is. He’s really there.

And now he’s walking toward you.

A million questions rush through your head in a panic. Is he still upset at you? What is he going to say? Will you be able to say goodbye again?

Caught in the spinning of your own thoughts, you miss him drawing closer and closer with a stupid grin splitting his face. When you finally snap back into reality, he’s standing right in front of you.

His arms wrap around your waist, hoisting you into the best hug you’ve ever experienced. Hands down. With his touch, every single thought, anxiety, and question evaporate. There’s nothing in this world except for the way his hands hold your waist and his arms flex against your back.

Dropping your bag from your shoulder, you can’t help but toss your arms around his neck, hugging him right back. Smiling wildly, you push your forehead into his shoulder. Your nose fills with the scent of him, sending you reeling all the way back to six months ago when you saw him last.

While you’re in his arms, it feels as though no time has passed. It’s simply the day after you met, both of you ready for your next adventure together.

Together.

The word feels odd to you. It’s so unused in your life. You’ve always been alone. Growing up in the foster care system, you never stayed with someone long enough to use the word ‘together.’ So, there’s never been a desire in you to ever experience ‘together’ with someone. Until now.

“Hi,” Lando says warmly. You can hear the smile in his voice. A rush of heat paints your cheeks red as you pull away from him. As much as you want to keep your hands on him, you drop your hands from his neck and take a small step back. He lets his hands slip away from your waist, your body suddenly cold from the lack of his touch.

“Hi,” you respond, unable to remove the smile on your lips.

For a couple of seconds you both stand in awe of each other. He’s grown so much, not that you didn’t already know that. His Instagram is regularly updated for race weekends and things in between, so you’ve watched him grow over the last six months. However, nothing compares to seeing him in person. The shitty part is that he looks so damn good. How are you supposed to say goodbye to that face, that smile, again?

“I can’t believe this,” Lando says while adjusting his cap that was thrown askew by the brute force of your embrace. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you say while watching his hands go about their work. “How are you?”

“Alright,” he says while nodding. “But great now. It’s been ages. What are you doing in London?”

Nerves buzz in your chest and fingertips. It almost sounds like he’s missed you. You’ve missed him. You’ve never missed anything the way that you miss him.

“I’m working on a story,” you say breathlessly. “About Camden.”

His face lights up as you tell him about your time in London so far. He seems excited when you tell him that you’re going to be here for a while and are looking forward to doing a little more sightseeing when you can. His eyes are wide and bright as he listens to you. Every once in a while you get caught stumbling over your words because you got lost in the curve of his jaw, or the smattering of freckles on his face, or by those damn eyes.

Unable to keep talking coherently, you ask him what he’s doing in London. He tells you that he’s on summer holiday and spending a little time with family. He flew into London this morning and came to do some gift shopping for his parents before driving to Bristol.

He’s standing so close to you that you could reach out with little effort and take his hand in yours. The memory of his hand ghosts along your fingers, urging you to just reach out.

But for all of your desires, you have to hold fast to what you know to be true. This is temporary. Everything between you and Lando will pass because it always does. These feelings only feel this full and vivid because he’s standing right in front of you. This is a chance meeting that should never have happened. It only makes things more complicated.

“What are you doing right now?” Lando asks suddenly, breaking you away from planning an exit strategy. Your heart sinks to your toes.

“I–well–” You’re floundering. You never flounder. How is this the time that you can’t come up with some witty response or a quick out?

“Would you like to grab lunch? Maybe do a little catching up?” he presses. There’s this look on his face that makes you die a little. His eyes are so bright, lit up by the softest of smiles on his face. He looks perfectly at peace in your presence. There’s a happiness that exudes from his aura, taking you captive in its warm arms.

“Yes.” It comes out in a whisper. You’re barely aware that you actually said it aloud. The answer fell from deep within your heart, spilling out because it had to. You’d like nothing more than to sit across a table from Lando and talk with him until the world comes to an end.

Immediately, you regret your answer. Agreeing to this means spending time with him and reopening the doors you’ve been struggling to keep shut. What you should be doing is locking those doors and throwing away the key. You should be doing everything in your power to do what you do best: to run. The urge is there, pulling you away from Lando and the fate that could be. The familiar safety of running away calls to you.

But it’s counteracted by the intense desire to stay.

For the second time in your entire life and for the same reason both times, you’re split in two. War rages inside you; mind versus heart; logic versus feeling; safety versus adventure.

Lando reaches over, snapping up your backpack and hauling it over his shoulder. He sends you a wink, which you roll your eyes at.

“Follow me,” he says while tilting his head back towards the food walkway. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to avoid smiling like a fool, you nod your head and fall in step with him.

Together you waltz along in front of the shops. Lando is looking down a little ways, obviously searching out a particular shop. You can’t help but be grateful that you didn’t have to choose which place to eat at. You probably would have spent the rest of the day hopping from spot to spot, tasting a little bit of everything.

After a short walk, Lando stops the two of you in front of a small stall. With a smile on his face, he explains what the shop serves. He obviously loves the place and can’t stop rambling on about it while you stand in line. Honestly, you only hear half of what he’s saying. You’re too busy watching the way his mouth moves and how his eyes dart around and the way he moves his hands while he speaks.

“So, what are you going to get?” he asks. You’d blanked out when he was explaining the menu to you.

“Just whatever you’re getting. I trust your judgment,” you say while shrugging, trying to be as normal as possible. You’d rather him not know that you’ve been ogling him this whole time. It doesn’t bode well for your attempts to get over him.

“You do?” he asks with a scoff. You laugh then, remembering the ice cream incident from six months ago. His choice was less than stellar, so why would it be different now? Maybe you should reconsider your options.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “But I’m giving you a chance at redemption.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s swiftly cut off by the woman behind the counter calling the next customer. Lando walks up in front of you and orders for the both of you. He pays the tender before circling back to you.

“No going back now,” he says while handing you a cup of ice water. Shaking your head at him, you pluck the water from his hand gratefully.

“What do I owe you?” you ask while reaching for your wallet.

“Nothing,” he says with a smirk. You glare up at him, trying to fry that smug look off his face. The opposite happens, his smirk growing into a grin.

“I think I’ve got it covered,” he says, reminding you that he’s a millionaire with just six words. What a snob.

“Fine,” you say while stuffing your wallet back into your pocket. “Just trying to have manners. Ever heard of them?”

His jaw drops and his eyes narrow in a look of disbelief. He’s carrying your bag and paying for your food. He’s actually being quite the gentleman, but you still need to bust his chops a little. The smug idiot deserves it, just a little bit. Behind your amused look, there’s an affection that scares you.

Standing side by side, you wait for your food while making small talk. It shocks you how easy conversation flows between the two of you. Nothing has ever been this perfectly natural for you. It just feels right to be by his side while talking about simple nothings.

Just as your hunger starts to crest into annoyance, Lando’s number is called. Excusing himself, he jogs over and grabs the two boxes from the counter. The smell hits you before he even arrives back at your side. It takes everything in you not to rip the paper to-go box from his hands and devour the food right there. Instead, Lando leads you both over to an empty picnic table.

Lando plops down onto the bench, setting both boxes in front of him. For a moment, you think about rounding the table to sit across from him. It would put more distance between the two of you, a safety cushion of sorts.

You sit right next to him.

Smiling smally, he slides your food in front of you. With a needy sigh, you pop open the box and look at the meal in front of you. It’s chicken strips and fries. Raising your eyes to the sky, you begin to pray to the powers-that-be to keep you from laughing in his face.

“What?” Lando says through a mouth full of fries when he catches you barely holding back your laugh.

“I was wrong when I called you geriatric last December. I know now that you’re actually a child.” you strain to say. Lando simply cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Hater,” he says while popping off the lid to his dipping sauce. “Would a child eat chili mayo?”

Smiling wildly, you watch as he dunks his chicken strip into the mayo. After taking a bite of it, he has a little mayo on the corner of his mouth, not doing anything to negate the child accusations.

Instead of teasing him anymore, you dive into your own meal. You have to hand it to Lando because these are the best chicken strips you’ve ever had. You don’t tell him that, though. No need to inflate his ego anymore than it already is.

The two of you eat like you haven’t eaten in years. He polishes off the whole box before you and waits for you to finish.

“Stop watching, you creep,” you say while finishing off the end of your fries.

“I’m not watching you,” he lies. “I’m wondering if you’re going to have that last piece of chicken.”

Rolling your eyes, you toss it into his box. With a cheeky smile, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth.

After you’ve both disposed of your trash, you begin taking a lazy walk around the market. There’s an unsaid agreement hanging between you to not acknowledge the fact that you’d only agreed to lunch together, not whatever this is.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Lando asks while watching the shops as you pass them by. A dozen different excuses jump to the surface of why you can’t stay with him for the rest of the day. Shame fills you as you realize that your first instinct to a simple question is to get out of it. For someone who’s living is asking questions and getting answers, you’re horrible at being questioned.

There’s yet again the choice that you were poised with all those months ago. With Lando standing in front of you, do you do the right thing and say goodbye or do you say to hell with your rules and reach out.

You’ve already tried endlessly to forget him. Maybe you just need to get him out of your system. At least that’s how you justify your decision.

“Not much,” you answer honestly. All you were going to do today was do a little more exploring before returning to your home for the next few days to iron out your story.

Lando turns to you with a surprised look gracing his features. There’s something else there too, something that surprises you. There’s hope in the way his lips arch upwards and in the tilt of his head.

“What?” you say in response to the face he pulled, turning your eyes from him to the scenery around you. Looking at him like this has your stomach in knots for so many reasons.

“Nothing,” He says while shaking his head. He sounds so pleased it makes your chest ache.

“If you’re not busy, I can show you around a little,” Lando says distantly while turning to examine some jewelry sold by a nearby shop. His nonchalance is transparent, a false front put up to curb his enthusiasm. In a way, it puts you at ease. You’re both going to pretend that this is just some casual meet up between old friends. If you can’t make yourself run away, maybe you can keep yourself safe this way.

“Don’t you have to get to your parents’ house?” you ask, not wanting to impose on his plans. He shakes his head, telling you that he’ll just go a little later than planned.

“Alright,” you find yourself saying. Lando freezes, then finally turns around to face you.

“Alright?” he asks, making sure he heard you correctly.

“Where to first?”

—

For a while in the afternoon, you stroll around the market until Lando finds a present for his parents. Once he buys it and tucks it away into your bag, he tells you that it’s time to explore London.

He forces you onto one of those buses that has an open air seating area, informing you that it is the best way to see the streets of London. He tells you that when he was a kid, he and his friends used to come on these and mess about. You can’t help but imagine a small Lando running up and down the aisle, causing chaos with a gaggle of little boys while their parents watched on. Parts of him still hold onto that childlike joy and wonder, shining like sunspots through the man he’s becoming. He must have had a happy childhood. An ache that feels like envy pinches at your heart.

You can’t help but wonder who you would be if you grew up the way he did.

After riding around on the bus, he takes you to walk along the River Thames. Crowds of people go about their days around you while you and Lando create your own little world together. Every place that he points out will forever be a reminder of him. His words paint over the sights, coloring them a shade of him in your mind.

Once you get close to the London Bridge, the two of you walk up to the walkway’s railing that overlooks the river. Instinctively, you pull out your camera to snap a few shots. At first, you take a couple of just the bridge in all its glory. The clear summer sky is a beautiful backdrop to the brilliant bridge that watches over the busy river that flows under it.

Lando has his back to you, his head turned toward the bridge. He’s mumbling something about the ships that skim across the surface of the river. But your attention is turned toward focusing him into the frame. His brown curls blow softly in the wind. The shirt he’s wearing fills and flutters with the river’s breeze. He looks perfect as he leans up against the railing, his arms rested against the top and his hands loosely folded together. The photo you take feels so intimate. For all the business and life going on, the eye is completely drawn to him. He’s captivating.

“Lando,” you whisper, wanting to get his attention while your camera is still raised to your eye.

Turning around, his face is caught in a look that you’re eternally grateful you caught on camera. There’s the hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes are wide, and his eyebrows are drawn up. He’s ready to answer any question you have, ready to hear anything you have to say. It’s a look straight from a movie scene. The look on his face changes swiftly from pleased to surprised when he sees the camera pointed at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a laugh forcing his face into a proper smile.

“Taking pictures,” you answer matter-of-factly.

Rolling his eyes, he begins to make faces at the camera. Without missing a beat, you keep snapping photo after photo of him. After a minute or so, you turn the camera off and drop it back down to your side. Lando watches you carefully, his eyes tracking your every movement. The way he’s staring at you makes you feel exposed and analyzed. Distantly, you think you should be scared of his eyes on you this way. But that’s a problem for another time.

The rest of the day passes easily. Lando brings you to some of his favorite spots around the city. He tells you stories; you listen carefully, trying your best to learn everything you can about him. You can’t help but feel like you’ve known him for a hundred years. The ease at which you speak, the natural way you understand each other's ques and mannerisms, it all feels instinctual. And yet, there’s still that layer of nervous excitement that lights you on fire. Every time your hands brush as you walk or you catch eyes lingering on each other, there’s an electricity that shoots through your heart.

Lando brings you to a place to grab a bite to eat for supper. As you sit together for another meal, you find yourselves arguing lightheartedly about the stupidest things. All things aside, you realize you haven’t had a friend like this in so long. When you began rejecting relationships with people, it had been a hard adjustment. But over the years, you’d grown so used to being alone that you forgot how lonely you were. Sitting across from Lando, listening to him laugh with you and tease you, it dawns on you just how lonely you’ve been.

By the time you’re done eating, the sun is starting to sink into the horizon. Golden hues are splattered across the sky, painting the city in orange. Lando promised one more sight that would put all the others to shame. Apparently Big Ben is highlighted by the setting sun and is a must see while in London.

With ice cream cones in hand, he hauls you quickly down the street towards the clock tower. Clouds create ombre lines in the sky, bringing the old clock to life. It’s a sight like none other. Big Ben stands like an ancient soldier keeping watch over his city by harnessing the light and fire of the sun.

Wordlessly, you take a photo of the scene in front of you, but only one. Turning your camera off and holding it loosely at your side, you just take in the view. It’s perfect. Everything about today has been perfect. You haven’t been this happy in a long time.

Lando looms right next to you, his presence warm and full. A hand ghosts over yours, just the fleeting touches of fingers against your skin. Breathing suddenly becomes difficult, your lungs laboring to take in any oxygen. You don’t move a muscle, afraid that he’ll admit that it was an accident or worse.

But it happens again. One of his hands reaches towards your’s, plucking the camera from it. Then his other hand slides into your now empty one. Instantly, the sky isn’t the only thing on fire. Warmth envelops your body, everything stemming from where your hand fits in his.

Looking over to him, you watch as he slings the strap of your camera around his neck. He looks over to you, a small smile on his face. As your eyes scan over his tanned features, you catch a small bit of ice cream caught at the corner of his mouth. An amused smile crosses over your face. He’s really never beating those child accusations.

“What?” he says while his face twists from peaceful to concerned.

“Nothing you just have some-” You say while you instinctively reach to wipe his mouth with your thumb. As you make contact, you realize what you’re doing. But it’s too late. You’re close enough now that you can feel his breath on your face. Inches separate you, mere inches.

Slowly, you finish the job you set out to do and wipe the corner of his mouth with your thumb. Hooded eyes greet yours when you dare to look at him.

“Ice cream,” you finish your earlier statement as your hand lingers against his face. Stubble rubs against your fingers, but his skin is soft and warm under it.

There’s maybe a half a second between you trying to pull your hand away and his coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb props up your chin while his fingers press into the back of your neck. You’re barely able to suck in a breath before his lips are on yours. Sinking into him immediately, you kiss him back with matched passion. He feels divine pressed against you. Fire licks at your body, turning you molten in his grip.

For the first time possibly ever, you feel confident that where you stand is exactly where you want to be. Reaching out to him, you grab his neck with both hands to pull him closer.

The kiss is damning, his lips drawing you closer and closer. Letting go is not an option, the end of this isn’t even a thought in your mind. Everything you know is this kiss. The rest of the world has faded away; your past has faded into an obsolete flash. While his hands are on you, there’s hope. While your fingers press into his skin, there’s a future.

His hands start to drift, needing to feel more of you. With gentle but firm fingers, he explores your body. One of his hands comes to rest on your waist while the other splays out against your lower back, encouraging you to arch into him. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, causing you to gasp.

The momentary severing of your connection allows you to breathe for a second. Then your name falls from Lando’s lips in a whisper like honey and you’re submerged once again. Dusk wraps around you while you kiss like the world is ending.

Six months have been spent dreaming of moments like this. Lando has plagued you every day and every night for months. The steady ache that you thought would fade has just been set to rest and replaced with a roaring fire. Down to the very marrow of your bones you feel his kiss. You’re insatiable, needing more of him.

Neither of you know how long you’ve been standing there when you finally pull apart. Lando doesn’t give any sign that he’s removing his hands from you. Instead, he just holds you close while his head drops between your collar and jaw. A jolt runs down your spine when you feel him placing the gentlest of kisses up your neck.

“Thank you,” he says while pulling away to look you in the eyes. Reeling back a little, it strikes you as odd that that’s what he’s decided to say after you’ve just experienced the best make out of your entire life. Your reaction doesn’t phase Lando, of course. He just smiles down at you like he knows something you don’t.

“For the photo and the postcard,” he finishes, putting your shock to rest. A baffled laugh rises from your chest and you let your forehead fall against his chest. Laughing with you, he adjusts his arms around waist, pulling you tight against him.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up right now.” you laugh into his chest, dumbfounded that he was even thinking about it.

“Why? This is the perfect time to bring it up,” he defends. You pull back in his arms to look at him and give him a confused frown.

“I wanted to wait until I saw you in person so I could thank you properly. Now I have,” he says smugly as if this was his plan all along. Not only had he been thinking about and scheming this all day, he’d been waiting for months to do it. Chills cascade over your skin as you let the weight of that sink in. Maybe he missed you as much as you missed him. It’s an insane thought because you should never have felt that way after meeting him once. Rarely over the last six months have you let yourself hope that he felt the same way. Maybe you should have had a little faith.

But to what end?

The familiar feeling of doubt begins to creep in, but you refuse to ruin one of the best moments you’ve ever experienced. Even if you’ll pay for it later, you’re going to do your best to preserve whatever just passed between you and Lando.

“That’s so cheesy,” you find yourself laughing. Lando squeezes your sides, making you squeal and press into his chest.

“I think you meant ‘romantic,’” he corrects, emulating the conversation that you shared months ago. It makes you smile.

“Maybe I did,” you concede softly. Raising yourself up off his chest, you lean in a press the barest of kisses to his soft lips. He accepts your lips on his with equal tenderness.

Pulling away for the second time, you press your hands flat against his chest to push away from him. He lets you go, but it takes a few seconds. After you’re free from the circle of his arms, you pull one of his hands into yours and begin walking into the night.

The dying light gives way into a sultry purple and navy blue. The air flits over the water and through the trees on a gentle breeze. With Lando’s hand in yours and your lips still tingling from his kiss, you can chalk this up to the perfect night.

“Can I take a few pictures?” Lando asks as he pulls you in front of him, your camera held in his other hand. You’d completely forgotten that he had taken your camera from you.

“Sure,” you say while nodding. “Do you know how?”

“Yeah,” He scoffs smugly. “Point and click. Easy as that.”

Blinking at him, you’re slightly in awe of his absolute blind confidence. A man really just believes whatever he wants, doesn’t he.

“Alright,” you say while dropping his hand. “Take a few for me.”

Confidently, he smiles at you and brings the camera to his eye. Then pulls it away with a frown on his face.

“Lens cap,” you tell him while pointing to the end of the camera. His eyes flick to you while his confidence falters for just a second. Once he has the cap removed, he brings the camera back up to his eye. He’s obviously a little more pleased when he can actually see his surroundings through the viewfinder.

Silently, you watch as he struts about taking pictures of this and that. Watching on, you can’t help the smile that spreads onto your face. He’s like a kid in a candy store. Once something catches his eye, he walks over to it and spends minutes on making sure it’s just how he wants it.

While he gallivants about with your camera, you have a moment to really think about everything that’s happened today. Playing it over in your head, it seems like a movie or as if it wasn’t really happening to you. The person you are with Lando seems so different to the person that you know yourself to be. It’s like the person that you are when you’re around him is this fuller version of yourself. Your broken pieces seem to draw together, finally ready to heal. There’s a joy that you’ve never known when your hand is in his. It feels right; it feels real.

And in the nighttime streets of London, you feel a star of hope being born in your chest. And you hold it tight. Maybe there are some things that don’t have to be temporary. Running is all you’ve ever known. Once a place doesn’t fit your needs or desires, you run away to the next place. But what if there’s somewhere, or someone, out there that will always fit your needs and desires. What if it wasn’t chance that brought together again two people whose paths should never have crossed?

What if you didn’t have to run?

“How do you get them to come up on the screen?” Lando says while fast walking over to you and pulling you from your train of thought. When he reaches you, you pull the camera from his hands. He rounds behind you, placing his chin on your shoulder and his hands around your stomach. Pressing the play button, you bring the pictures onto the display screen. It starts with yours from the beginning of the day. The bright morning shot of the Camden Market sign seems like a lifetime ago.

You drag the wheel dial back, sending you to the last picture taken. It’s completely dark.

“What?” Lando mumbles into your shoulder, his body going rigid against you. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Slowly, you spin the dial backward to keep browsing through his pictures. Nearly every single one is too dark to make out.

Obviously frustrated, Lando huffs and presses his forehead into your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his display of exasperation. His lesson has been well learned.

“I don’t get it,” he says while you turn in his arms. He’s pouty now, his face pinched into a frown.

“Did you adjust the aperture, the ISO, and the shutter speed?” you ask pointedly. He doesn’t give you the dignity of a response. Instead, he pulls his lips into a line and squints his eyes at you. He’s not taking any of your bull shit. Deciding it's your turn to play the smug jerk, you smirk at him.

“Point and click, right?” you tease while slinging the camera around your neck. You reach into Lando’s front pocket while looking him in the eyes to fish out your lens cap. His eyes go wide as your hand slides in and out of his pocket. Tilting your head to the side, you watch as he sucks in a deep breath. You’ve absolutely flustered him, something you don’t think often happens.

“Huh?” he mumbles, obviously not catching what you had said earlier.

“I can give you a lesson on the bus ride to my place if you’d like,” you say with an innocent smile. Lando blinks away his shock and then accepts your offer.

Walking side by side, you make your way to the bus stop. Hopping on the bus to where your house is, Lando leads you to a row and lets you have the window seat.

While the bus teeters along, you give Lando a brief lesson on camera basics. He nods along, his eyes following your fingers as they dance along the camera. He seems genuinely interested in what you have to say. A warm feeling flares in your chest that he cares about what you do enough to learn about it.

Too soon, the bus arrives at your stop. Together, you get off the bus and walk towards the town house you’re staying in. Lando has your hand clasped in his while he asks you question after question about cameras. You do your best to answer him, a smile constant on your face.

“This is me,” you sigh quietly while stopping in front of the gate of the house. He stops too, turning to stand in front of you. There’s a question poised on your lips that you already know the answer to were you to ask it. Once more the choice to reach out looms in front of you.

“How long are you in London for exactly?” Lando asks. He hadn’t asked about it all day. You’ve been wondering when it was going to come up and it finally has.

“Just the next few days,” you tell him. He nods along with your words.

“After that?” he presses while fiddling with your fingers.

“Back to Monaco for a while until I get a new assignment. Probably only a few days,” you admit. “What about you?”

“I’m going on vacation with my family to Bali for a week and then with some friends to Australia the next week. Then I’ll be in Woking for work,” he says, his eyes not lifting to find yours. The realization hits you like a dump truck.

“Then the season starts again,” you say, your voice strained.

“And you’ll be on assignment,” he shoots back, his voice the same as yours.

All the hope that’s been accumulating throughout your time with Lando burns to ash in a matter of mere seconds. The guiding star that flared to life just hours ago, collapses in on itself, creating a black hole inside of you. All joy is sucked away, leaving you cold and alone. Where hope once was, despair takes its place.

It’s nearly laughable that you ever thought you wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Even when you tried not to run, the universe did it for you. Thinking that fate brought you together was a child’s wish. It’s fate that’s tearing you apart. There can be no other way for you, running away is the only option. Saying goodbye will always be your fate, your curse.

“I’ll come to Monaco,” Lando says suddenly, his hands gripping yours. His eyes are like fire when you look into them. His face is stormy, angry even. You know the look well. He’s fighting. He’s a fighter.

You remember when you were a fighter.

“Alright,” you choke out, feeling utterly broken. Pulling you close, he takes your lips with his own. You can feel his promise in his kiss, his hope to see you again. It shatters you further. Tears well in your eyes, but you don’t allow them to fall. This pain is what you bargained for and now you’re paying in full. But you kiss him, you kiss him with everything you have because you know it will be the last.

Two fated times your paths crossed.

And two times you were ripped apart by that same fate.

When he pulls away, you can’t look him in the eye. He holds you close while he whispers into your ear.

“I’ll see you in Monaco.” His voice is stern and sure. All you do is nod into his chest.

When he walks away, he doesn’t say goodbye. He believes that this isn’t one. You know better.

This time, you don’t look over your shoulder to watch him leave.

186 notes · View notes

justdavina · 7 months ago

Text

Meet the Transgender Mom Who Wants to Be a Victoria's Secret Angel!

Born as Christopher Roman, the transgender star started her career on RuPaul's Drag Race. Yet, she didn't truly break into modeling until famed photographer Steven Meisel cast her in his short film. Now she's acting alongside Meryl Streep in Ricki and the Flash. Her next goal: the Victoria's Secret runway. "I want to do my runway walk in my lingerie," she said. "That's my ultimate dream." Carmen's already been in Elle magazine and walked in the Life Ball runway show, so the VS catwalk will be a cakewalk. If she aces her audition (yes, she has one!), she'll be the first transgender woman to have the honor.

369 notes · View notes

honeytonedhottie · 8 months ago

Text

HONEYS IT GIRL MAGAZINE april edition⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

welcome back to honeys it girl magazine, this is the april catalog. get ready for the inside scoop on data that i've collected, things i've learned/started doing, and just general info like that organized in kind of a teen-magazine inspired fashion. this particular addition's collaborator is @pinkpigtailsprincess and its an HONOR. so pls look forward to the magazine for it girls ✨ and now please enjoy, the it girl magazine.

SUMMER WARDROBE PREP ;

as we've talked about in this post right here, summer is right around the corner and we need to make the fashion count. april fashion is all about the transition from spring -> summer and in doing so gracefully there MUST be preparation.

for any season i think that camisoles r amazing because in the colder seasons like autumn or winter, u can wear camisoles underneath zip up jackets. in the summer and spring time u can wear camisoles as they are and they're so cute either way.

the key to camisoles is the length and the color and for the spring to summer transition, i advise u to steer clear of darker colors or thicker textures and go for more light/flowy, colorful pieces.

FOR THE BLOG ;

i haven't been very active on my blog (or at least thats how i feel) as much as i usually am and thats because school has been kicking my ass. now that the school year is wrapping up i have something that i'd like to introduce to the blog.

MY MASTER CLASS - i wanted to formulate a class that rly went in depth about manifestation so i decided to make a google class in which i hopefully simplified manifestation. just like in my blog, except in the class i formulate challenges, assignments etc.

the post where i go more in depth about the master class is coming out on wednesday (may first) so i hope that u guys look forward to and take advantage of this new resource 🍭🎀

FOR THE WELLNESS GIRLIES ;

if theres one thing that i tried to keep central this month was my health, so there r two things in particular that i honed in on and they are mindfulness and stress management.

MINDFULNESS - i wanted to focus on being more present in my emotions and just focus on the now more than anything. just kind of putting things into perspective. i've had time to ponder a lot of things and kind of tackle the big questions that i like to avoid and once u sort that out it feels like a weight has been lifted off ur shoulders.

STRESS MANAGEMENT - idk whats going on but my emotions have been all over the place and i've been feeling particularly stressed and overwhelmed so what i've been doing to manage that is mindful breathing and affirming affirmations that remind me that im safe, im fine etc.

and later on once im in a clearer headspace i'll journal thru my emotions and kind of sort them out that way im not harboring anything negative yk? and thats usually what helps me.

DOLLY'S SECTION, @pinkpigtailsprincess "SOME OF MY FAVS AND WHAT WE CAN LEARN FROM THEM

Some of my fav it girls What we can learn from them!!🎀

The Boss

Whitney Gilbert + Rihanna + Lil Kim

The Smart Sweethearts

Jang Wonyoung + Elle woods

The Glitzy Dolls

Kimora Lee Simmons + London Tipton

| 𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖ The Smart Sweetheart !! 🎀

...📧 : Wonyoung & Elle are absolutely perfect for self expression and not letting other peoples opinions get too you both of them are unapologetically Super Feminine & Sweet even people

talk down about them, they always rise up and prove them wrong no matter how much people talk all while sporting their extremely feminine personality and fashion taste no matter how much they get stereotyped as a “dumb blonde” “pick me” or “air head” they know themselves

and thats all thats matter to them!! 🎀 Now all three of these women are incredibly smart thats have achieved major academic

success let’s look at what we can individually learn from them!!

🎀 ; Jang Wonyoung The Successful K-Popstar thats has gotten global success who has the perfect princess beauty

has inspired an ongoing lifestyle trend by the Name of “Wonyoungism” a trend inspired by the beautiful fans of Jang Wonyoung where her fanbase practices and promotes Taking care of them selves and being the best version of them selves and taking inspiration from won young to

⁃ workout

⁃ eat healthy meals

⁃ take care of their skin

⁃ practice good habits

⁃ attaining their goals

⁃ ambition & hard work

⁃ being nice & inspiring others to also joij in on becoming the best version of themselves and have an unbreakable mentally inspired by her famous quote “No Problem I don’t care you’re you i’m me!” and taking after won-young in having a high self concept and hard work no matter what!! and never letting opinions get too you even when she was getting dragged on the internet she gave them more reasons to hate on her even though they know nothing about her

Sources say The Chic Princess is also incredibly smart with some extremely impressive academic achievements including

⁃ took GED & got a perfect score in Korean,english & math

⁃ Won a Science Fair

⁃ Won Match Contest

⁃ Was her Class president 3 years in a row

⁃ willing joined sports

⁃ always putting time into her studies and ever wanted to be a news anchor +lawyer!!

no speaking of Lawyers...We must talk sbout the most fashionable lawyer out there..🎀 ; Elle Woods!!The Peppy Blonde Barbie From Bel-Air is Undeniably one of the most loved it girl characters out there!! she inspires many girls & women to do their absolute best in academics and maintain their authenticity and being charismatic and kind to those around her even with people who don’t like her!!, She’s literally the Pioneer of femininity in the work force bringing her girly & hyperfeminine personality + style while also studying law and becoming a lawyer

...but it’s not always glitz and glamour for Elleseeing as early on in the movie no one seems to genuinely taker her seriously and judging her too quickly because of her girly style,chipper personality & being a classic sorority queen but as elle and had more and more people on her back about her “being a ditz” “not being smart enough” she makes her own one women revolution on a quest to prove them all wrong! and when doing this she still doesn’t stray away from her bubbly personality and trendy style and with doing this proving thats girls can be girly and hyperfem and still be smart and pursue a career but even with doing this she can’t seem to shake the image of the stereotypical “Dumb Blonde” as we see in the movie when her professor seems to only hire ell because she’s pretty and not because of her academic success.

now obviously this makes elle spiral and think shes not good enough to where she ends up giving up becoming a lawyer because she feels as though because shes the stereotypical blonde rich girl from bel-air that she can’t be anything but a pretty face but still after the fact elle picks herself back up in one of the final scene of the MovieShowing up to the courtroom sport her ICONIC Pink dress and Bedazzled Pink Pumps and using her knowledge in fashion,beauty and cosmetics to ultimately win her case even withhaving the hard ship of not taken seriously!! 🎀

these two of literally in my top 3 favorites theyre just perfect and amazing and no matter what they do people are always talking about them no matter what rather good or bad they are truly it girls now What can we learn from these two dazzling women...

⁃ Hard work pays off

⁃ You can have beauty and brains

⁃ Never Dumb yourself down too be someone everyone else wants you to be

⁃ Always work hard no matter the circumstances

⁃ Take care of yourself

⁃ People opinions on you don’t Matter because at the end of the day you onlyhave to prove yourself to yourself

⁃ You’re So weird, Never change that!

| 𝜗𝜚݁ ˖ The Glitzy Divas !! 🎀

🛍 : The Glitzy Diva Type is my FAVORITE!! Im literally Obsessed with Kimora and Sharpay They Inspire me so much and theyre like soo iconic so ofc we have to start of with Mother Herself Mrs.

Kimora Lee Simmons 🛍 : The Mother of Baby Phat How made her breakthrough in the modeling industry at only 15 And Being Signed with Chanel She is Known for Her Love of

Fashion Glitz and Glamour The Fashion Maven coining her brand Baby Phat in 1999 rose to fame without question i mean her clothes are literally so iconic you name she has it !!

⁃ phone cases

⁃ jackets

⁃ jeans

⁃ Body Suits

⁃ Denim Jackets

⁃ Boots

⁃ Hats

⁃ Tank Tops

⁃ Buffer Coats

⁃ Lip Gloss

⁃ PerfumeSHE HAD IT ALL!!

Because she is literally just FABULOUS she has always had this love for the glitz and the glamour and always hold her self too a high standard if she wanted it she would get it and thats just the way its gonna be!!! she had a habit of running up Phone Bills,Credit Card etc. truly princess activities now what can we learn from this ICON!I can do everything by myself, the only person I have to look out for is myself - Kimora Lee SimmonsPersonally

i think she is trying to say she is only supposed to be validated within her self and Only Her Opinion Matter No Matter What and its so true because at the end of the day you know you best and all you’ll is yourself!All the hard work in the world won't get you anywhere if you don't powerfully project your personality and style. How are you going to differentiate yourself from them? - Kimora Lee Simmons

BE YOURSELF!! literally being your own authentic self is literally the ultimate it girl secret and you can literally see for yourself not all it girl are one in the same they are authentically their own and that makes them all special!!People want to throw things at you and make you fall off because you're at a certain enviable height. - Kimora Lee Simmons. Like honestly she such a philosopher and i don’t care like this is so true with all it girls people are always talking about them no matter what because they feel a certain sense of jealousy

towards them for no reason when these women are literally like the best people LOVE to hate on it girl so much they end of loving them They Love to Hate them and Hate 2 Love Them!! 🎀

Now lwts talk about another favorite of mine the FABULOUS ...

⭐ : Sharpay Evans !!

The one and Only Sharpay Evans The Queen Bee that everyone tried to tear down but if were being honest she will NEVER Fall She hold her self to princess standard with her fabulous self concept

“Everything Has to be Perfect for me” Fabulous by Sharpay Evans

Having Everyone always hating in her never stopped her still always being the school Queen Bee She is constantly talked about bye everyone!! i mean yeah she is quite snobby but she is still CRAZY AMBITIOUS. and shes willing to do any and everything to make sure she gets her way Shes The Princess and that will never change

No matter what people say about her own personal style she doesn’t care only her opinion matters Because she’s FABULOUS everything around her HAS to be Fabulous as well

⁃ Wardrobe

⁃ Hair

⁃ LockerEverything

She Believes that she is better than her peers and tbh.. She kinda Is i mean Their Vocals and performance were mediocre compared to SharpayShe stands about too much i mean her fabulousness was too much for them to handle shes

Her Iconess is

Stylish Pretty Iconic Talented Ambitious and Hardworking too much for them they can’t tell can’t HANDLE IT!!

Now what can we learn from these two FABULOUS ICONS

⁃ Only Your Opinion Matters

⁃ Always Put Yourself First

⁃ Keep Working Hard for what you want

⁃ If Something isn’t up to your standards don’t settle for less

⁃ No Matter how much people talk and knock you down you’re still gonna be above their Judgement!!

⁃ Only Conform too your own standard

CELEBS ;

i wanna start off this section strong and talk about jojo siwa's new release "karma". i've linked the music video there so u can watch it and feel free to share ur opinions in the comment section but shes been receiving lots of mixed reviews from netizens.

most of the backlash comes from interviews that shes done like when she said that she was the first person in her generation to have this major of a rebrand. a huge shift in all this drama tho was when people found out that she did NOT in fact write the song like she claimed she did, which does NOT look good for her

she bought the song from brit smith and its like, WORD FOR WORD. and people feel some kind of way bcuz jojo could've just straight up been honest and say that she bought the song, which a lot of artists in the music industry do and theres nothing inherently wrong with it.

but the problem is that she tried to make it seem like she wrote it and even goes as far as to claim that she did in fact write it. and now that its shown that she bought it from brit smith, it kinda just blew up in her face.

PREP FOR NEXT YEAR ;

as we know the 2023-2024 school year is coming to an end very soon and if ur anything like me, ur feeling FATIGUED. and rightfully so of course, school can be super taxing sometimes.

this is ur sign though to take a BREAK, spend a day just for you and for rejuvenation bcuz to keep going u need to have strength. school is almost done U GOT THIS. what helps me is to count down the days until school lets out so that i can be excited 🍹✨

now is the time tho to plan out what courses ur gonna take next year, wrap up whatever u need to for this school year so that u can walk into the next school year ready to dominate. make plans for the summer and hype urself up to have an amazing time!

thats all for this months catalog, there will be a new edition each month with new content and it'll be updated on a monthly basis so if thats something that interests you or if you like these kinds of posts stay tuned for the next, till next month girlies✨

369 notes · View notes

jokeroutsubs · 2 months ago

Text

📝ENG Translation: Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

Article written by Ajda Gregorc, published in the November/December 2024 ELLE Slovenia Magazine. Print and digital versions of the magazine are available for purchase.

Scans and English translation by @kurooscoffee, review by @weolucbasu and a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

Full article translation, scans, and Spotify link are under the cut 👇

🎧 Article available in audio form on Spotify.

Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

With Kris Guštin, the music author and guitarist of Joker Out, we escaped to another side of music, and with that, to his other passion. We talked about style and everything connected to it. There will also be no shortage of this in the band's third album, titled 'Souvenir Pop', which is released on the 15th of November—one week after the issue of Elle you’re holding now. How perfectly synchronised we are!

PHOTOS URŠA PREMIK, STYLING ALENKA BIRK

At Ljubljana’s Moderna Café, on a fresh but lovely autumn Tuesday, when everyone’s still at work or in school, he arrives in a dark green jacket with a checkered pattern, awesome trousers, and her necklace. This time, the menu is not serving music and life, but matcha and "all things fashion." I’m in a regular trench coat and a white T-shirt, but luckily he doesn’t judge people by their style—instead, the style might be what piques his interest to converse, if it's good, of course. Besides, he's the one being interviewed. So, let’s begin! AJDA GREGORC

Interviewer: When did you first discover your personal style or the field of fashion? Was it in childhood or a bit later?

Kris: I roughly divide my life into two periods: before I first held a guitar, and after. When I really got into playing and ventured into music, my world opened up in all areas. Discovering fashion definitely falls into this second period, so the post-high school era. To be completely honest, my style in high school wasn’t something I’m particularly proud of today. (laughs) My girlfriend and I still have a photo of me wearing cargo pants and a black sweater, which is a proof she truly loves me, since that look was far from the best choice. (laughs)

When did it evolve from just a aesthetic impression to self-expression?

My first contact with fashion as a form of art or expression was during our band's first music video or fashion shoot, when I realised that this is also something you need to consider as a musician. At first, it seemed to me like a fairly peripheral element, but as our career developed and we met new people who gave us more insight into this, I began to understand its significance, what I could personally gain from it, and what we as a band could gain. This quickly developed into standard practice. I was increasingly exposed to fashion; we had more and more costume rehearsals and stylings, and two years ago, we even got our first proper stylist. And then I really committed to it—at around nineteen or twenty. Before that, my philosophy was always to "just wear whatever I first find in the closet," but then I shifted to "I'll wear things that would make me stand out from others". But this process was a long one.

So, your style development with the band inspired your personal growth too? I’ve always wondered if a young person is compelled to mature in every area when so many 'big things' happen all at once, as they did for you.

Maybe you do "grow old" in terms of personality sooner. Yes, at first I wanted, and still want, to primarily express the difference or uniqueness that I feel inside myself through music, but then I discovered that this goes very much hand in hand with fashion, so I started looking for my expression there as well. Today, it's almost an equally important part of my day.

Which fashion ideas or directions attract you? You’ve probably encountered a lot of inspiration during your travels on tour, right?

Definitely, but speaking purely origin-wise, I think I’m just like any other rock musician—we draw from the rock aesthetic of the ’60s and ’70s, which was also very "in" when my fashion awareness was born. Back then, around 2016 to 2018, here were a lot of flamboyant shirts on the music scene, with a slight hippie influence, which was the starting point. Only later did I start getting interested in slightly more modern clothes. When I was younger, I found myself in street fashion, that sort of Eminem-esque, hip-hop vibe, so very baggy clothes, which I then began to reject when I made the shift toward the ’60s and a slightly psychedelic aesthetic. It makes perfect sense, as humans tend to jump between extremes. When I had worked through that style, I started discovering the aesthetics of the ’80s and late ’90s, which was also reflected in music at the time. The best example that comes to mind is Dua Lipa’s previous album, which was in the style of the “new ’80s,” and the fashion matched that as well. Today, the early 2000s style has come back, but I haven’t fully decided whether I like it or not. As a musician, I was, of course, initially inspired by other music groups. Arctic Monkeys were a big inspiration for us both musically and visually, as was the whole British rock scene, including bands like The Kooks and Oasis. That entire aesthetic has always been strongly present with us. I doubt there’s a single inspiration board at our shoots that doesn’t include a photo of one of those bands or, for instance, the Beatles. And that aesthetic has always been close to my heart, too.

Rockers have always been associated with more masculine fashion elements, while in recent years, many male musicians have been experimenting with more feminine style elements (for example, Harry Styles and Lenny Kravitz). David Bowie was already the one who back then started to blur these fashion boundaries. You, too, wear such pieces and dare to stand out with them.

It happened quite naturally, as the stylists we worked with always chose slightly more “unmanly” clothing for me. This doesn’t necessarily mean women’s clothing, but rather somewhat more androgynous pieces, which I quickly embraced. I found them interesting and appealing because there’s a lot of fresh expression in that style that I don’t find in traditional men’s clothing, though I don’t want to overdo it. I also started experimenting with them personally, choosing many more varied colours. For a while, I was very fond of pink, and lately, I’ve been playing around with orange. On the cover of the album 'Demoni', I wore an orange-pink sweater.

Are we, as an audience here, already mature enough for a musician to present his feminine side through fashion? Does that require courage?

It does, there will always be people who won’t understand you. But for me, when it comes to the stage or a shoot, I’ll wear anything, and if I feel good in it, I don’t worry about what someone thinks. When I walk around "in civilian clothes," however, especially in Ljubljana, I am still aware if I’m dressed somewhat "untraditionally." There’s a certain boundary that I still need to break within myself. On stage, it’s easier because it’s not necessarily a hundred percent my expression; I’m playing a certain character, but personally, sometimes I do need some courage to show up in a particular style. However, the awareness of being different is stronger in Ljubljana than in other parts of the Western world. For example, I never felt that way in London, but still, our capital isn’t the worst when it comes to this.

Speaking of influences, what about other artistic or cultural movements?

I love art deco, the aesthetics of the '20s and '30s, though it doesn’t influence my daily life. In terms of photography, Damon Baker’s black-and-white style is beautiful. The vintage camera aesthetic has recently won me over, which will also be reflected in our band. Musically, over the past year, I’ve been listening to old Italian chansons and older French music, chansons as well, so I’m clearly feeling very retro this year. (smile)

Will the third album visually stand out from the previous ones then?

Yes, it will be very different. In the last two, we used a lot of colours, but there won’t be as many in this one.

Style can be an excellent tool for expressing an artist's authenticity, but with increasing success, the artist can also become its slave; the line is thin. Do you ever feel the pressure of having to express your fashion style in your private life as well?

No, I’ve never felt like my style owns me; it’s always been the opposite. I’ve always felt like I want more, like I want to dress even better than the day before, especially when it comes to my music career. Perhaps style only hangs over my head a bit when I have no inspiration and would rather wear sweatpants on an ordinary, relaxed day. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but then I do think about what would happen if I ended up somewhere in the middle of the city dressed like that.

It seems that Joker Out has developed a distinct style despite outside influences.

Yes, today we are already very complete in our style. Others have definitely had an influence on us, and I think it’s great that each of them tried to express themselves through us – it was interesting to experience how Joker Out was seen by Ponorelli, and how Andraž Drobnič or Karlo Kirri did. Of course, there is a difference in this, but it also aligns with the development of our music and aesthetics, so all these influences are very welcome.

How much of your personal fashion identity is therefore reflected in Joker Out?

Maybe, as someone who is not an external observer, I can't answer that, but I can say that I was always one of the first to give feedback to the stylist when we were creating our outfits, approving moodboards, and so on. So, I have definitely shaped our style in a direction that suits me. On certain "blind stylings," when we just dressed up, I quickly threw something on myself and then helped look for pieces for the other band members.

What about this photoshoot, where Alenka Birk took over the styling? Did you let her take the lead with her tactics, or did you collaborate on fashion choices? How did the communication go?

I didn’t know Alenka, who, by the way, is an excellent stylist, before. She was recommended by Urša (the photographer, ed.). Later, she confided in me that she had also worked with my father. Alenka focuses on elegant men's fashion, which is a departure from this more fluid fashion; and this suited me because I had never really been photographed in a men's suit, jacket, and tie. I wanted to try something new. I hadn’t seen the outfits before the day of the photoshoot when we met in her small studio in the morning. There were nine of them in total, and we only swapped out a piece or two in at most three of the looks.

This is more of an exception than a rule in fashion photoshoots. Does that mean you felt good in them?

Yes. In some more so, obviously, but in others, you have to trust the people you're working with. When I first look in the mirror, I always keep in mind that if something isn't optimal, it doesn't mean it won’t work well on camera. Even if the pants are too short or creased, it's still worth photographing them, because the photo can be edited later, whereas on stage, it's a different story, and everything has to already be perfect in the mirror. Working with Alenka was very simple; we clicked really well, and I will definitely work with her again.

How linked are your confidence and the way you feel on stage with your styling?

Very connected. As a musician, you want to enjoy yourself as much as possible on stage, and the people who come to listen to you and pay for the ticket deserve to see you at your best, which means you have to feel good in every aspect.

You recently attended Ljubljana Fashion Week. Which of the local fashion designers do you like to follow?

As far as the Slovenian fashion scene is concerned, I’m still quite the beginner, so I only knew the designers we had worked with. This was my first time visiting the Fashion Week.

Which shows did you watch?

On the first day, all of them. I didn’t like everything, but what stuck in my mind was Sarivalenci¹ with their somewhat "country club", Lana Del Rey vibe, and golf moment. I also really enjoyed the Belgrade Fashion Week, as there was an obvious Balkan touch, which I would love to see more of in Slovenia.

¹Sarivalenci is a Slovene high fashion brand created by fashion designer Sari Valenci.

You are a fan of vintage clothes and second-hand shops. What do these pieces have for you that new ones don't?

Honestly, I don’t know if there’s an objective explanation why. I started getting into it because it was popular, and at the same time, it gives you the feeling of getting a more unique piece. At the same time, you're shopping sustainably and not contributing to the production of unnecessary new textiles on Earth, which is great, but I would be lying if I said that’s my main motivation. What I like the most is the experience of "flipping" through clothes, where each piece is different, like a treasure hunt, compared to regular stores where you "flip" through the same clothes in different sizes.

Did your mum, who comes from the Netherlands where people have been aware of this for many years, introduce you to this concept?

I wouldn’t say we talked much about it at home, but I literally lived it. This is probably true for Slovenians in general – almost all the clothes I had as a child were from older peers, or I would take something from my dad, too. When I was done with wearing the clothes, my brother would wear them too. Every piece of clothing that came into our house was passed around, which is a great practice, and it’s still like that today. My sister "stole" half of my sweaters, my mum sometimes takes something too, Maks borrows jackets from my dad, which I’ve also done myself. It's like we all share one big closet! (laughs)

So you have influenced each other’s style in your family, or rather, you still do so? Who has otherwise had the most influence on your style in the past, and who does today?

I don’t remember ever looking at my parents as role models in this regard, as I didn’t really think about it back then, but they definitely influenced me, at least subconsciously. When I see how my mom dresses today, I see parallels with my own style, so she probably did influence me, perhaps more than my dad. As for street style, which I mentioned at the beginning, it might have been inherited from my uncle, my aunt’s husband from the Netherlands, who wore loose sweaters and listened to hip hop. My mum also had an uncle from the Indonesian side of the family, whom I never met, but he was very eccentric. Some of his clothes made their way to us over the years, and when I looked at these pieces in the closet, I was fascinated by how they reflected his personality. Asian fashion became a bit closer to me because of this, and I might even explore it someday.

The heart necklace you wear all the time, even today, is from your girlfriend. Do you ever dress your girlfriend or does she dress you?

My girlfriend is very fashion-oriented and has played a big role in my fashion development. She has always encouraged me when I tried new clothes that, at the time, seemed more radical to me. In this way, she partially shaped me. We also really enjoy shopping together. She dresses me more often than I dress her, which means I ask her for opinion. There have also been times when we’ve dressed the same when it comes to basic pieces; we’ve never really styled each other, but there will probably be time for that in the future.

Where do you like to go for vintage pieces in Ljubljana? Did you find any gems while on tour across Europe?

Textile House Vintage Shop is, in my opinion, by far the best in Ljubljana. The next one is Humana on Stritarjeva street, where I find something every now and then. Abroad, we’ve visited many vintage shops in Dublin, Paris, and London. In the latter, I always go to Brick Lane, which is a street with vintage shops in the east side of central London, where the more hipster area starts. The downside is that it quickly becomes quite an expensive experience.

What kind of information can you deduce about a person based on what they’re wearing? Who, in your opinion, is truly well-dressed?

A person’s style is never a reason not to engage in conversation with them, but it is a very strong stimulator of my interest in that person. If I think someone is really well-dressed, I automatically assume they might think similarly to me and be interested in the same artistic, musical, or visual directions, so I’m more eager to talk to them. However, I’ve often met people who didn’t seem interestingly dressed, and later realised they were amazing people, even if they dressed completely casually.

Your audience expresses itself very differently in terms of fashion, as your parents also mentioned in a recent interview for Elle. How do you as a band perceive this?

Yes, what they meant was that it is no longer the case that you have to be "appropriately" dressed for a rock concert. When we observe the audience from the stage, I would say that the most typical thing for our time is that we are no longer genre-bound. Not just musically, but also in terms of fashion. 30 or 40 years ago, you would see people at a rock concert in leather jackets, black shoes, and jeans, and that was it. Today, you have flamboyant outfits with blue and green hair in one corner, gothic style in another, and of course, people in simple t-shirts and pants somewhere in the middle. And no one feels like they don’t belong; everyone sings our songs, and that’s really nice.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

❗Please do not repost without credit, and if you quote, please link back to this post!

#joker out #jokeroutsubs #kris guštin #source: elle slovenia #Spotify #type: article #year: 2024 #jo: kris solo #og language: slovenian #jos: podcast

82 notes · View notes

giuseppe-yuki · 3 months ago

Note

Zhou looks like someone who would have a shih tzu shfter as a so and she would be from the royal family

mmm, that’s such a cute idea! i feel like they would be perfect for each other, since shih tzus are known to be really playful, sweet, and sometimes shy dogs, goes well with zhou’s personality. however, both would not hesitate to defend each other, like the day they first met.

pictures credits from pinterest :)

zhou guanyu x shih tzu!royal!reader

as a member of the royal family, there were certain expectations of you. royal members were supposed to be public, but not too public. they were supposed to dress fashionable, but in a modest way. they were supposed to attend charity dinners and galas, but not too many. they also were supposed to have hobbies and talents, but respectable ones.

honestly, you thought everything was a little too much. you tried your best to follow your parent’s rules, but you genuinely felt like wearing something a little more revealing or posting about a trip you had with friends would not make you any less of a good future ruler. you liked fun, and it didn’t felt fair that all your friends were busy jetting off to England and Dubai and clubbing every night when you stuck in your palace, as so not to ruin your public image.

so, unbeknownst to your mother and father, who were busy signing off on documents and giving supportive speeches, you would sneak out of the castle and bribe your private jet pilot to fly you to different “fun” places. one of the top spots you often frequented was milan or paris for fashion week.

sneaking into a runway show wasn’t very hard. the first step was the security, which you had down after much practice slipping through. shifting into your shih tzu form, you padded your way through the legs of the security guards, who let you through with a pat on the head. they always assumed you were the pampered little pet of one of the guests, which you did not hesitate to take advantage of.

the second part was avoiding the paparazzi section. luckily for you, everybody was dressed in couture, with fringes, sequins, mesh, and leather everywhere you looked. nobody even gave you a second glance when you strolled past, now dressed to the nines in a similarly fashionable outfit. you hurriedly take a random seat as the show begins, and tall, slender models strut on the stage show off the newest looks for chanel, prada, and dior. the way the fabric is draped, the colors, and the textures spin in your mind, chasing away all your worries of being a royal. why worry about your multiple language and speech writing classes when you can be swept up in the blinding lights and pretty patterns?

faster than you can realize, the show ends with a polished group of individuals that you assume to be the head designers that come out and wave a few times. overhead, the dimmed lights flash on, temporarily blinding you.

now was time for the hardest part, getting out of the show. the scraggle of paparazzi that you easily maneuvered through were now vultures, waiting to snatch up a noteworthy and reputable guest to drill questions about their outfit and their thoughts about the show. you knew that if you got caught by some reporter for elle, vogue, or some gossip magazine, you would never hear the end of it from your mother.

skirting around what looks to be like kylie jenner and gigi hadid, you make a run for it past the “pit” area of paparazzi. you weave through the crowd, even taking cover behind the icon adriana lima to avoid a reporter that you swear was looking straight at you.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you reach the exit, about to pull out your phone to send for your driver to take you back to your jet, when a hand yanks you backward.

yelping, you stagger backward to find a rather elderly but stylish old man look at you up and down.

”sweetheart,” he drawls out, sending you a suggestive smile. “you must have been one of the models up there on that stage! you’re too beautiful to not have been. whaddya say you come home with me, huh?”

still in shock, you can only stutter out incomprehensibly. while you had a few close calls with interviewers, you never had a person outright ask to take you home.

the man, as if not seeing your furrowed brows and defensive posture, continues to hold your wrist roughly. he flashes you a wad of cash in his pocket, and raises his eyebrow, as if that would easily convince you to go to his mansion wherever he lived.

before you have a chance to respond to his rather rude assumption, an impeccably dressed young man firmly yanks the older man’s hand off of your wrist.

you dash behind your savior, hiding behind the soft material of his black suit with red embellishments.

“who do you think you are?” offending elderly man snaps, annoyed. “i was talking to this young lady right here. you had no right to yank my hand like that!”

the kind man squares up. “i’m her boyfriend,” he says unwavering. “and as her boyfriend, i suggest you back away. if you didn’t want someone to yank your hand maybe you shouldn’t touch other people with them approving first!” he says to the other man, gesturing over to your cowering figure behind him.

“oh yeah?” the aged man says, “well y-“

suddenly, a look of familiarity crosses his face, a look you know full well from years of being recognized on the street.

“hey! wait a minute! aren’t you that little princess from…where was it? from that little country…” he exclaims, moving closer.

“no!” you immediately say, cutting him off. “i’m not!”

the man next to you, seeing your alarm, cuts the wrinkled old man from coming forward anymore. “okay, i need to you to stop right there. i told you that she is my girlfriend so please just leave us alone.”

he shoots you a silent look, and when you nod, he clutches your hand and bolts off with you.

you basically sag in relief when escape the situation, profusely thanking the man, who you find out is named zhou.

as a thank you, you head into the nearest coffee shop and buy him a giant cup of coffee and a cake pop (which you end up eating, because he says that he’s on a ’diet’ for his sport or something like that).

when you slide into a half-hidden booth at the back of the coffee shop with zhou, having temporarily postponed your jet back to your country, you partly cover your face with your hand just in case any lurking paparazzi or fans walk into the store. he swirls his cup of coffee in his hand, one eyebrow raised at your attempted ways to hide your face.

“i don’t mean to pry, but what was that about you being a princess back there?”

“call me your knight in shining armor!” zhou says, jokingly.

you groan into your hands. “why is that the first thing you say after i reveal this top-secret information?”

he shrugs, a grin on his face. “hey, i thought that joke was pretty funny.”

you roll your eyes, but chuckle lightly, watching as zhou sends you an exaggerated wink from across the table. behind him, you notice the quickly darkening sky. without noticing, you had chatted with your savior for over two hours, about the most random topics. perhaps this was the freedom your non-royal friends felt, being able to go into public whenever they wanted and to chat up a perfect stranger. unfortunately, your parents had a gala planned that night, for some obscure sport event that was taking place in your country. if they asked someone to fetch you to get ready, they were bound to find out that you were in a whole different part of the country, and they would probably give you hell about it.

when he sees the frown on your face, he tilts his head. “somewhere to go?” he asks, slowly gathering his empty coffee cup and used napkins.

“yeah…,” you reply sadly. “duty calls.”

zhou checks his watch, and a look of shock crosses his face. “oh shoot- i have somewhere to be as well.”

“oh!” you say, awkwardly standing up. “i guess that worked out.”

he nods, and politely walks you out the coffee shop, making sure to hold the door open for you. when your personal driver arrives in his secretive-looking car, complete with tinted windows and bulletproof doors, you wave goodbye to zhou. “thanks for…everything, i guess,” you remark. “an extra big thank you for pretending to be my boyfriend too,” you laugh.

“not a problem!” he responds, giving you a smile. he slips a red handkerchief into your hand (’can’t leave the princess without a gift,’ he had said) before shutting your car door gently. the last that you see of him is his dark hair and fancy black suit with red embellishments as he climbs into an expensive-looking car that you hadn’t noticed on the side of the street.

when you arrive back in your country, and your driver drops you off at the palace from the airport, you practically flee towards your wing of the massive house, hand still clutching zhou’s red handkerchief.

your makeup and dressing team usher you in, squeeze you into a beautiful outfit, and place a glittering tiara in your hair just as your mother walks into your spacious dressing room.

she nods approvingly when she sees your prim appearance, a similar tiara glistening in her hair.

“hello, mother,” you wave, the makeup lady still brushing powder on your nose.

“hi!” she exclaims. sending you a wave back. "you look beautiful, honey,” she compliments, giving you a hug and a kiss. she turns you around, admiring the way the materials flows nicely around you, when she sees you holding on to the piece of red cloth. she sends you a weird look, but clears her throat. “anyways, i just wanted to come in and let you know that we are leaving soon,” she states.

hurriedly, you shove the handkerchief into your mini purse and hold it behind your back as you nod your head profusely. “mhm! okay, i will go to the front in a bit!”

you are enjoying a plate of rather tasty noodles, and tuning out a speaker talking about some racing team called alfa romero, when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

”hello, princess!” someone whispers into your ear.

you jerk back, fully expecting that weird old man from the fashion show to be standing behind you. instead, in front of you, stands zhou.

”what the fuck??” you say, bewildered. “what are you doing here??”

”are princess allowed to cuss?” he asks, scrunching his brows.

you cast your plate of noodles aside, and cross your arms in front of you. “no, answer my question first!”

he scratches his head. “well…if you haven’t noticed, i’m kind of a formula 1 racing driver, and this is kind of my team..."

he points to the stage, which has a pretty obvious blown-up picture of his face next to another man with a cool-looking mullet.

your cheeks flush red. as if it couldn’t get worse, you notice that his suit has a big pin with the alfa romero logo pinned to it, which matched the racing car that was placed in the middle of the gala room. next to it sat a large plaque that had his name and the number 24 carved in thick black font.

“um…okay, so i might have just made that connection,” you mumble.

zhou laughs. “no worries. what are the chances that we meet again, though?”

half an hour later, you both find yourself in the gardens next to grand hall hosting the event, drunk and giggling on champagne. the bubbly alcohol made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. or maybe it was zhou?

you both rave about the looks at the outfits at the runway show earlier that day, about zhou’s racing career, about your daily escapades, and about every topic you can possibly think of. you think you laugh more than you ever have in years, being stuck in the palace to just study all day. caught up in your conversation, you don’t notice a certain elderly old man stumble through the bushes.

he spots the pair of you before you both spot him.

“you!” he growls out, stumbling towards the fountain that you were sitting on the edge of.

your eyes widen to the size of saucers, spotting the old man flattening the trimmed grass with each step he takes toward you.

zhou sobers up almost immediately, again placing himself in between you and the offending subject.

“can you just leave her alone?” he exclaims, using one hand to hold him back from taking another step. “i don’t even know how you got here, but you really have to get out.”

the elderly man snaps. “oh i know all about you, guanyu zhou! i am a prime investor in alfa romero, but i’m greatly reconsidering putting my hard-earned money somewhere else in light of your egregious behavior!”

with surprising strength, he shoves zhou, causing him to fall backwards, almost hitting his head on the stone of the fountain.

you gasp. without thinking clearly about the consequences, you shift into your dog form and launch your small form straight at the old man. going crazy, you bite down on his hand and yank as hard as you can. ha! you think. this will teach him for hurting others!

when zhou recovers from his second shock of the day, he hurriedly grabs you off of the old man, who quickly hobbles away, nursing his hurt hand while yelling obscenities.

zhou gently sets you on the ground, giving you a small circle of space to calm down.

you shift back, and sit on the edge of the of the water fountain like nothing had happened.

“wow, the gall of that man!” you note, shaking your head.

ignoring your comment, zhou buts in. “wait. let’s just pause and digest what just happened. was there anything else you wanted to tell me other than the fact that you are a princess and you can shapeshift?” zhou asks.

shrugging, you shake your head. “erm… no. i think that’s about it!”

i hope i did your prompt justice :)

#anais talks🎙#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #zhou guanyu x y/n #zhou guanyu x reader #zhou guanyu x you #💬

79 notes · View notes