#tips from a hairstylist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seospicybin · 4 months ago

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THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART II

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Chapters: Part I / Part III / Final.

Synopsis: To help you moving on from your break-up, Chan takes you out for a night. However, he doesn't expect you will find a potential new love in someone else. (9,5k words)

Author's note: Here's one you've been asking for. Please tell me what you think about it! Nevertheless, enjoy x

"I think we're done for the day, huh?" You sigh in relief after dumping the dirty towels into the laundry bag and tossing it to the back room.

"No, actually, someone just walked in and wanted a haircut," your co-worker says while holding a stack of clean towels in front of her.

"Keem can have it," you resolve, you've finished all of your appointments for the day, and you're tired and ready to go home.

"Yeah, that's the problem. He specifically asked for you," your co-worker answers, putting the towels into the shelf full of them.

You plant your hands on each side of your waist and shoot a puzzled look at your coworker, "Huh?"

Is this customer aware that the salon is about to close and there's another hairstylist on duty? That exciting feeling of getting home soon is slowly fading as you head in to meet this customer who specifically asks for you.

The second you walk in, Keem, the other stylist, grabs your elbow and then leans into your side to whisper, "He's so cute."

Hearing it doesn't lift your mood at all, you just want to get it over with and go home.

"Where?" You ask as you put on your apron.

"He's right there," she whispers, pointing to the middle seat hidden behind the big mirror then detaches herself off you to go back behind the counter.

For a customer who chooses an awful time to get a haircut, you put on a phony smile and shove your hands into the pockets of your apron as you greet.

"Hi, what can I do for... You!" The infliction in your voice changes as you see who that customer is.

It's the shit-eating grin, the stupid dimples on his stupid face and

"It's enough torture to have you as my neighbor and now I have to you see at work too," you say as you cross your arms together in front of you.

"Oh, wow, is this how you treat your customer?" He says with a fake concerned look.

"Only the select few," you say with a sinister smile.

"I made it on your list of honors? Is this because we had sex—"

You hurriedly cover his mouth with your hand and make sure no one is seeing what you're doing to him, or worse, letting them acquire that piece of information.

"What do you want?" You scold him with a piercing glare.

He takes your hand off of his mouth and dramatically gasps for air, "I want a haircut," he simply answers.

With a huff, you swivel his chair to face the mirror and grab the cape for him, putting it around his neck, then clip it together. You put on a phony smile as you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

"So, what do you want me to do with your hair besides setting it on fire?" You sarcastically ask him.

It's amazing how his grin doesn't wear off even just for a second, "We don't need to cut much, I guess just the tip," he says.

"Just the tip," you repeat, "Is that the title of your sex tape?"

Chan cracks a sonorous laugh, "That's a good one!"

Once you hear the sound of the scissors snipping away the hair, you get in the zone. You focus on giving his hair a nice shape that accentuates his strong jawline and makes his facial features more prominent.

"Don't talk much, huh?" He asks, slightly turning his head to the side.

You grab the nape of his neck and forcefully turn his head back to the front, "just here trying my best not to snip you somewhere else," you calmly mutter.

"Ooh, chills!" He responds with a shudder.

You switch your scissors with a hair clipper and it starts buzzing as you turn it on, you're holding it in his hand as you look at him and say, "You're going to regret coming here and allowing me to be this close to you with a sharp object."

Seeing you bringing the hair clipper close to his face, he reflexively closes his eyes so tightly and you hold the urge to not laugh at it.

"Oh, okay, I regret it now," he says like a frightened child left alone by his parents.

You gently place your hand on his jaw, "Stay still," you warn him.

He obeys you, keeping his head still and his eyes closed as you're carefully trimming his sideburns. You suddenly find yourself admiring his face and his beautiful features of a long, big nose and voluptuous lips.

For a split second, you so badly want to run your thumb on his lips and feel how soft they are. You did feel it once with your lips but you were too sad to notice and now you realize how much you regret it.

Before the temptation returns, you turn off the trimmer and put it away, then proceed to help brush the hair on his face and around his neck with a soft brush.

"You're all done," you announce, taking the cape from around his neck.

Chan stays on his seat as you brush the excess hair off the nape of his neck and make sure they don't stick to his skin. You put all of your equipment on the cart next to you and anticipate his reaction to your haircut.

Not trying to brag here but you did a good job here because he looks even more attractive with a fresh cut.

"Aren't you going to tell me how handsome I am and then kiss me on the cheek?" He asks while blinking his big eyes at you.

"I'm not your mom," you reply with a plain smile.

When you think you already got rid of him after giving him a haircut, you see him lounging around the counter and putting on his charms for Keem. You plan on keeping it a secret that you know each other but if he starts flirting with your co-worker, then there's a possibility you'll see her walking out of his apartment the next day and it only gets messy from there. You come up to him and tug at the sleeve of his jacket, then pull him to the side.

"Why are you still here?" You ask through your gritted teeth and keeping your volume low.

"I'm waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Because we're going out tonight," he answers.

"We?"

"And no, my panties are not in a twist," he says with a teeth-baring grin, "You can check it yourself if you want."

"Ugh. No!" You groan in refusal.

What is it about him anyway that makes the girls go crazy for him? If you're thinking with your depraved, brutal, and cavewoman brain, it must be the body that is inexplicably electric and sexually charged, braced with heavy muscles, and injected with a high dose of testosterone. In other words, he's hot, and it's hard not to be biologically attracted to him. But if you're thinking progressively and in the 21st century way, you know you should avoid this fuckboy at all costs.

"If you don't want to go then I'll just take Keem," he says, secretly threatening not only you but also your workplace dynamic.

"I'm sure she's keem for it," he makes a pun.

"Ugh. Okay," you groan in agreement this time.

And then, there's something called human error.

At first, Chan thought that you have that stoic expression only whenever you're around him but he was wrong. He learns that it's just your default expression and you wear it like a defense mechanism to keep the predators at bay. At least, he shouldn't worry about leaving you alone in the bar as he's working the DJ booth.

Once he's done with his set, he ignores the calls for his name and walks up to you, seeing you rather unimpressed by what he just did. What did he expect though? You're not most girls.

He taps the table, signaling the bartender to come and tend to his order, "The usual, please?"

The bartender nods and is about to turn away to make his drink when he calls for him again, "And one more for this nice lady," he adds, gesturing at you and flashing you a sly smile.

Chan turns around to face the dance floor and leans his back against the counter, "So, what do you think?"

"It was good," you answer after sipping your drink.

"You have a filthy expression on your face," he teases you and gently elbows your side, "go on, tell me what you're really thinking."

"Strangling you with my bare hands," you answer without a beat.

Chan leans in close enough that he can get a whiff of the smell of your shampoo, "so that's your kink?"

"Only when I see fear in your eyes," you answer with a wicked smile.

"Wow. You know how to excite a guy," he praises, not entirely lying about it because he gets a little excited from your snarky comments.

The bartender comes with both of your drinks and you hurriedly finish your previous one to go ahead with the next. He watches as you take a small sip and then waits to see how your nose scrunched at the bitter aftertaste.

"You're single now and maybe it's time for you to get out there, you know, find a new love," he says, secretly hoping that you'll find it in him when he looks at you.

"Hey, Chris," a girl comes and without hesitating, placing a kiss on his cheek, "Great set!"

"Thanks, Alicia," he says to the tall lady with beautiful braided hair.

"This one is on me," she says as she gives him a drink from the ones she ordered.

"Cheers then!" He says, clinking his glass with hers with his charming smile on.

The lady leaves to take the drinks away and is soon engulfed by the crowd. Chan notices that you remain calm about that interaction, and again, what did he expect?

"At least, one of us has no problems getting some tonight," you take a jab at him.

"I'm taking you out so we can have fun tonight and enjoy yourself—"

"The only way I can enjoy myself is when I'm alone."

"Oh?" He gasps and gives you a wild glare.

You roll your eyes and sigh once you realize he's taking it the wrong way, "I just want to go home and binge my favorite show and sleep," you finish your sentence with a big gulp of drink and he gets to see another nose scrunch from you.

The intention was to take you out of the apartment and perhaps, he can get you to loosen up a little bit, making this getting to know each other thing a little easier for him. It seems like he's forcing it on you and maybe it wasn't a good idea after all.

"Okay, then, we'll go home after this one," he says, lifting his glass close to his mouth.

"Or you can just stay here and do your thing, and I'm going home," you suggest a better idea after finishing your drink and you grab your bag as if you just can't wait to get out of here.

Chan is quick to grab your arm and stops you from leaving, "Hey, at least, let me finish my drink first," he protests.

"You don't have to leave with me. I can go home myself," you say to him.

"Just wait for me," he squeezes on your arm and adds, "Please?"

You consider it for a moment and then say, "I'll wait for you outside."

Since he's done a gig here, Chan has to make a proper exit out of the club, he greets a few people who work there and grabs his backpack of equipment, carrying it in his hand as he walks out of there. He finds you leaning against the street lamp and the light casts a glowing halo on your head, making you look like an angel... with a stoic expression.

He grins when you notice him coming, "Okay, I lied, there's another thing we have to do tonight," he says.

"Goodness, Chris, just bag a lady and call it a night," you groan in complaint.

Both of his eyebrows ratchet up at your words, "It has nothing to do with that."

"What is it then?" You cross your arms together in front of you.

"Only the best part of the night," he answers with a cryptic smile.

Chan knew he should have started the night with food. He can see that your mood gradually elevates with every bite you take from the delicious kebab he recommended to get after a boozy night out.

By the time you both arrive at the apartment building, you get all quiet like a drowsy child after a day out at the park and he finds it cute, especially with the way your lips slowly jutting out and you keep widening your eyes to stay awake.

"How about next Friday night we're doing it your way?" he suggests as he keeps the elevator door open for you with his back.

"If that means you'll leave me alone then yes," your eyes turn small as you politely moan into your hand.

"We're going to stay in and binge-watch your favorite show and sleep," he lists everything you mentioned earlier and an idea pops into his head.

"We'll have a pajama party!" He announces along with a poor imitation of tooting horns.

"No!" You flatly reject the idea.

"I'll bring the snacks," he offers.

You steadfastly shake your head.

"Then I'll keep knocking on your door until you let me in," he annoyingly moves into your side until he's rubbing elbows with yours.

"Then I hope you get abducted by aliens," you come out with an absurd wish and it cackles him.

"You would miss me," he confidently remarks with his signature grin.

"Doubtful. Very doubtful."

"Why?"

"I know I'd get to see you again someday—"

Chan can't help himself from smiling but little does he know, you're not done with your sentence yet.

"— in hell."

That wipes the smile off his face, "but I'm a good person. People like me," he says while making an innocent face.

"Because they don't know you, if they did, someone would have kicked your ass already."

"They'd try," Chan easily says with a nonchalant shrug, and at the same time, you both burst out laughing.

This is not flirting and he's aware there's something wrong with this interaction but you know what? He likes every bit of it.

Chan's heart sinks when it's time for the two of you to part ways and before you get to slip away from him, he tugs at the strap of your bag.

"Hey, can't wait for our pajama party," he says.

You pull your bag until the strap slips out of his hand and head to your apartment door.

"No response," he points out, "it's as a yes then."

"No!" You shout.

"So... it's a no?" He asks in confusion.

You push the door to get inside your apartment and lingers by the doorway, facing him.

"No," you cheekily respond and then close the door, leaving him with a different kind of thrill for what comes next.

From the way this person treats your door like a tambourine, you can safely guess that it's Chan knocking on the door for the so-called pajama party.

Ugh, why did you agree to it in the first place? It's so unlike you to let someone in on your space but it doesn't matter whether you let him or not, the boundaries have been crossed so many times that there's no such thing as personal space anymore.

Before letting him in, you check through the peephole, and just as you expected, he comes undressed, literally. He's standing on the other side of the door wearing nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips.

"Please have mercy on my eyes and put some clothes on!" You shout through the door with your hand holding the knob.

"I don't wear pajamas. This is what I wear to sleep," he responds and you can hear him faintly laughing with your ear pressed on the door.

"And what makes you think you're going to sleep at my place tonight?"

"I don't know. A hunch," he playfully responds.

"Pajama party is officially canceled!" You say through the peephole.

"Okay, okay, I'll put some clothes on," he sighs in defeat.

You watch through the peephole to see if he's really going to his apartment to change. With his broad shoulders, all hunched up, he walks back to his apartment and doesn't even bother to close the door, he grabs whatever lying close to him and puts the dark t-shirt over his head. Even under the poor lighting, the ridges of his muscles are visible and inviting you to feel it with your touch.

As though he knows he's being watched, he looks your way and then trudges his way back to your door. The first thing you see after you open the door for him is his big grin that sends his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

With a glare at his empty hands, you ask, "And where's the snack?"

Chan puts his arms on each side of the doorframe and leans in close, towering you with his big figure, proudly he answers, "Ma'am, I am the snack."

Can't tell if he's trying to charm you, intimidate you, or both, doesn't matter because he failed at all of them.

"But you promised!" You can tolerate people when they make jokes about anything but you can't accept when it involves food.

Chan takes his phone out of his pocket and shows it to you, "It's being delivered. See?"

Your jaws unclenched in a second and you open the door wider for him, "You may come in!" You sweetly say with a curtsy.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" He says with a bow before steps into your apartment.

It's ironic how you prepared everything despite you were grudging it, you set the sofa, put some cushions and since he said he was bringing the food, you bought drinks for tonight.

"I have juice, soda, and beers," you list everything you have in your fridge as you're looking at it.

"We'll have the soda for now and beers for later," Chan strategically plans.

The food he ordered only lasts for two episodes and from there, you both run on beers and chips while sitting on opposite sides of each other on the couch with your feet touching.

"I like seeing white stockings on women," Chan comments after seeing the female character wearing it under her dress.

"This is why I hate watching with a man," you say in a condescending tone.

"I'm not even saying anything about her body," he defends himself and playfully rubs his foot with yours.

"Just shh..." you hush him, getting back at him by tackling his foot with yours.

The whole time the TV show is playing, your attention is on him, you're merely curious if he's genuinely invested in it or just wants to annoy you with his presence. From your observation, it seems like it's the former but the jury's still out.

"Wait, is that it?" He asks as the first season has just ended and the credit title rolls down the screen.

"That's the end of the first season," you say, starting to gather the trash on the table and put it into a plastic bag.

"But there's another season, right?" He says, looking distressed that the show ends with a cliffhanger.

"Yeah," you answer.

"Then let's watch it!" He says with a grin and slowly blinking his eyes at you.

"No, Chris, it's late," you show him the time on the screen on your phone that it's close to midnight.

"But I want to know what happens next and I need to know now," he speaks like a spoiled little brat.

You get up from the sofa to get rid of the trash, "You can watch it on your own."

Grabbing the back of your sweater, Chan pulls you hard until you plop down onto the sofa next to you then he puts his arm around you to keep you down.

"Let's just party all night, eh?" He persuades you as he leans in close to the side of your head you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.

You leer to the side at him and ask, "I can't make you leave, do I?"

"Not a chance," he shortly answers.

Seeing that there's no other way to make him leave but to fulfill his wish, you give in and sit back down on the sofa as Chan hits the play button.

With your stomach full and the exhaustion from the day, and you feel snug on the sofa wrapped in your blanket, you're getting drowsy as the night gets late. You manage to stay awake for two episodes but not long after that, your eyes get really heavy and you can barely keep them open anymore.

Going to rest my eyes for a bit, you tell yourself in your head but close your eyes, slowly drifting into deep slumber.

It's not new that Chan wakes up not knowing where he is, he lifts his head and looks around, taking in his surroundings to give him clues of his whereabouts. One look at the TV screen that shows a question whether he's still watching or not, he immediately recalls where he is, what he's doing here, and—

"Owh!" He lowly gasps as you accidentally elbow him on the ribs.

There he is, lying next to you on the sofa, your back pressed close to his chest he can feel every rise and fall of your body as you're breathing. He doesn't know how it comes to this and he's not complaining though, if anything, it's an opportunity for him to admire you up close.

Cautiously, he removes the hair covering your face to the side and takes an intimate look at your facial features, first at your eyes with your eyelashes fanning out so beautifully, he runs his fingertip down your nose and eventually at your lips which he dreams of kissing.

Do you know that you're so beautiful yet so unaware of it?

Chan gently buries his nose in your neck and inhales your heavenly scent that gets him intoxicated, putting himself in a test of restraint that he'll be likely to fail. All of a sudden, you stir in your sleep and nuzzle closer as if you're seeking warmth from his body heat.

What did he just put himself into? He frustratingly asks in his head.

Soon enough, he can feel your body start to mold against him and it feels nice, you're fulfilling his need for this closeness but unfortunately, he can't control how his body is reacting to this as it wants to do more than just being pressed close to yours.

Chan carefully places his hand on your hips and quietly, he tries to push you away to make a safe space between your bodies even though he has to suffer the loss of your warmth against him.

As if your body knows what he's trying to do, you push back even further and the curve of your ass sits right on the bulge growing inside his sweatpants, putting him at a greater risk.

"Fuck!" he mouthes in distress.

If it wasn't for the TV light that casts a hazy glow on you, he wouldn't notice that your eyes are open and you're waking up to him with his hand on your hips which he's afraid only giving you the impression that he tries to pull you close instead of the opposite.

"I—" he can't say anything without sounding like he's lying because he knows that a greater part of him wanted it, wanting you.

In the next moment, he finds your hand reaching for him and unexpectedly, you put your fingers across his lips, asking him to stop talking as you bring his head close until your lips touch. He doesn't dare to do anything but when you stroke his lower lip with your tongue, his instincts take over.

To no one's surprise, Chan claims your mouth like a starved man.

However, Chan doesn't plunge right into it, he's starting the kiss with innocent brushes of his lips on yours and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again in a deeper kiss.

When he draws back, your lips are parted on soundless gasps of desire. It takes a moment for your eyes to clear enough to focus on him and with a low voice, he says, "I couldn't resist it."

He can't waste a second without kissing you so he indulges in another dizzying kiss, "I thought about kissing you all week."

Days, weeks, months, it comes to a blur to him but he learned the agony of waiting so he counts the time until his lips can reunite with yours again, hopefully, once and for all.

"Now, I can't seem to stop," As he speaks, he threads his fingers into your hair and angles your head back. He trails kisses along your jawline, nips your chin, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

A murmur humming in your throat as he kisses you yet again and your hand flies into his hair, fingertips lazily scratching at his scalp. You suddenly pull away from the kiss and gaze into his dark eyes, "Then don't stop."

So Chan hasn't been the only one, after all.

Planting his mouth on yours again, he twines his tongue with yours, and oh... this taste, this softness, your hand in his hair, kiss after kiss after kiss.

He allows himself to run his fingertips down the length of your arm and smiles when goosebumps ripple outward. Nuzzling your neck, he breathes in the soft scent of your skin and kisses the sweet spot just behind your jaw. Your lips are calling him, but instead, he sucks on your earlobe and bites it, startling a shaky sigh from you.

He allows himself to explore more by running his hand along the length of your body, cupping the curve of your breasts, and even through the layers of fabrics, he can feel the firm buds of your nipple. He so badly wants to pinch it, love on it, but there is too much fabric in the way. He simply resolves it by slipping his hand under and he finds your soft mounds in a second, not wasting another second to fondle on it.

As he kisses you harder, and you arch into his body, you're undulating your hips against the aching bulge inside its confine, forcing him to bite back his groan.

Oh, he hasn’t wanted someone like this in... Has he ever wanted someone like this?

He reels himself back to the present, glancing down at his pale hand and your nipple caught between his fingers, it's an erotic sight indeed that he can't resist pinching it and enjoying your sharp intake of breath.

"Chris..."

The sound of his name falling from your lips is just as unexpected as it is hot. He sees you breathe through your parted lips that's swollen and glistening wet from all the kissing, and then at your wide, lustful eyes that tell him you're ready for more.

An impatient hand glides down your stomach and slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, his gentle fingers caress you with slow strokes. He is touching you there, right where you need him and you shiver, then burrow closer to him as more goosebumps dotted your skin.

"My God, you're drenched," he says and with each syllable, his lips grazed your ear.

Your body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he presses a finger deep into you, filling you. He massages your clit with lazy swirls of his thumb, making you start trembling against him.

He lowers a kiss on you again, tongue and teeth invading your mouth and that's all it takes to send you climbing quick and sharp toward your release.

His mouth finds your ear and with his hot breath tickles you, he lowly asks, "Does it feel good?”

There's no answer but you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you throw your head back, inhaling sharply. Chan can feel tiny muscles fluttering around his fingers, and he knows you are close.

He doesn't need to see to know the answer, he can feel it with his hand, "You’re drenching my palm," he whispers again.

With your hand in his hair, you bring his head close and peck his lips, "Chris, I want it," you mutter as you pull away.

"It?" He asks to confirm if you're thinking of the same thing and he's not taking the wrong sign.

You lightly nod, "Mmh-hmm."

"Condom?"

"No need," you shortly answer, "I'm on the pill."

A jolt of excitement surges all over his body just from the thought that he'll be inside you with no layer of protection and it utterly exhilarates him that he needs to calm down for a minute. He uses the time to remove your shorts and then his sweatpants next without taking his other arm from around you.

Once he settles himself behind you, he puts his hand between your legs, lifting a leg and putting it over his hips, allowing his hard member to get between your legs. It feels a whole lot different to feel how wet you are on every inch of his length.

"Feel that?" He asks you with his mouth nestled close to your ear and his swollen cock rubbing between your folds, "I'm aching for you."

Chan kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck as hard flesh prodding at your sex, making you stop breathing for a moment and you feel nothing but a sensuous stretching that goes on and on until he seated himself fully inside you and oh, he fits perfectly.

"It's too good. You feel– oh... I'm going to lose it," he can't comprehend what he's feeling right now.

The heat, this tightness, so perfect for him and his body asks for nothing but more and more and more of you.

Responding to his body's needs, he withdraws and then thrusts back into you, soon enough, he sets a steady pace. His free hand slides down to your bundle of nerves, touching you there for added stimulation. You grip his wrist, seemingly intending to pull him away, but your hand refuses to cooperate.

The twin assaults of his fingers and his cock that fills you full kindle a flame inside you that spread all over you like wildfire. Your mouth is parted open but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure so instead of words, you communicate how you feel through your body. You spread your thighs wider and writhe to match his thrust for thrust.

There's nothing but the sounds of his hips slapping your ass and his cock that incessantly slipping in and out of you, and he likes how he finds peace despite his body being in pure chaos.

With his mouth lingering close to your ear, he knows you hear every shudder of his breath to the lowest of his sultry moans slipped out of his mouth, and honestly, he would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for your hand tangled in his curls and keep pulling him for a kiss, before finding his hand that rests on your chest and hold it.

"Perfect..." the word tumbles out of his mouth as your fingers slip right between the spaces of his fingers and lace it together.

"Ah, ah, ah," more moans fall out of your lips as you arch into him, and through it all, your eyes locked in a gaze with his, letting him see the pure pleasure that builds up inside you.

Chan has slept with a handful of people, but he’s never been so in tune with someone's body. He’s never been so desperate to please or so elated when he hears you cry his name as you cum around him.

The high takes you over and also your ability to move, speak, and think. You curl up, making you feel smaller against him. The hand interlaced with his tightens as he speeds up the motions of his hips and with one last deep thrust, he joins you in falling apart.

Using this tender moment to pour his affection for you, he's whispering your name and kissing you softly, then slowly, he eases out of—

"No, don't!" Your hand grabs at his hips, hard, nails digging into the flesh, "Stay."

Obeying your words, Chan holds you close, limbs to limb, skin to skin, hearts lying so close to each other with mere flesh and bones in between. He doesn't know what this was, but it sure as hell was not fucking. He kisses you hard and soft to find out.

It's when he pulls away and looks into your eyes that he figures out the answer as the most incredible feeling of being loved washes over him.

When Chan wakes up the next morning. He registers the sunlight on his face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and the delicious smell of buttered toast and coffee, it's all around him and—

It just hits him that he's waking up on your sofa and he burrows into the blanket with a happy sigh once he recalls everything that happened last night to the tiniest details, summoning the butterflies to flutter around in his stomach.

The sound of your footsteps forces him to get out of his daze and he scrambles to get up when you walk past the sofa on your way to the kitchen.

"Morning!" He cheerily greets you while covering his naked lower half with the blanket.

Without looking and with your hands tying your hair, you fainty reply to his greeting, "Morning."

You didn't reply to his level of enthusiasm but that's okay, he just doesn't expect you to be this stoic this early in the day. Instead of searching for his sweatpants, he wraps the blanket around his hips like a towel and waddles his way to the kitchen.

"You're up early," he says, noticing that it's barely seven and he knows you usually leave for work a little after eight, sometimes close to nine.

"Early appointment. Have to do a client's hair. Wedding," you concisely explain as you quietly sip your coffee from a big red mug.

It's strange, the way you speak and how your eyes are looking anywhere but in his direction. For now, he's going to think that you're just tired and not fully meeting your dose of caffeine yet

"Okay, so what's for breakfast?" He asks, excitedly tapping the dining table with his hands and grinning at you.

"Toast and coffee," you say while standing on your toes to get a glass from the top cabinet.

"Anything but coffee, please?" He politely asks, watching you walk the other way to get a carton of orange juice out of the fridge.

It's a sunny day but the room shares the same temperature as the glass of orange juice you pour into his glass. He observantly watches you, searching for any clues whether this is how you are in the morning or something is actually off with you.

There's one way to know, first, he takes a small sip of his juice to help with his dry throat and then jabs around the topic, "Last night was fun, don't you think?"

There's no answer and he can't see your reaction toward it when you're standing with your back facing him and he begins to think that it's the latter.

"I'm thinking we should do this again next Friday but I'll get to pick what we're going to watch and you bring—"

"Chris, I'm sorry but..." You swiftly turn on your feet and check the time on the clock, "I have to leave now."

"Sure, yeah, you can't be late for a wedding," he playfully says while keeps searching for your eyes to make you look at him.

You walk around your apartment to gather your things, your phone, and your wallet, stuffing them into a purse. You grab another bag which he guesses is one you usually carry for work and that only confirms that you're indeed leaving for an appointment.

"You can stay for breakfast and use the spare keys to lock the door when you leave," you say those things in a hurry as you drag your bag to the foyer.

He turns on his chair to look at you as he jokes, "We've only slept together twice and you're already giving me your apartment keys?"

Unfortunately, the jokes fall short as he hears nothing but the sound of the knob turning and you're getting out of the apartment.

"Have a great day at work!" He shouts at you but all he gets in response is the door closing and then clicks in place.

Chan can't tell anymore if you're leaving for work or you're leaving him, but it feels like he's getting his karma for always being the one leaving in the morning.

It's wedding season and that explains why there are a lot of scribbles on your calendar, you have a lot of appointments to do this month, and you get so busy that he's hardly seeing you lately.

Work is one thing he can understand but you can't possibly work 24 hours a day without a day off, right? At one point, he should have caught you leaving or coming home from work, whichever it is, the chance never comes to him, not even once.

Chan begins to wonder if you're avoiding him, he knows because there's a slight difference to it and it's in the purpose. You've been purposely doing things to avoid him.

With an excuse prepared in his head, Chan comes knocking on your door the next Friday night. He's been keeping your spare keys and can easily let himself in but that would be impolite, he needs to be on your good side to earn your trust.

After a few times knocking with no answer, he lets himself in but not because he has the spare keys, the door is unlocked so he figures you must be at home and doing something that makes you unable to get the door.

"Anyone's home?" He shouts into the void in your living room and hesitantly walks further inside.

Hearing the loud humming of a hairdryer, he walks to your bedroom. Unexpectedly, you're coming out as he's about to walk in.

"Oh, God!" You gasp in surprise as you hold the front of your bathrobe together, "What are you doing here?"

In contrast, Chan laughs seeing your shell-shocked expression in his presence. He then crosses his arms together and leans the side of his body against the doorframe, not forgetting to wear his grin as he answers to you, "Just checking to see if my neighbor is alive."

"Well, I'm alive," You're talking as you're taking dresses out of your closet, "and I need your help."

Looking at your mood and the way you talk normally to him, he concludes that the thought that you've been purposely avoiding him was just a silly thought after all. Other than that, you need his help and he likes being needed by you.

"I'm at your service," Chan says, permitting himself to step into your bedroom and sit on the end of your bed.

You're standing in front of him, holding up two dresses in your hands, one is a white line dress with a v-neck and the other is a body-hugging velvet dress in a deep burgundy color. Both will look good on you but he needs to know one thing before he gives his vote.

"Are we going out tonight?" He playfully asks, feeling a buzz of excitement filling him.

You turn around to face the full-length mirror while holding the dress in front of you in turn to give you ideas on how it will look on you.

"I have a date," you tell him.

Hearing that, the excitement in his body vanishes in a second and is replaced by a cold shudder of panic. He tries to laugh it off in denial.

"A–a date?" He stammers.

"Uh-huh," You end up settling the dress situation yourself by choosing to go with the white linen dress, "Can you get out of my room so I can change?"

His subconscious has the tendency to obey you, he gets up from the bed and walks out of your room, and he lingers there by the door, contemplating whether he should push the conversation or not.

"With who?" He doesn't want to know but curiosity gets the best of him.

"A guy I met at one of the weddings," you share from inside your bedroom.

"Is this—" he pauses to swallow air, "Is this your first date?"

"Yes and I'm excited," your voice grows louder and soon, the door cracks open and you reveal yourself to him, "Now, tell me I made the right choice?"

He takes a staggering step backward and asks, "On the date or the dress?"

You take a look at yourself on the round mirror hanging on the wall, "Is it too casual? No?"

For a second, Chan forgets about the direness of the situation and takes a good look at you, the dress compliments your shape so well, the hem flares up like a blooming flower and the v-cut neckline offers a modest cleavage, perfect for a first date. If he has to be honest, even without the dress, it won't make you less comely but he hates that you look this good and it's not for him.

"You look... good," he tries to make it sound like your appearance doesn't make any impression on him.

You wipe the excess lipstick on the corner of your mouth then look over your shoulder, "And the date?"

He doesn't expect you to give him the chance to say something about it and obviously, he's going to try his best to intercept your plan.

"Don't you think it's too soon?" He follows you as you head back to your bedroom then stops at the doorway as you enter the bathroom after, "To get on a date."

You take off the hair rollers nestling on the crown of your hair and your hair flows down like big springs, then brush it down with your fingers.

"You told me yourself that I should get out there and find new love," you return his words to him.

That feels like he's just slapped himself in the face. Why did he tell you that? Oh, yeah, that's because he wants you to start opening up so he can let himself in and fill that position.

"But that's not– I just didn't think..." his words trailing off as he can't exactly explain the reason why he said it, not now at least.

You put all of your hair to the front then flip it all together to the back, you're shaking the end with your fingers, sending the sweet smell of your shampoo flying around in the room.

"Didn't think what?" You curiously ask as you apply a fresh coat of lipstick on your lips, the shade is bright red like a flamethrower.

"When I said you should start finding a new love, I was hoping that you could finally see me and..." he can't find another way of telling you without saying it out loud, "perhaps, you can find it in me."

That makes you stop whatever you're doing and turn around on your feet, leaning against the bathroom counter, you look at him in eerie silence, and then out of nowhere, a laugh bursts out of you.

"Chris, stop playing!" You brush past him on the way out of the bathroom.

He's trailing behind you as you pick up a purse from a collection of them in your closet, "I'm not playing," he assures you.

"Okay, yeah, I trust you," you half-heartedly respond, heading out and going to the foyer to pick your shoes next.

"Can you please look at me?" He pleads as he waits for you to make up your mind with your choice of shoes.

"Just look at me, please?" He begs again, desperately.

You take your chosen shoes and hold them in one hand as you hold his gaze, "Okay, I'm looking at you."

In those fierce eyes, Chan finds the courage to assess his feelings and tries to fathom them into words. He inhales air before letting it out in a long, low sigh.

"Don't go on that date," he demands.

"Why?"

"Because I want you here."

"Chris, that's not a good enough reason," you say with a low laugh.

He gently places his hands on each of your elbows and tenderly stares into your eyes, "Then go ahead, ask me that one question."

"What question?"

"Ask me what are we," he steadily holds your gaze even though he feels a whirlwind in his head and chaos stirring inside his chest.

You brush it off with a laugh, "Why should I ask you—"

"Just ask me the question!" He accidentally raises his voice at you and immediately lowers his voice after, he looks down to take a breather before looking back into your eyes, "Ask me what are we!"

It feels like an eternity waiting for you to ask him that but he has the patience and an answer to that, he only needs you to ask him that.

You drop the shoes onto the floor and take a step forward, you hold his gaze as he holds his breath. Deep down, he knows that you'd have to be blind to not see the light of affection in his eyes.

To his dismay, you unexpectedly retreat and pick up everything with you toward the door. With your back turned to him, you say, "I don't want to be late for the date."

It's been an hour since he came back from your apartment and he's still stuck in the denial stage. He's lying in the dark and stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, ignoring his phone that's been tirelessly blaring with notifications.

It's not a rejection if you don't give him a definite, abundantly clear answer, right? Besides, there's a chance that the guy blew the date and you can see that he's the better man. Is he though? Is he any better?

There are two ways to handle this situation. One, he can try to forget all about it, hit call back on one of the girls contacting him right now, get out of here, and distract himself with a physical release. Or two, wait because there's something in him that tells him to wait just a little longer.

But wait for what? Wait until you return from your date? Wait until he sees it happens, you with your new beau, all lovey-dovey next door?

It seems like he's finally progressed into the next stage: anger.

Every thought that crosses his head right now is not nice and he needs an outlet for this anger. He shoots up from the bed, he starts pacing back and forth in the room, hands balled into fists, he gets this urge to punch something, he wants to— No, he can't wait with this ugly feeling slowly taking over him and driving him insane.

"Fuck this," he curses out loud into the void in his apartment, he picks up his phone and texts someone about meeting up tonight.

While typing a text, knocking comes on his door, and whoever it is, they'd better not piss him off or— the knocking comes again, he exhales air out of his mouth to calm down and walks in heavy steps to get the door.

It seems as if his anger wasn't there in the first place, the second he opens the door and sees you, all of those nasty thoughts vanish into thin air.

You're carrying your shoes in one hand and the other is holding one side of the doorframe. You look at him with a smile ever so softly blooms on your face, "So..."

See? It wasn't a rejection. He just needed to wait a little longer and God, he was glad he did.

"So...?" He asks back, holding the urge to smile back at you.

You daringly stare into his eyes as you take a step into his apartment, "So... what are we, Chris?"

It's crazy how your magnetic field is so strong that he can't stand being this close to you and not touching you, his hesitant hands are reaching for you, they retreat and give, doing it for a while until you drop everything off your hands and put your hands around his shoulders. Indirectly permitted him to put his hands on you.

"What are we, mmh?" You ask again with your eyes flickering like they hold stars in them.

"We are..." he considers to let the truth out but what's the fun in that? He needs to get back at you for making him doubt everything earlier, "Neighbors."

"No," you shake your head in disagreement, "You're definitely going to say something else."

Luckily, he's strong enough to hold you steady as you put your whole weight against him, leaving not even an inch of gap between your bodies.

"Someone still has her panties in a twist," he playfully responds with his charming grin on, dimples and all.

"Shame on you because I don't have any panties on," you say with your small smile turning into a broad one.

His eyes widen in slight shock, and his hand automatically glides downward, landing a caress on the curve of your ass and slipping under the hem of your dress to check whether your words are true or not. His fingers edge at the lacy fabric of your underwear and it turns out to be the latter.

"Ugh, you're lying!" He groans in complaint but it doesn't make him less happy, he's elated, and his heart is about to burst.

"Partly."

"How so?"

"Because you're about to take them off," you shamelessly say.

Chan wants to let go of all the things that hold him back. He brings both of your lips together, he kisses you like you're oxygen and he's short on air. He runs his hands down your back to your hips, cupping your sweet ass, and pulls you even closer. You struggle to get closer as he kisses you deep and hard your head tilted to the back, you weave your fingers through his hair as you pour yourself into the kiss.

Everything that happened before this is in the past now, all he knows now is your taste and the hot sighs of your breath, and then this irrepressible want to devour you.

"I'm going to carry you to bed," Chan's plush lips brushing yours as he speaks.

The idea of carrying you to bed is highly appealing to him at the moment. He likes holding you and as messed up as it was, he wants to throw you onto the bed, in the most respectful way.

"Then what are you waiting for, kangaroo boy?"

A sharp gasp escapes your mouth as he swoops you into his arms and carries you in the direction of the bedroom. You have your arms looped around his neck to hold onto and place kisses along his jaw all the way to his bedroom.

Instead of throwing you onto the bed like he planned, he throws both of you onto the bed and it quakes, he immediately props an elbow against the mattress to not put his weights on you.

"God, you're so beautiful," his sigh tells how overwhelmed he is by what he's seeing and what a privilege that he's able to place kisses on such beauty.

When you try to gasp a mouthful of air, he breathes it into you with his hand resting on your jaw, you look up at him, and a starburst of emotion expands inside him. He thinks you see it in his eyes because you softly smile at him.

Giving you time to breathe, he shifts his focus elsewhere, he kisses and sucks on your neck, all the while his hands are keeping your body closely pressed against him, making you aware of the firm flesh prodding your crotch through his blue jeans.

The next thing is his mouth searching for the source of the heat and your body goes into total system failure as his mouth inches closer to where you want him. Between your thighs, you flush and tingle with wanting.

"This smell..." he hums as he buries his nose in your clothed sex, making you able to feel every sharp intake of air he inhales through his nose.

He pries his mouth open and plants it on your heating wetness, not caring about the lacy fabric that blocks him from tasting it raw.

"Mmh..." he deeply hums again, almost like the low roar of a wild animal hunting at night, "I want this smell all over me."

The intensity of your desire frightens and embarrasses you at the same time, you need a little control but control is gone when Chan tugs the waistband of your underwear between his teeth and begins to pull it down your legs.

He places his hands on the back of your thighs and slowly, lifts both of your legs upward as he keeps biting your underwear. You're watching as he tries to take it off of you with such determination.

Once he succeeds, he grabs the underwear from between his teeth and holds it up to show you his latest conquest, "Twisted panties no more," he says with a sly grin.

Instead of tossing it aside, he puts the underwear into the back pocket of his jeans, "I'm keeping it."

There are so many layers of clothing keeping him from feeling your skin but he can start by removing his t-shirt, having no problems showing you his taut muscles and his pale skin that reddens around the chest, neck, and both ears.

Next, Chan grabs your knees, he pulls them apart to bare your sex to his eyes and his chest expands on a sharp inhalation. The look on his face tells it all, he wants you, he wants you so bad that he swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

It's the first time that he gets to see it open and bare, gushing with essence, tantalizing. He leisurely takes his time to admire it while plotting things he wants to do to it.

He rubs his hands down the sides of your thighs and lowly sighs, without his eyes straying away from the sight between your legs, he says, "You have the prettiest little—”

He thinks he's imagining it but he's not the only one hearing knocks on his apartment door. Sensing someone else's presence, your legs instinctively shut and you pull the hem of your dress down.

"Chris, are you expecting someone?" You ask with your forehead wrinkled in question.

"No," he shortly answers, he doesn't want you to think that he's waiting for someone else other than you, "I don't—"

The knocking comes again a while later, a little too aggressive that both of you can't ignore it anymore.

"Someone is knocking on your door," you say.

"Yeah, but I swear, I don't—"

You place your hand on his waist and look at him, "well, then, get the door and find out."

He'd rather have someone sawing him off of you than having to voluntarily get away from you, whoever this person is will be responsible for what's not going down at this moment.

"Only if you promise you won't change your mind," he tells you with a sly smirk.

"If you don't hurry and get the door, I might," you say back.

"Stay still. Don't move. Not even an inch," he pecks your lips for every warning with both hands cupping your face. He plants another long peck on your lips before dashing toward the front door and thinking of just sending this person away so he can get back to you.

This is where he makes a mistake. He doesn't check through the peephole and opens the door right away, having the faintest idea that catastrophe awaits on the other side of the door.

"Ah, there you are!" The girl says, jumping at him and immediately locking lips with him.

It happens so fast that by the time Chan registers it, the girl pulls away but keeps her arms looped around his shoulders.

"I came here as soon as I received your text," she grabs his chin and kisses his slacked-open mouth, "I hope I didn't make you wait long."

On the other end of the room, he hears your footsteps coming and soon, you come into his sight. You look so calm and he'd prefer a raging sea because with calm water, he never really knows what he's dealing with.

With an enigmatic smile, you look at him and say, "You know what, Chris? I change my mind."

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@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @yourmomscuntis2tighy @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @armystay89 @tirena1 @modesttiger

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut

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angel5ofp0rn · 4 months ago

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thinking about the 141 as daddies of babies with afro hair 🙂‍↕️

Gaz would know the basics, naturally, and would take the extra time to make sure his babies always have their hair right. he reminds them how beautiful their hair is and how important it is to take the extra time and care to keep it healthy. if you’re not used to caring for their hair type, he’s very patient in teaching you the basics and hypes you up every time you do their hair on your own.

Price would shyly stumble into a black salon and ask for tips and tutorials on how to care for his children’s hair. he’d make sure he had all the right tools, products, accessories, etc. and make sure he knows how to use them. he does a piss poor job at styling it, and you always end up having to fix it anyway, but at least he tries.

Soap goes all in. he has his babies sat in front of him, and a youtube tutorial in front of them both, and he’s putting in the work. tongue sticking out as he braids and twists and, surprisingly, it turns out better than anyone expected— except him. he was confident from the get go. now it’s your turn, bonnie; boho braids or knotless box braids? i saw a lass earlier with her hair like this—

Ghost is standing by the shampoo bowl, arms crossed, at his children’s biweekly hair appointment telling the hairdresser that money is no object, just make his babies happy. he’s stocking up on bonnets, silk pillow cases, whateverthefuck that is that makes their hair smell so good and makes his li’l girl’s curls look shiny, the way she likes. he has their ipads charged up for their long appointments and is going in and out of the salon to fetch various snacks and drinks for the kids and the hairstylists taking care of them.

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koolades-world · 1 year ago

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Powerful men

oh my god the fact that any of the brothers and datables could ruin the lives of anyone who wrongs you is so hot to me

the idea of the pure power and influence they hold used just used for little old me instead of something actually productive makes me weak in the knees

if you go down the list, each of them is terrifying in their own way and you have them wrapped around your finger

Lucifer is Diavolo’s right hand man and single handed manages so many things, including six of his brothers that are all very power demons

Mammon has influence over everything money

Levi is Hell’s Admiral

Satan was literally birthed from Lucifer’s rage and has connections in every part of the Devildom

Asmo is not only famous as the avatar of lust, but also online meaning he has a horde of crazy dedicated fans and man’s greater weakness at his disposal

Beel is a beefcake of a man and will eat anything without flinching, including almost you

Belphie rules the dreamworld and arguably had the least amount of restraint among his brothers

Diavolo is literally the next in like to be king and has an inconceivable amount of grim at the tips of his fingers

Barbatos can alter time, space, and any destiny at will with something as simple as a thought and hand movement

Solomon has 46(? don’t remember exactly how many) demons in a pact with him including Barbatos and Asmo and is a very powerful sorcerer

Simeon has the influence of an angel and the power of all that is heavenly on his side, as well as Lucifer

all it takes is for one of them to find out, then the fate of whoever wronged you has been sealed. I like to think it’s a collaborative effort

the demon that made fun of you in RAD mysteriously vanished, that thorn in your side at your part time job is suddenly much nicer, and that one rude hairstylist at your favorite salon is fired for some reason

it’s so insane how all of them are likely willing to go that far for a human that was chose at random for an exchange program that wasn’t meant to last more than a year

the writing potential is endless

#obey me #obey me!#obey me satan #obey me x reader #obey me asmo #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me mc

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httpsserene · 1 year ago

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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances.

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done? he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals.

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you.

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not.

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone.

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls.

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down.

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body.

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

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saintslewis · 22 days ago

Text

forever yours: the series | 44

— series.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x black oc, lindokuhle lee vilakazi

summary: work just never ends for lee, even during her down time but hey? more money and possibly more connections.

warnings for this chapter: cussing, outfit descriptions, social media.

saint’s team radio 🪽: first chapter! hope y’all enjoy 🤍

pls like, comment and reblog!

taglist down below!

dividers from @cafekitsune

ATLANTA, GA

The smell of hair straighteners burning through each bundle filled Lee with some sort of comfort, knowing she was going to walk out of this salon with a fresh do and a check on her maintenance to-do list.

It wasn’t that exciting of a race that she’d have to go to in a few days time. Austria. Not always the most fun of grand prixs but it fills a gap for the ever growing f1 calendar. She looked straight ahead at the mirror watching the hairstylist work her magic in the prestigious looking salon Lee had seen on instagram.

The stylists here were nosy, trying to be all up in people’s businesses including that of customers. Lee had no time to take no bullshit but she knew the lady was still working on her head, something she knew she couldn’t afford to mess up. Her phone became boring after some time even seeing a few messages from her assistant and her niece’s babysitter/ au pair.

“Hold up, hold up!” A voice yelled out in the salon with excitement in the tone. “Don’t I know you from somewhere, girl?”

Lee hoped and prayed that they weren’t talking to her. They couldn’t be. She wasn’t all that known except in the f1/sports community. “Yeah, you look real familiar, girl!” And in the corner of her eye, she saw another hairstylist plop down on the seat next to her with the biggest grin on her face. “Kya! Remember that girl I showed you with that fine ass man two weeks ago?” The lady shouted over to someone else.

Oh God. Lee immediately knew what this was about. It’s all anyone recognised her for the past few weeks. During the week of the Canadian Grand Prix, someone compiled a bunch of vids that included Lee and the sport’s greatest, Lewis Hamilton lookin cozy. First, it was the camera pointed to Lee during the race and of course she had to admit, her makeup looked good that day.

Then it was when a couple of fans saw them walking together through the paddock to their respective cars, laughing and a hug that lasted a little longer than usual and that had the internet going ballistic.

Forcing a smile, Lee gathered the energy to speak when the lady was done speaking. “Yeah! That’s her! That nigga looked rich, girl. That’s your man or what because if not, a sister could use a little lovin.” The woman laughed, causing a ripple effect in the salon, hairstylists and patrons alike.

To be messy or to not be messy? It’s not like she’s ever going to see these people ever again.

“We’re not a thing. He’s just a close friend but if you want, I’ll put in a good word for ya.” Lee spoke, already feeling the heat of the hot comb a little too close to her scalp through the wig cap.

The woman stared at her then smiled. “You a real one! And your accent is cute as hell.” She got up and left Lee’s side to her other friends and Lee sighed in relief. She’s been asked that very question one too many times in the past few weeks.

Sitting for another 30 minutes, Lee finally got up, paid and left the salon feeling all brand new. Of course she spared smiles and laughs with the hairstylists but she’s never wanted to get out of there quicker. The noise and heat was just overstimulating her senses. She still tipped though, you don’t get champagne at every hair salon.

“Yes, Santana?” Lee answered the phone, settling into her car seat of her rental. She’ll admit it, she did splurge on the rental but it’s not like she had anything to lose. Although the Maybach did fuel some unnecessary rumours.

“Lee, oh my goodness! I’ve been trying to reach you. Anyways, Lewis’ publicist and I were speaking and he’d like for you to speak in his segment for Drive to Survive in Austria. He arranged a whole thing.” Santana spoke through the phone, sounding like she was in the city.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she thought over of it for a second. “You know what? Sure. I know there’s gonna be a bit of a schedule change though for me, right?” Lee asked, fastening her seatbelt and connecting her phone to the car speaker so she could pull out of the parking space.

“Yeah, you’d be missing that SkySports segment with Danica about Red Bull and VCARB. So it’s all up to you-”

“Absolutely cancel that shit. I’ll speak to Lewis more about the deets but thank you, Santana. See you at the airport, yeah?” She turned into a drive thru of some fast food restaurant, she was too hungry to even focus.

The two wrapped up the convo and within 10 minutes, Lee got her food. Deciding to not eat in the car, she sped through to her airbnb and hopped out. Setting her phone on the kitchen island, she facetimed Lewis rather so she could eat.

“You still in Spain? I know those clouds from anywhere.” She joked once the call connected and she could see his confused face pop up on the screen. “Matter of fact, I’m in London but I’ll let you have that one.” Lewis smiled, finding a spot to sit down so he could have her whole attention.

“Listen, I’m hearing that you wanted me to speak with Netflix?” Lee unpacked her food order and laid it out in front of her.

He furrowed his eyebrows a bit before realising what she was talking about. “Oh um, yeah. Wanted to get through to you professionally and all that. Need someone on my side, y’know?” He cleared his throat, making his voice slightly raspy.

“My whole career is based around supporting you, Lewis. So I don’t mind, you know I got it. They want me to say some shit about your move to Ferrari?” Lee looked at the screen as she drank her soda.

Lewis nodded, his eyes slightly squinted under his cap. “I know it’s been a recurring topic but I just wanted someone who’ll be positive all the way through the segment.” He scratched his beard.

“Okay, no problem. I’ll talk to those directors then because they tried to talk to me earlier. You know I was supposed to work with Danicka before I heard of your thing?” Lee chuckled in disbelief, biting into a spoonful her grilled chicken bowl.

“You look good.” He spoke, smiling when he saw her being taken aback at his compliment. “Thank you? I got my hair done today, this is what Austria will see on their screens. But did you hear what I said?” Lee raised her eyebrow at the man.

Lewis chuckled before answering. “I heard, love but I don’t want to talk about her or any of them. Tell me, how are you getting to Austria?”

Pausing her hand on the spoon, she looked at him. “No, Lewis, I will not be flying with you. We’ve already got enough rumours as it is. Plus, I don’t wanna step on nobody’s toes.” Lee went back to stabbing through her food.

“Should I ask you again? I rather like the back and forth with you.” Lewis giggled, seeing her eyes dart to the screen once again. “Whatever you say, I’ll just smile and nod.”

She rolled her eyes. He was unbelievable. “Whatever you say, Mr Hamilton. I’ll see you in Austria next week.” Lee smiled, eating another spoonful of her food. He sighed and now it was his turn to roll his eyes at her stubbornness.

The two continued speaking on the Netflix interviews and how the directors would twist their words for the sake of good television. The conversation didn’t last too long because Lewis had other things to tend to whilst Lee would appreciate eating her lunch peacefully without him teasing her about looking like a chipmunk while she had food in her mouth.

RED BULL RING, AUSTRIA

Her heels were surprisingly comfortable for their first wear. The small chair that Netflix provided was a bit cold but luckily she didn’t have to be there for too long before she returned to SkySports to film something within the paddock.

The film crew assistant’s hands were shaking as he tried to mic Lee up. Because of how much time it took to get the mic strapped, some people got the nerve to walk up to her in her most peaceful time in the paddock.

“You know, I’ve always thought you looked super intimidating with your heels on! Like you’re a villain or something.” A loud, agitating voice with a side of clacking sandals invaded her personal space even more than the man strapping up the mic on her back.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Lee gave Danicka a sharp look, one that said ‘shut up or you’ll get your ass beat’, and fixed the sleeves or her blazer. It didn’t take too long for everything to be set before beginning her solo segment on something the RedBulls were doing this weekend.

Damn, I need a shot. Or more money to motivate me

So focused on her inner thoughts while watching the playback video of her segment, she got knocked out of it by a tap on her shoulder. Once she felt the tap and it awoke her senses, she also heard the cheers and murmurs surrounding her. It could only be one person.

“Good morning, Lewis.” Lee said to her dear friend, who loved to do this surprising thing lately, as she stood up straight. The man was always in awe when he locked eyes with her. “Mornin’ Lee. I’ll see you later for our thing, yeah?” He smiled, his eyes probably crinkling behind his sunglasses.

“We have a thing?” Her eyebrows furrowed, her nose scrunching up a tiny bit before letting go. A little trait of hers that Lewis loves so much. “You need to check your emails more, sweetheart.” He winked, she just knew he did, behind the designer sunnies before walking away, tucking his hands back into his pockets.

What she could not explain was why her stomach did the thing when he winked. When she smelled his delicious cologne and surprisingly loving his Adam Sandler-esque tracksuit.

“Uh Lee? Are you okay?” The cameraman, Josh, stood up straight and asked his friend in concern. Snapping out of it, she looked at Josh. “Huh? Oh, yeah I’m good. Just fine.” She reassured him, looking back at the direction Lewis went, knowing very well that he left a while ago.

Josh then had a smirk on his face. “Right. What’d your boyfriend say?” He teased, feeling a smack on his arm a second later. “Don’t start with me, Josh. Don’t even think about it, yoh.” She warned, stepping back to the front of the camera to finish up her work.

saint’s notes 🧝🏽‍♀️: wellllll this is a small small introduction to the mini series and how their lil friendship goes! Lewis is a yearnerrrr in this one but that’s alright 🤭 hope you guys enjoyed!

🫧 tagslist: @mauvecherie-writes @chaneajoyyy @alika-4466 @queenshikongo3 @serpenttines @emjayewrites @exotic-iris13 @yeea-nah @vsfavs @motheroffae @h4vertzz @arshiyuh @henneseyhoe @cocobutterqwueen @gwenda-fav @httpsserene @peyiswriting @saturnville @purplelewlew @greedyjudge2 @sunfairyy @marvel-hotchner @boujiestpoet @f1-football-fiend @shhhchriss @jewel-diva44 @pickingupmymercedes @tian-monique

🫧 dividers: @cafekitsune

#saint writes #forever yours: the series #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton fanfics #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x black!oc #f1 x oc #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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literaryvein-reblogs · 14 hours ago

Text

Writing Notes: Hair Types & Haircuts

Hair Type - refers to the attributes that make up your natural hair’s appearance and feel.

Your hair type depends on genetics, which dictates the following factors:

Dryness: As with skincare, moisture is essential for your hair’s health. Dry hair produces less oil on average. Some hairs might be greasier than others, especially after physical activity, and produce more natural oils. Special shampoos and deep-conditioning products can help with oil buildup to dry out and temper your hair’s oil production. You can also use serums or leave-in conditioners to boost hydration.

Texture: In terms of hair texture, the four main hair looks are straight, wavy, curly, and coily. Genetics can determine the shape of your hair follicles, which results in one or a combination of these different textures.

Thickness: Thick hair means your scalp produces hair in a higher density, while thin hair means there is more significant negative space between each hair follicle. Thin hair is not always a sign of hair loss or unhealthy hair; some people naturally have fine hair.

Types of Hair

The hair care industry categorizes hair into four types plus additional subcategories.

Knowing your hair type can help you choose mousses, hair masks, and other care products that can help strengthen your cuticles and improve hair strand health to prevent breakage.

Learn what defines each type and how they differ from one another:

Type 1: Straight hair, type 1, features round follicles, grows flat, and lies flat on the scalp. Type 1A hair is straight and fine, while type 1B has more volume and might hold more curls. Type 1C is thick and coarse, which can lead to frizzing.

Type 2: Wavy hair, type 2, has oblong follicles and grows in a slight zigzag pattern. Wavy hair can frizz in heat and humidity, making it look even curlier than usual. Type 2A wavy hair is fine and forms an “S” shape when it’s dry. Type 2B features waves at the mid-length, while type 2C is thicker and prone to extreme frizziness.

Type 3: Curly hair, type 3, has oval-shaped follicles that produce tighter curls than those of wavy hair. Curl patterns will vary in shape and size. Type 3A hair features loose, spiral curls, whereas type 3B has slightly tighter springs. Type 3C describes tight curls with a thicker texture.

Type 4: Coily hair is Type 4. Coily hair features coils, a tightly packed curl type resembling ringlets or corkscrews. These tight curls lend a heavier density to hair. Type 4A has defined coils, while type 4B has a crimped pattern. Type 4C is coily hair with a thick texture.

Hair Porosity

Hair porosity describes hair’s ability to absorb moisture.

The float test measures this porosity.

After brushing your hair, remove a single strand and place it in a bowl of warm water to see if it has low, medium, or high porosity:

Low porosity: If the hair strand floats in the water, it has a low porosity level, meaning it does not retain moisture well and needs hair care products for extra care. Avoid using oils, which will sit on top of the strands and not absorb well.

Medium porosity: If your hair sinks to the bottom, it has medium porosity. It takes in moisture easily and retains it fairly well. Your hair could benefit, if you desire, from the use of medium-weight products that will help it better maintain moisture.

High porosity: If your strand of hair sinks to the bottom of the water, it has high porosity. It takes in moisture easily but might not be able to retain it for long. Use deep conditioners and repair treatments, such as hair masks.

Tips for Styling Different Hair Types

Each hair type requires special hair care and styling products. Ask your hairstylist for their recommendations, and follow these tips:

Dry your hair type correctly. If you have straight hair, dry it before bed and use natural hair products to keep frizz at bay. You can blow-dry wavy hair to give it a fuller look and style it in the direction of your natural wave pattern. For curly hair, avoid heat-styling methods as they can damage the hair cuticles. Towel-dry coily hair after showering to remove excess water. Since this hair type is already dry, avoid using blow dryers—air-drying it reduces the risk of breakage.

Keep a hair care routine. Different types of hair require different schedules of care. For example, straight, thin hair requires more frequent washing—about three times a week—than other types to control oil production. People with tight coils can wash their hair once a week to prevent breakage.

Use the right products. Using the best products for your hair type is essential to maintain hair health. For example, coily hair is the driest type of hair. Apply deep conditioners weekly. Curly hair has less natural oil and benefits from the use of a sulfate-free shampoo, which moisturizes the hair.

Haircuts for Thin Hair

The best haircuts for naturally thin hair accentuate the face shape while making the hair appear more luscious.

Asymmetrical pixie cut: As a dramatic take on the classic pixie cut, the asymmetrical pixie uses a deep side part to make thin strands sit higher on the head. This short haircut is a low-maintenance style that adds volume and shape to fine hair types. Hairstylists also recommend angling the side part according to your face structure, so your hair highlights your natural features.

Long bob: Also known as a lob, a long bob is a twist on the traditional bob haircut. The style extends the classic blunt bob to the collarbone or just shorter than shoulder-length. Unlike other types of bobs that incorporate different layers, the long bob is a one-length look. Long bobs work well for fine, straight hair since the flat hair strands show off the blunt cut. The blunt ends also add body to thinner hair and complement heart-shaped faces.

Layers: Face-framing layers, such as side bangs and mid-length angles, add extra volume and give the illusion of thick hair. If you wear ponytails, braids, or messy buns, opt for long layers to ensure the ends of your hair tie back. Adding layers to chin-length cuts also make the hair appear thicker, but these types of short hairstyles are more challenging to style in an updo.

Shag: For a low-maintenance look, consider styling fine hair with a shag haircut. With its choppy layers, shags makes thin hair appear thicker. Add a spritz of sea salt spray followed by a mist of hair spray to create tousled beach waves. Wavy hair is a signature feature of the messy shag and adds volume to thin locks.

Wispy bangs: Straight curtain bangs weigh down fine hair and make strands appear thinner. Opt for loose, wispy bangs along a middle part if you want to add bangs to your hair look. Apply a dime-sized amount of pomade to dry hair before separating your bangs and taming flyaways.

How to Style Naturally Thin Hair

Follow these hair care and styling tips to add volume and texture to your naturally fine hair:

Choose a layered look. If you have medium-length or long hair, opt for a hairstyle that adds height, such as a half-up, half-down look. For curly hair, consider using curlers or a curling iron to touch up the top layers of your hair. Defining these top curls adds volume and movement to your hairline.

Gently comb damp hair. Thin hair is more prone to breakage and hair loss than thicker hair types. To detangle your hair without causing split ends, let your hair air-dry most of the way, and instead of using a hairbrush, use a wide-toothed comb to brush your damp hair and detangle your ends.

Only condition the ends of your hair. While conditioner is nourishing and hydrating, too much of it can weigh down fine hair. To avoid saturating your hair with products, apply a nickel-sized amount of conditioner to the ends of your hair. As a general rule, always use conditioner on the bottom half of your hair, as it’s too heavy for the scalp region.

Opt for lightweight hair products. Heavy products weigh down thin hair and cause greasiness. Using the right products helps promote healthy natural hair growth and creates the illusion of thicker hair. Instead of oils and hair moisturizers, opt for lightweight mousses, texturizing sprays, and dry shampoos. These types of volumizing products minimize sebum buildup, reduce frizz, and lift the upper half of your hair for added volume.

Rough-dry your hair. Blow-drying your hair is another way to enhance naturally thin hair. If you have medium-length hair with long layers, consider getting a blowout to define your layers and increase volume. For shorter haircuts with minimal layers, opt for the rough-dry technique, which lets the hair shafts partially air-dry before styling with a blow-dryer. This DIY blowout method uses your fingers instead of a round brush to tousle and scrunch the hair as you move the blow-dryer around your scalp. Pushing the hair shafts up with your fingers is a quick way to enhance your hair texture and create natural volume.

How to Style Curly Hair

Arguably the most important part of styling curly hair is the way you treat it beforehand. Follow these curly hair tips for great-looking, bouncy curls all day long.

Comb wet hair from the bottom up. Your curly hair will detangle best if you start at the tips and comb up toward the roots. Always use a wide-tooth comb and gently work your way through small sections, detangling any knots as you go. Comb while your hair is still wet to allow your curls to dry in their natural curl pattern.

Deep condition once a week. Use a deep-conditioning hair mask designed for your hair texture once a week to restore luster to your curls and lock in moisture. For extra moisture, apply the conditioner to dry hair and cover with a shower cap for twenty minutes, then shampoo and condition as usual.

Dry with a T-shirt or microfiber towel. Use a T-shirt or microfiber towel to dry your hair. Terrycloth towels are rough on curly hair and can create frizz and breakage, while T-shirts and microfiber towels are softer and gentler on curls. You can also let your hair air-dry, or try “plopping,” which involves placing your hair in a mound atop your head and then wrapping it in a T-shirt to dry.

Find the right hair products. Use a shampoo and conditioner designed for curly hair. If you have dry hair, aim for sulfate-free shampoos that won’t strip nutrients from your curls and use a moisturizing conditioner. Look for styling products that are good for your hair type: Coconut oil will de-frizz, a leave-in conditioner will hydrate, and a mousse or curl cream will add body to fine hair.

Trim your hair regularly. Split ends create frizzy hair. To keep your hairstyle looking smooth and bouncy, visit your hairstylist regularly for a trim. Ask your stylist how often you should come in for a trim and follow their recommendation.

Protect your curls at night. If you want to keep your curls from getting flattened or frizzy while you sleep, try the “pineapple trick” by gathering your hair at the top of your head in a soft scrunchie or hair tie to hold it together in a loose bun. Sleeping on a silk pillowcase will prevent tangling and frizz while you sleep.

Use a curling iron. If your hair refuses to cooperate, a curling iron will help you get rogue curls back in place. Use a curling iron that’s the same diameter as your curl type.

Use a curl-refreshing spray. A curl-refresher hair spray will give you bouncy ringlets after a night of sleep. Make your own out of warm water and leave-in conditioner, or purchase a spray designed for this purpose. Spritz liberally and scrunch your hair with your hand to create defined curls.

Use a diffuser to add body. When you want to blow-dry your hair, use a diffuser attachment on your blow dryer to avoid direct heat, which can cause frizz. Spray a thermal heat protectant in your hair before drying to protect your curls from heat damage. Always blow-dry your hair upside down to retain the body.

Tips to Treat Straight Hair

Using the proper techniques and hair products for naturally straight hair helps nourish and strengthen the follicles, combatting split ends and promoting healthy growth. Follow these tips to care for straight hair:

Condition regularly: To prevent breakage and dry ends, apply a moisturizing oil to the ends of dry or wet hair. If you have long straight hair, also consider using a conditioner with hydrating ingredients, such as argon, rosemary, or coconut oil to prevent frizz and flyaways.

Use heat protectant products: If you use a curling iron, straightener, or hair dryer on a consistent basis, apply heat protectant products to prime and protect your hair from heat damage.

Wash every other day: Unlike wavy or curly hair types, straight hair requires more frequent washes. Since the hair shafts are flat, oil buildup slides down the ends of the hair more easily, resulting in greasy hair. To prevent straight hair from laying flat and looking oily, wash your hair every other day with a sulfate-free shampoo.

Haircuts for Naturally Straight Hair

Straight hair types can pull off sleek styles with sharp edges. Here are some of the best haircuts to highlight your naturally straight locks:

A-line bob: This blunt cut is a twist on the classic bob. Known for its gradual slope, the A-line bob is shorter in the back and longer in the front. Straight hair works well with an A-line look since the flat hair shafts show off the angled hairline.

Long bob: Also known as a lob, a long bob highlights heart-shaped faces. Unlike a traditional bob haircut, which falls around chin-length, a long bob ends just above the shoulders. This blunt bob look also works well for blowouts.

Pixie cut: For fine hair, choosing a haircut with a deep side part is a way to add volume. A short pixie cut is an edgy hairstyle that typically uses a hard part to add height to the hair look. Defined by short layers on the back of the head and longer layers on top, the pixie cut is a low-maintenance look for straight hairstyles.

Side-swept bangs: Another cut that offers various styling options for straight hair is one with side-swept bangs. This look adds shape and volume to thin hair and round faces. Side-swept bangs also work for different hair lengths, so you can incorporate these bangs into a long or mid-length hairstyle.

Undercut: If you have thick hair and prefer a short haircut, consider styling your straight hair as an undercut. This trendy style has short sides that frame a long top piece, creating a striking look. You can play with the top layer of hair, styling it slicked back with a pomade or letting it hang down naturally across your forehead.

How to Style Straight Hair

Depending on the length of your hair and face shape, you can style straight hair with different grooming techniques.

Short hair: Use pomades and hairspray to style shorter hair. Applying these types of styling products prevents frizz and helps your style lasts throughout the day. When using a pomade on short haircuts, apply a dime-size amount to your hair to create a slick hair texture. Stylists also recommend using a lightweight moisturizer on skin fades to prevent the back of your head from becoming dry and irritated. You can use texturizing sprays and mousse to add volume to short hairstyles and incorporate dry shampoo into your hair routine to prevent oil buildup.

Medium-length hair: If you have mid-length hair, you can style your hair up or down. Casual updos, such as low ponytails and side braids, work well with straight, medium hair. You can dress these easy hairstyles up with a colorful barrette or hair tie. For a twist on your natural hair look, add a spritz of sea salt spray and let your hair air-dry to create tousled beach waves. Finish this wavy hair look with a thin layer of hairspray.

Long hair: To prevent tangling and split ends, use a boar-bristle brush or wide-toothed comb on damp hair. When blow-drying long straight hair, use alligator clips to divide sections of hair into manageable pieces and style with a round brush. You can try several long hairstyles, including half-up looks or updos like messy buns, high ponytails, or intricate braids. To style bangs with longer hair, use a blow-dryer and round brush, combing your hair away from your forehead.

Bob Haircut - a short style that frames your face and ends near your jawline.

This versatile hairstyle suits different hair types.

A bob creates a sleek look for thin hair and helps tame thicker tresses.

Different variations of the bob incorporate fringe, layers, and face-framing angles to add movement and shape.

Types of Bob Haircuts

Bob haircuts complement different face shapes and styles. Hairstylists cut long and short hair into the following bob variations:

A-line bob: This chic hairstyle features an angled cut. Shorter in the back and longer in the front, the A-line bob adds volume with its gradual slope. Consider opting for an A-line bob if you have a square face.

Classic bob: Also known as a blunt bob, this short hairstyle is a simple cut that remains the same length around the base of the hair. The blunt cut gives the face a round look, balancing the appearance of long face shapes.

Lob: Also known as a “long bob,” a lob is a longer version of the classic bob. Lobs end around shoulder-length and suit all face shapes. You can use a middle part to create a modern look or style your long bob with a deep side part to add volume. Lobs are a great option if you have long hair and want to try a short haircut while still keeping some length.

Layered bob: This short bob style uses choppy layers to add body and movement to the cut. If you have straight, fine hair, a layered bob gives the illusion of voluminous, thick hair.

Shaggy bob: Known for its razor cut, the shaggy bob is a bouncy, textured bob that features rough layers. Wispy fringe or side bangs are other common elements of shaggy bobs. This tousled, messy bob style is a low-maintenance look.

How to Style a Bob Haircut

While most bobs are too short to tie into an updo, there are many other styling techniques you can use to enhance the look of your bob haircut. Here are styling tips for different hair types:

Curly hair: Maintaining a curly bob involves preventing frizz and enhancing your natural hair texture. Apply a dime-size amount of styling cream to damp hair, gently scrunching the product into your curls. This application method defines your curls and helps prevent frizz. Avoid brushing your hair, as this crimps curls and causes flyaways. If you need to detangle your curls before styling them, use a wide-tooth comb and remove knots gently when your hair is wet. Finish the look with hair clips or a headband.

Straight hair: Unlike curly hair, which has natural volume, straight hair can appear flat. To enhance the look of your straight bob, apply a texturizing spray, dry shampoo, or mousse to your hair to add volume, or use a round brush when blow-drying your hair. Start with the bottom sections, gently curling the layers as you blow-dry, and apply a lightweight hairspray to make your blowout last throughout the day.

Wavy hair: For wavy hair types, play with your hair’s natural texture to create the tousled look of beachy waves. Add a spritz of sea salt spray to your hair, scrunching your wavy bob to accentuate your hair. You can also use a curling iron to touch up your beach waves—just apply a heat protectant spray to prep your hair.

Shag - a haircut defined by choppy layers, tousled volume, and wispy bangs.

As a versatile hairstyle, the shag is adaptable to different hair types and lengths.

The classic shag features soft beach waves, but variations on the shag style include the undercut shag, which has a razor-cut side shave, the wolf cut, and the shag mullet, which combines long layers in the back with shorter layers in the front.

You can have a straight or curly shag haircut and different length cuts, from long hair that extends beyond your shoulders to just above the collarbone (like a lob, or long bob haircut).

Wolf Cut - a hairstyle that features choppy layers on top and longer layers around the sides of your head.

Inspired by the retro rock 'n' roll look popular throughout the 1970s, this cut concentrates volume on the top half of the head, becoming thinner toward the hair ends.

The signature fringe of the wolf cut ends around brow length; however, you can customize the length of your bangs according to your face shape.

Straight, wavy, and curly hair types can create the type of tousled, bouncy lift that defines the voluminous wolf haircut.

If you have a naturally wavy or curly wolf cut, use a curl cream to add definition to your locks.

For straight hair, add a texturizing spray to create body and movement.

The wolf cut look also suits different hair lengths, so you can adapt this style into a long or short haircut.

Types of Hair Clips

Regardless of your hairstyle and whether you have straight or curly hair, there are different types of hair clips to help maintain your look throughout the day.

Alligator clips: Unlike other types of clips, alligator hair clips function as a temporary piece to hold hair back during haircuts or styling. Alligator clips have a unique pinch style that grips hair and prevents it from slipping out of the clip. Since alligator clips have a strong clasp, hairstylists use them to hold curls in place and pin hair off the face.

Banana clips: Known for their unique shape, banana clips have a row of stretchy teeth enclosed by two flexible pieces of plastic. Popular during the 80s, banana hair clips create a voluminous ponytail. You can also use a banana clip to secure a French braid or bun hairdo.

Bobby pins: As a versatile, lightweight clip, bobby pins are a staple hair accessory. Both thick and thin hair types can use bobby pins. You can use them to create messy buns or clip bangs back. Depending on how you position the bobby pins, you can either display them or hide them in your hair.

Claw clip: Also known as jaw clips, claw clips are a hair accessory made with a single clamp and row of teeth. Claw hair clips range in size depending on the number of teeth; however, most claw clips can hold a large section of hair. You can use a claw clip to replace a hair tie and create an elegant French twist or a classic half-up, half-down look. Butterfly clips are small claw clips that look like a butterfly.

Duckbill clips: Similar to alligator clips, duckbill clips are for haircuts or styling rather than for use as an everyday fashion accessory. Made with a large, flat prong, duckbill clips divide the hair into sections so stylists can easily cut and style hair. Using duckbill clips also makes the blow-drying and styling process easier if you do your hair at home.

French barrette: Unlike other types of hair clips, French barrettes have a tension bar positioned under the clip’s flat surface. Since small sections of hair are secure between the top and bottom piece, the tension bar is out of view. French hair barrettes come in various colors and patterns, from minimalist pastel shades to bold prints.

Snap clips: A great option for fine hair, snap clips secure small sections of hair without slipping. Snap clips open and close with a simple push.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Hair Styles

#hair #description #character development #writing notes #writeblr #literature #writing inspiration #character building #writing ideas #light academia #writers on tumblr #writing reference #spilled ink #dark academia #writing prompt #creative writing #charles courtney curran #writing resources

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minkieater · 2 months ago

Text

spiderhead → yj

tattoo artist!yeonjun x fem!reader

smut mdni, cheating, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship wc. ~6k

the buzz from tattoo guns spread across the room as if there were a swarm of bees — the shop was busy today. yeonjun’s mouth tasted of tobacco and menthol, his favorite combination, his index and middle fingers stained with the scent from years of use. he rain a hand through his hair, feeling the ends tickle his neck, before burying both hands in the soft, fleece lined pocket of his hoodie.

he made his way over to his station, checking his tools, cleaning up the area so he could prepare for his next client. the steps whirled in his head as they always did when he fixed his area: wash his hands, put gloves on, sterilize his tools, cover his equipment, disinfect all surfaces. he loved this part, the organization, having everything accessible to make his art easier to complete.

god, yeonjun loved his fucking job. just the plain idea of him drawing and coloring on people’s bodies, having his art stay there forever, it was magical to him. yeonjun knew in high school that he wanted to be a tattoo artist — he bought a shitty tattoo gun online, spent his weekends drunk in beomgyu’s basement leaving wonky doodles on his friends in places no one would ever see. at parties, people would beg him to whip out the tattoo gun, implore him to etch small designs on their skin on the big leather couch in soobin’s parents’ house.

those nights turned into lonely ones spent in his bedroom, cross hatching lines into fake skin on his desk, shading with pointillism in designs he’d seen on pinterest, smoke from his lit joint dancing into the air of his bedroom. he had a year long apprenticeship at a tattoo shop in the middle of brooklyn when he turned nineteen, he tried college for a year when he graduated high school but quickly realized it just wasn’t for him. now, four years later, he was thriving: he was booked, he was busy, he was a real fucking tattoo artist and made real fucking money.

he grabbed his phone to check the time before he started disinfecting, only five more minutes before his client was supposed to show. he scrolled his lock screen, eyes thinning when he read the notifications.

v: did u turn the lights off before u left v: if my electric bill is high again just know you’re paying that shit

his lips pulled into a line, thumbs moving a mile a minute.

yj: yes i turned them off yj: u dont have to remind me every single day

he locked his phone and set it face down on the counter that ran along the back of the shop, packed cabinets filled with saran wrap, disinfectant and ink caps underneath. he shook his head, irritation flooding his thoughts, he’d left the lights on one time and now he’ll never hear the end of it.

well over a year now, together but still not quite official — on and off but pretty much living together, yeonjun has spent more time in your bushwick apartment than he has at his own downtown. granted the shop was closer to your apartment than his own, but he’s always liked your apartment more, anyway. tall ceilings, funky art, maps and concert posters on the walls, a unique touch to your living space with your red lacquered kitchen cabinets and dark wood accents where his own looked cheesy and cheap in comparison.

two bedrooms, one full bathroom and a separate room just for the television and couch, yeonjun thought you were fucking loaded when he first stepped foot in your apartment. it had to be your parents paying your bills, or maybe you were a nepo baby – this is new york, after all – but as your relationship grew and he learned more about your occupation, how much you truly made between high commission and tips, he’d never thought a hairstylist could make so much fucking money.

both of you in your careers, working full time with the public, both creative people that spend their days creating art that lives on people’s bodies. your canvases were humans, walking, breathing pieces of scrap paper that you drew on, painted on, poked, cut, shaded. the two of you related to one another too much in too many areas, on too many levels, so many conversations about people and their critiques, their wishes, their families, their stories. if you and yeonjun could do anything, it was talk.

you’d met on your twenty first birthday, a little over a month after yeonjun’s twenty second. you and your girl friends and coworkers he later learned circled up on the dance floor with you in the middle, rolling your hips to the beat of the song, head tipped back in a drunken haze and a cocktail in your hand. he eyed you from the bar, thinking nothing of it other than the fact that you were a drunk twenty one year old about to be obnoxiously loud in his ear all night. he sipped his glass of whiskey, neat, tattooed fingers wrapping around the glass that dripped sweat onto his palm.

the bar was hot, too hot for the outfit he had on — oversized black hoodie with the hood over his head, black pants, boots on his feet. he was dressed for early november in new york, layered to fight off the chill of brooklyn, not for whatever the hell was going on in his favorite bar.

you approached him first, slurring over your words, tucking your hair behind your ear which was already tucked. you batted your eyelashes, your eyes glossed over in intoxication — yeonjun was not biting, he wasn’t interested in the slightest. he gave you a tight lipped smile, clinked his glass with your own and turned his attention away from you, a small gesture to say what you’re looking for is not me, keep it moving.

but when you strolled into his shop two weeks later as a walk-in and yeonjun had a cancellation, only then was he taking the bait, the bait you had no idea you were dangling from a hook right in front of his own two eyes. you didn’t seem to recall your interaction on your birthday, you didn’t seem to recognize yeonjun at all and that only made him curious.

you asked for a ruler along your index finger, two lines to show the public what two inches really is. he laughed at that, a small puff of amusement leaving his perfect plump lips just as the words left yours.

“is that stupid?” you asked, head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed in question but your eyes wide and he swore he could see them shine as you looked up to him. he was taken then, from just that one look in your eyes – he knew he was in trouble.

“not at all,” he said as she shook his head, smile still dancing on his cheeks, “it’s funny, i’ll take you back.”

you sat down on the bench, yeonjun went searching for a ruler in the cabinets lining the back of the shop. you spoke mindlessly about your job as he searched, immediately telling him a story about a client you had a few days ago who wanted a balayage and not highlights but they couldn’t decipher between the two — they insisted on highlights when what they were describing was clearly a balayage. you spoke with such enthusiasm, your mouth running a mile a minute, words spilling from your lips just as fast as you thought them.

yeonjun had no idea what you were talking about but he knew you were adorable — much different from when you first tried to pick him up at that bar. your eyes are bright, words controlled, movements sharp and alert. what did stay the same was the confidence, your outward extrovertedness made it so yeonjun didn’t have to say much, just nodding and listening to your little story as he tried his best to keep his head on straight.

“finger tattoos don’t last as long as they do on other parts of the body,” he interrupted as your story ended, finally pulling a small red plastic ruler from the cabinet to his left.

you shrug, “i figured as much, my hands are in water a lot, too.”

yeonjun sucked a breath in through his teeth, “that makes it even worse.”

“so what, i have to come back and get it touched up, then? big deal,” your hands came up at your sides, shrugging altogether, “as long as you still work here when i have to get it touched up then it’s fine.”

“already commending my work when i haven’t even done the tattoo yet?” yeonjun wears a lazy, teasing smile as he sits down on his stool, grabbing the arm rest for you to lay your forearm on.

“who said i was talking about the tattoo?” yeonjun’s eyes shot up at you who was already wearing a smirk, his lips parted ever so slightly. he immediately cracked a smile, shaking his head as he looked back down to your hand.

“that’s crazy,” he mumbled under his breath as he put the ruler up to your finger, then grabbed his pen from his tray to mark the inches. maybe you did know — maybe you were purposely dangling the bait, or maybe the two of you just had the same amount of interest in each other. maybe there was no bait to begin with.

“i don’t think it's crazy,” he didn’t expect you to hear him or respond, but it seems you don’t have a filter of any kind as you keep going, “you’re hot, i’m hot, we have a lot in common already.”

“we have a lot in common?” he raised an eyebrow, looking up to you again after marking the second inch, he grabbed a different pen to mark the eighths.

“we’re both creative, both work with the public, we have picky people as clients, have to listen to unrealistic expectations, both work in careers that aren’t super common — not common, maybe abnormal? or maybe i’m trying to say we can be abnormal because our careers aren’t super judgemental? appearance wise, i guess, whatever, anyways, we also both know how to talk to people, i can keep going…”

“so all we have in common are our careers?” he’s still playing along as he finishes marking out the lines, “how does that look?”

“looks good to me,” you say after a quick glance, barely an inspection of your finger, “pretty much, but our careers teach us a lot about ourselves. oh! and we can do art trades, i’ll do your hair and you give me tattoos.”

“are you bribing me or pimping yourself out?” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the smile that paints itself on your face feigns innocence, he’d save that look for his sketchbook later tonight.

“maybe a little bit of both. are either of them working?” you cocked your head to the side again, swinging the feet that hung from the bench ever so slightly, careful not to kick anything in front of you. yeonjun had to reel himself in.

yeonjun had to be honest — with himself, and you — it started working the moment you stepped into the shop. you had no visible tattoos, a casual outfit on, sweatpants and a tee shirt that left just a sliver of skin between the hems of your clothes. your hair was done but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, you didn’t seem like anything special off first glance– in fact, you seemed the exact opposite of his type, the girls he usually went for. yeonjun was just as confused with himself as he was enamored by you.

“i don’t know, i think you might have to try a lil’ harder,” he faked a deciding face, eyebrows scrunched as he moved back in his stool, ushering for you to stand up. he looked at your finger from all angles, analyzing it as you stood to the side, lifting your hands, flexing your fingers as you stood. he was happy with his sketch, his outline, he was more then prepared to freehand a couple lines.

“you should let me try harder over some drinks if the tattoo comes out good,” your eyes were trained on your hand as you followed his instructions, moving your hands into every position he asked for.

yeonjun laughed at that, “if the tattoo comes out good? what, am i the one picking you up now?”

you shrugged as he ushered you to sit back down, “you might be, i’m trying to find out.”

he nodded with his lips pursed, folded into a frown that wasn’t exuding any sort of negative reaction, more impressed than anything. “fair game.”

your tattoo came out flawless, the lines he free handed onto your finger came out straight, perfect in thickness. as easy as it seemed, you knew the talent it took, the patience and a steady hand needed for such precision. after you paid, tipping him generously, your flirting returned with vengeance.

“i think we hit it off if i’m being honest,” you smiled, showing all of your teeth to the black haired man behind the counter, “do you have anyone else after me?”

he shook his head, “you’re my last, i had a cancellation.”

“oh my god– do you believe in fate? yeonjun, i think that’s what this is, i’m being so serious,” your eyes were wide, eyebrows shot up, smile wide. excitement bled from you, your veins, you were nothing but honest. so shameless, not a thought in your pretty little head that he’d reject you – he wasn’t sure if you’d care if he did.

he laughed, something he seemed to do too much during your entire service, his head hanging low in front of him before he picked it back up, looking at you who was already staring expectantly at him. “i don’t, but maybe if we go get drinks you can change my mind.”

you raised your fists, “i’ve won.”

the bar was halfway to your apartment, almost smack ass between the tattoo shop and your place. you’d been there before with your girlfriends, once or twice since your birthday – you could finally join in on the fun. yeonjun was dressed in all black, you’d soon come to find out he was always dressed in all black, and he never looked like he got enough sleep. you seemed so bright next to him, with your hair and your clothes and the plush keychains attached to your purse. you looked like total opposites, when you knew you had much more in common than what meets the eye.

that one night bled into the next year of your lives – something he was not expecting after your first interaction. it’s not like he’s never had a client try to bag him before, but something about you was different, it drove him insane that he couldn’t put a finger on it. he was used to playing games, always the winner, never the loser. he was used to confusion, being stuck in the inbetween, the gray area that sometimes came with relationships, or lack thereof. with you it was so straight forward, a slippery slope, not a hole he dug himself into but instead a well, one full of water, full of life. he never wanted to stop drinking from it, gulp after gulp, chugging until he was so full he thought he might spill over.

the spilling didn’t come until six and a half months in. your first two months were every man’s wet dream – he had every inch of you, every fistful of perpetually iron-curled hair, every corner of plush skin burned to memory – on every surface of your apartment and his.

in yeonjun’s past relationships, he never seemed to be the problem. if anything, he was the victim.

small fights to massive blown out arguments over petty shit, staying out too late with his coworkers at his favorite bar to beomgyu stealing him for a night out clubbing, missed texts and phone calls to going MIA for three days. yeonjun never seemed to understand what the issue was – petty arguments were never his thing, he’d rather stay silent than give into whatever the fuck his current plaything was yelling about this time. so what if he stayed out too late with his coworkers? he still came home. there’s no harm in a night out clubbing with his boys, she didn’t even know about the girl that was grinding against his dick all night, or the other one that had her lipstick smeared across his lips in the corner of the dark club. he went MIA for three days because his phone was dead, not because he had her number blocked. it was ridiculous, really, the things women would try and pin on him – yeonjun never seemed to think he was the issue at all.

the thought never crossed yeonjun’s brain that these behaviors were learned, or that he could teach them to anyone else. he never thought that his pretty, bright eyed new girlfriend would turn into a different version of himself – if she did, he’d be grateful, he thought himself pretty fucking cool – yeonjun never thought any of his behaviors were bad, but when yeonjun got a taste of his own medicine he knew he met his match.

he showed up at your apartment past midnight, drunk off his ass, clothes oozing whiskey, weed and burberry her. he let himself in with his key, the one you gave him after three months in, the one you told him to use whenever he wanted. he called out your name, searching from room to room, but you were nowhere to be found. he’d never shown up to an empty apartment, there’s never been a lack of you, cuddled up in a fuzzy robe, either under your duvet or sitting on the couch watching reruns of your favorite drama. yeonjun was confused, his dazed head couldn’t think up a proper reason for your absence, he decided to do what he absolutely fucking hated to be done to him.

he called you about thirty six times, texted you about forty two times. he also left four voicemails, not one of them nice.

he sat there on your couch – after a much needed shower, a bottle of water and a change of clothes you kept for him in your bottom drawer, he sobered up real quick. he felt more level headed, but he couldn’t ignore the anger that began to grow, a pit that sat heavy in his stomach: where the fuck were you? who were you with?

you damn near fell into the room an hour later, keys falling to the floor after you ripped them out of the door. you giggled to yourself, your heels in your hands, fingers curled into the heel of your black pumps. the strapless, sparkly scrap of fabric he could barely call a dress was crooked, your hair that was always purposely styled to perfection was a mess, your red lipstick was smudged down your chin. yeonjun’s seen this scene before, he’s done it, he’s lived it.

“who fucked you?” were the first words that left his mouth as he stood in the living room, oversized black clothes hanging off his frame like hade’s robes. the breath that left his nostrils was hot, burning his cupid’s bow, his jaw locked with his usually plump lips scrunched to a thin line.

you laughed – you fucking laughed. “you’re a fucking psychopath, junie. i just came back from a night with the girls!”

yeonjun was not buying it – he stepped closer. the stench of alcohol was masked by dior sauvage, a smell he knew too well, a smell that drifted past him as you nearly pushed him out of your way. yeonjun was dumbfounded and raging, his eyebrows furrowed together, his hands held out in front of him like he didn’t know what to do with them.

his girl, his only girl – well, other than the girl he made out with earlier – he couldn’t fathom the thought of someone else’s hands on you, being so close to you that you came home smelling like him. he followed you to the bathroom.

you were already stripped down bare – no bra and no panties to be seen on the pile on the floor with that thin scrap of fabric, yeonjun couldn’t collect his thoughts fast enough, his rage was creeping up his spine, sitting in his stomach like food poisoning, threatening to come out whether he wanted it to or not.

“you’re lying,” was all he could get out as you brushed through your hair, putting it in a tight knot atop your head, a small smile still sitting on your cheeks. he didn’t sound angry enough, his voice wasn’t stable, his feelings weren’t enough to give his voice ground to stand on.

“no i’m not,” you said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like your words were the honest to god truth. you turned to him, your best innocent look paired with that award winning smile, “wanna shower with me? or did you already when you came home from the club?”

yeonjun had a full body reaction, his eyebrows furrowed and his face scrunched up in disbelief and shock, for just a moment there he thought he might be insane. did he make that up? was the dior he smelled just remnants from being with beomgyu earlier? no, no he showered, that was all you. he was not insane. he stepped closer.

the smell of a shower he’d taken just an hour ago filled the room, the body wash that you always used was the only scent he could decipher. he took a breath, “you fucked someone.”

“i think you might still be drunk, baby,” you wore a fake pout, raising your right hand to run your thumb across his bottom lip, “happy anniversary, by the way. six months!”

that was the start of everything – his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend was buried somewhere, six feet deep in wet soil, replaced with something akin to a fucking monster. when yeonjun first met you, you had told him you had so much in common, yeonjun didn’t believe it, didn’t see it. he thought the two of you were polar fucking opposites, yet he liked you anyway, liked that you introduced him to a new type of relationship. while yeonjun spent six months subconsciously teaching you his own behaviors, you spent the time purposely teaching him quite a few of your own.

goodmorning texts to goodnight texts to facetime – yeonjun never did any of that shit before. yeonjun has never bought a single person a bouquet of flowers in his entire life. yet here you stood, his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend, in the middle of your salon surrounded by a herd of your coworkers with a bouquet signed ‘your junie <3 love you baby!’

his friends called him whipped, a simp, a cuck, every name in the fucking book because yeonjun adored you, and it was painfully obvious. you’d come to beomgyu’s garage, parading around in a mini skirt and your tiny little purse that yeonjun was sure only had lip gloss inside, getting him beers from the fridge and cracking them open, handing them to him with a smile and sitting straight on your throne: his lap. his friends adored you too, they couldn’t figure out what you saw in yeonjun – with his dark clothes, heavy tattoos that covered his body, bags under his eyes, black hair and too much metal through holes in his face. his friends were constantly flirting with you, getting you whatever you needed, they were the ones cracking beers and serving them to you, yet you were doing it for yeonjun.

yeonjun was filled with pride, he loved it. a trophy they could look at but never touch. he’d never had this type of relationship before, someone so obsessed with him, someone willing to wait on him hand and foot, he slipped deeper and deeper into an emotion he’d never experienced before without even realizing it.

the day he did realize it, that was when the true fun began, because while he was unconsciously slipping, swimming deeper into that well, you stood at the top, holding the rope, pulling bucket by bucket out of the well with that award winning, innocent smile etched into your skin.

you weren’t kidding when you said you’d do art trades, even his coworkers knew your face by now, taehyun two stations down always offered his services when you sat down on yeonjun’s bench. you giggled and flipped your hair, saying why would i do that when my boyfriend’s a better artist than you?

god, yeonjun loved to hear those words leave your lips. it was a bit the two of you did, taehyun acted as if he was shot through the heart, a poisoned arrow slipping straight through his skin, and yeonjun could hear the sweet melody of your giggle through the shop. yeonjun has filled up one of your arms by now and half of the other– a garden, flowers, bees, butterflies, tattoos that were so undoubtedly you he couldn’t even make fun of you for them. he wouldn’t expect you to have anything else.

his favorite, though, was the YJ right above your hip. it was in yeonjun’s own handwriting, a doodle he marked on your skin for life, late at night after too many drinks – it was like he was in high school again. that was four months in.

that night, yeonjun felt the closest thing to his entire world caving in on him – he needed to go. he stared at the scribble on your hip while his face was buried between your thighs, you were writhing above him, hands buried in his hair, you always looked so fucking gorgeous like that. instead of being focused on you, determined to push you over the edge like usual, yeonjun’s head was clouded – hazy. he wondered how a person he’d met by chance just a few months ago could become so important, so detrimental to his life, he feared he would be a shell of himself if you ever chose to leave him.

it terrified him. he’d never felt this way about anyone before.

before that night, your relationship was golden – yeonjun was something out of a dream, a hero, the prince in your story, you were convinced you’d spend your life with him. he was honest, he was smart, he told you everything that he had wrapped up in his complex, dark brain, and you accepted every word that came from his mouth, every thought that popped into his head.

when he left that night, hours after shoving a twelve gauge needle in your skin with ink the color of his hair, you didn’t stress. you woke with a panic, of course, where the hell did your boyfriend go? but after twelve hours of no response, a trip to his shop, a night spent in his favorite bar, hours bent over your ikea bed frame, you knew what this was. you recognized this fear, you saw straight through him, yeonjun wasn’t as masked as he thought himself out to be. you’d shared too much, you knew too much about one another for yeonjun to be anything but transparent.

you paid attention. late nights, coming home smelling like another woman’s perfume, earrings that fell from his pocket when you did laundry, long and short pink and blonde and brown pieces of hair found around every inch of your apartment – you looked at the tattoo that sat above your hip, you knew there was no one else for you in the world. if yeonjun wanted to play the game, you’d play it too, you’d play it better.

the first three or four or twenty two times you did it – yeonjun didn’t notice. you even sent him home in one of yeonjun’s tees, one of his favorites, one that you successfully convinced yeonjun he left at his own apartment. when he couldn’t find it there, it wasn’t your issue anymore – with half of your wardrobe in two different places, you’re bound to lose a shirt or two.

it was only when you got sloppy, when you wanted him to notice, that he did. two months in, six and a half months after your relationship began, he’d caught you and you were so fucking close to convincing him that he didn’t.

“we’re fucking done,” he was seething as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a plush beige towel around your torso, no effort needed to keep yourself calm.

“why’s that?” you continued to feign innocence, stepping in front of the mirror to start applying your skincare, not even glancing at the man who stood next to you, his hands balled into fists.

“i know you fucked someone tonight,” his voice was stern, it was hideous on him. you loved the cool, calm yeonjun better – you loved your yeonjun, the one you spent endless nights with, looking through his sketchbook, where he showed you all of his doodles, his drawings, when he let himself be the most vulnerable. “there’s no use in denying it, v.”

“and what have you been doing for the past two months, yeonjun?” your head snapped to look at him, your voice matching his, cadence slipping into something more harsh, laying yourself bare for him. you supposed your time was up. his mouth opened and closed.

“great,” his head dropped, low, sarcastic laughter slipping from his lips, “you fuck someone and blame it on me? project your cheating onto me?”

“there’s no use denying it, jun. have you talked to beomgyu? maybe you should ask him what he did after he dropped you off.”

you physically watched his face turn red – ears hot, crimson bubbling up from his chest to his throat to his face – you had to stop yourself from smiling. he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and you slept like a baby. freshly fucked, coming down from a solid drunk, you felt brand new.

it was a week before you saw him again – honestly, you were shocked it took that long. that gorgeous, long black hair that curled around his ears, peeked from the hem of his hoodie, you longed to touch it, feel it between your fingers. he looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time he saw you, his bags sat heavy, dark, in your entryway, key in hand. you wanted to take care of him, wanted him to get a good night’s rest – next to you.

you sat on your couch, not a muscle to be moved in his direction, the two of you just stared at each other from across the room. moments went by, you’re sure maybe a full minute, then he was pacing towards you.

“hello?” you asked in disbelief and concern before he was pulling you up by your wrists, smashing his lips against yours. his lips tasted of whiskey, neat, cigarette smoke, menthol. you thought maybe you were addicted to tobacco too from the way his mouth felt euphoric against yours, an old friend you’d missed. it’s only been a week but it could’ve been a year for all you knew.

“you’re mine, you know that?” he’d asked between kisses, his mouth swallowing yours, his tongue stealing the words you couldn’t begin to think let alone speak. instead you nodded into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair, body forcing itself into his, you missed him. you missed his smell, his touch, the feeling of him against you, you missed everything. you never wanted to part from him again.

he had you split open on the couch as he knelt on the floor, head between your thighs again, eyes trained on the YJ that sat on your hip. he hadn’t seen it in a week, his brand on you, his initials that were inked into your skin for the rest of your life – he missed being between your legs, missed tasting you, missed taking everything you had to fucking offer. he missed you, his other half, the monster he created, his comfort, his home.

yeonjun would be lying if he said he was willing to part ways with you, but he’d also be lying if he said he was willing to acknowledge to the full extent of what he felt for you. yeonjun felt betrayed, played, messed with, like you snuck into his brain and plucked every single thought out of his head and fucking warped it. god, he loved you. he was so scared.

he told you as he barreled into you, fucking you like he hated you, whispering those words in a choked breath over and over into the shell of your ear. he couldn’t believe he was admitting it, couldn’t believe he was saying those three little words – you’re different, you’re everything. he loved you.

the months to follow were dancing right on the edge, together, but not quite. apart, but were you ever really apart? every night, wrapped in your sheets or his sheets – always someone’s sheets, always together. you never discussed sleeping with beomgyu, yeonjun never brought it up again, he looked back at that moment in his head and all he saw was weakness, a time where he let you slip away – let you get away from him. you never spoke of it, but it was always there, between the two of you like a wall.

that wall that stood between you was tall and rock solid, unlike the glass doors to yeonjun’s head, yeonjun’s thoughts, that wall of his was unbreakable – even when he came home smelling like burberry her again no argument in the world could pry that night out of him again.

you knew better this time than to try with beomgyu again, he hadn’t reached out since the night yeonjun left your apartment, you knew better than to try with anyone. instead of fighting fire with fire, you got distant, you spoke less, you asked less, you tried less. you became the ghost of his pretty, bright eyed girlfriend, one that had been to hell and back, one that learned from her mistakes. you became a reflection of yeonjun.

yeonjun checked his phone after his client, only two hours had gone by, surprisingly enough. it was a solid first session for his client’s leg sleeve, but his bones were aching, his eyes sore from being focused for so long.

v: you left the fucking lights on

#choi yeonjun #yeonjun x y/n #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun #tomorrow x together #txt smut #txt x you #txt x reader #txt fanfic #txt #i have a crush on choi yeonjun

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seravphs · 2 years ago

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO X HAIRSTYLIST! READER

“Boss! Your favorite client is here!”

Hurriedly, you wipe your damp hands off on your apron and frantically tidy your hair in the mirror. Then you muss it back up. Then you smooth it down again.

How messy is too messy? You want to hit that effortless cool factor of looking like you don’t care, but just enough.

You don’t have time for this! He’s going to be here any minute!

“He’s not my favorite customer,” you scold your receptionist.

“I’m not?” Says a voice behind you. “Aw, you wound me.”

He’s not just about to arrive.

He’s already here.

Gojo Satoru had always operated on his own schedule. You slowly turn to greet all 6 feet and 3 inches of him, grinning like an idiot. Next to him his manager looks extremely apologetic.

“I’m so so so sorry,” she rushes out before you can manage to say anything. “I know our appointment was later, but it’s an emergency. Can you please make an exception?”

You don’t even have to consider it. Gojo’s company is a regular, and that makes them VIP. Especially combined with the fact that Gojo tips three times the actual price of whatever service you provide him, you’d kick your own sister out of the salon to get him booked.

Thank god your last appointment just left. He follows you to the usual room you reserve for important guests. He’s characteristically nonchalant, whistling as he walks, hands shoved into his pockets.

His roots are a little grown out, you notice.

Gojo likes to tell his fans that his signature icy white hair is all natural. “Grows out of my head like that,” he says with a wink.

No one believes him, of course, but they all indulge him. There has never been a single soul who’s immune to Gojo’s charm, besides poor beleaguered Utahime, who’s banned him from all of the sets she works on.

His hair is an important part of his image, so you always make sure to take special care of him. That, and the fact that you just have a soft spot for him.

“Did you miss me?” Gojo asks as you shampoo his hair. His eyes are closed, soapy hair still lying in the basin unwashed as you freeze.

So much.

More than you can imagine.

Rather than be honest, you laugh and poke his cheek. “Who’d miss you, you overgrown man baby?”

“I dunno,” he says, poking his tongue out at you. “I feel like you’d miss your favorite customer.”

Your face heats up.

“You’re not.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “And my hair isn’t black underneath all this bleach.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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astrobiscuits · 1 year ago

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Astro observations part 8

[LONG EDITION] - taken from my phone's notes (also, i was too lazy to edit it so here's a nice chunk of info)

🍂 Sun conjunct Saturn individuals inherit mindsets from the father, grandparents or great-grandparents. They might never fully act like their Sun sign (aka "shine"), since they've been conditioned from a young age to listen to parents, teachers, and later on bosses. They are the type to never divorce, no matter how toxic their marriage is. If these peeps deal well with their Saturn Return, they might become "THE BOSS" (aka the person everyone looks up to due to how accomplished, disciplined and rich they are, they've literally got their shit together and deserve a round of applause, "it wasn't easy to get to the top, but it was worth it" - you might hear them say this). They are also more prone to ingrain stoic principles in their lifestyle

🍂 Mars square Neptune gives off major cult leader vibes. They're the type to fool you with false promises until you sign up for their "camp" but then you realize it's actually an evil cult where all they wanna do is put you to work (and maybe later even kill you lol). These individuals become very scary when angry (you don't wanna see them angry, trust me). If they ever commit suicide, it'll be by drowning, alcohol or drugs

🍂 Mars trine Neptune is one of the best aspects for those who make a living off their talents. The talent depends on the element the trine is in:

If it's in Earth signs - ideal for those who work in the "money handling sector" in advertising, becoming an entrepeneur, holistic care (if Virgo is involved), cooks, those who work in interior design, seamstresses, embroidery/lace makers, models, event planners If it's in Air signs - ideal for those who work in sales (their negotiation skills are ✨chef's kiss👌🏻✨), becoming a spiritual/religious teacher or an art/music/any other creative pursuit teacher (lmao, i can't even speak💀💀), writers, musicians, magicians and astrologers (for the last two - if Aquarius is involved) If it's in Fire signs - ideal for dancers, theater/movie actors, hairstylists, circus performers, photographers (only if Leo is involved) If it's in Water signs - ideal for make-up artists, painters, tarot readers

🍂 Moon sextile Uranus individuals have got the ability to create a positive parasocial relationship with their followers. Since these people often use their devices to validate their emotions, i wouldn't be surprised if most of y'all also have atleast one active profile where you post quite frequently

PRO TIP: Whenever Transit Jupiter is trining/conjuncting your Natal Uranus (to a less extent also the sextile), you'll get a sudden boost in your followers count

🍂 This is a theory of mine that i've come up with and i'd love to hear your thoughts on it. When it comes to intergenerational astrology, i do believe that we inherit all of our personal planets placements from our parents and ancestors. But then you might say "But i don't act like my mother at all! This is bullshit!". I'm not saying we're all carbon copies of our family members. What makes us unique and distinguishes us from our parents and grandparents (or even great-grandparents) are the way the planets aspect each other in our birth charts and the planetary configurations between them. Basically we start from the same ground, but we all use our traits differently, whether for the better or the worst expression of them. Let's not forget that we also tend to go through different life experiences than our parents and grandparents; we might be blessed with different opportunities that might enhance our best traits and help us achieve what our ancestors always wanted to but weren't able to

Hope you enjoyed today's post, loves!💗💗💗 I've been wanting to post for a while now but my inspiration has been wandering alone in the Sahara Desert I can't promise that i'll start posting again more frequently (the new uni year is starting soon for me + i enrolled in a local astrology school 2 weeks ago🥳🥳 ya girl can't wait to officially become an astrologer) but my inbox will be open again for further questions! I must also thank you for helping me hit 500 followers!!! I'm probably gonna do another ask game once i hit 600 followers, as i'm too busy right now. As always, don't forget to drink water and take care of yourselves! Hope to see you soon! ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#astro #astro community #astro placements #astrology #astro observations #astro posts #astro notes #astrology notes #astro blog #astroblr #astrology community #astrology tumblr #sun conjunct saturn #mars square neptune #mars trine neptune #moon sextile uranus #intergenerational astrology

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pbaz7 · 1 month ago

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It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 19

AN: This is the last chapter of the series 🥺. I hope everyone enjoyed it because I definitely loved writing it. Please leave some feedback so I know what I can do better for the next one :)

Word Count: 6.4k

Paige slumped off of Azzi, breath heavy and uneven from their activities. She glanced at her phone on the nightstand, eyes widening when she saw the time. "Shit, we gotta get up. They'll be here soon, Az," she muttered under her breath.

Azzi, still lying on the bed with her eyes closed, took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her body. She rolled her eyes without opening them. "Shut up," she grumbled, her voice hoarse.

When Azzi finally opened her eyes, she was met with Paige leaning over her, supporting herself on one elbow, gazing down at her with pure affection in her blue eyes.

A smile tugged at Azzi’s lips. "Today's the day," she whispered softly, the weight of the words heavy with meaning.

Paige beamed down at her, her expression curious and playful. "Really?" she asked, her voice teasing, before placing a quick kiss on Azzi’s lips before hopping up.

Azzi groaned in exaggerated frustration as she stood in front of the mirror, her fingers lightly grazing the marks on her neck. She shook her head and called out, "Paige! What the hell? You left a whole damn trail on me!"

From the bathroom, Paige's laugh echoed as she turned on the water. "It’s your fault!" she called back playfully, her voice full of mischief. "You didn’t stop me!"

Azzi rolled her eyes, throwing a pillow in the general direction of the bathroom. "I swear, you’re impossible," she muttered, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.

…

The door to the hotel suite swung open, and Paige greeted the incoming group with a relaxed smile. The makeup artist, hair stylist, managers, and Brittany, their known stylist, poured into the space, carrying their kits and garment bags. The spacious suite filled quickly as everyone began setting up, laying out brushes, makeup palettes, and outfits across the countertops and furniture.

“Good morning!” Paige said brightly, stepping aside to make room for them. “Hope you all had a decent night’s sleep. Did anyone else get trapped by those ridiculous elevators?”

Brittany laughed as she unzipped a garment bag. “Not me, but you’re lucky I didn’t! Otherwise, I’d be rolling in here late with coffee spilled everywhere.”

“Don’t jinx yourself,” Paige teased, walking over to grab a bottle of water from the minibar. “Speaking of coffee, who needs a pick-me-up? I can order some.”

The hairstylist waved her off with a grin. “We’re good, but thanks, Paige. You’re so much sweeter in the morning than Azzi.”

Paige snickered, shooting a playful look toward the closed bedroom door. “She’ll be tolerable this morning, trust me.”

As the room buzzed with activity, Paige perched on the arm of the couch, casually chatting with the makeup artist about her latest beauty tips and asking the managers about travel logistics for the next day after the draft. She was mid-sentence when the sound of the hotel's bedroom door opening drew everyone’s attention.

Azzi walked out of the bedroom, her damp hair loose and curling slightly at the ends, her skin still glowing from the shower. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her robe tied loosely at the waist.

“Morning,” Azzi greeted, her voice soft but carrying a warmth that made the whole room glance her way.

Brittany took one look at her and immediately burst out laughing, her eyes darting to Paige. “You’re insane, Paige,” she said, shaking her head and grinning widely.

Azzi groaned, already knowing what had Brittany laughing. She reached for the nearest pillow and threw it at Paige with a dramatic sigh.

Paige, unbothered at how far off the pillow was, grinned at her goofily. “What? Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You didn’t exactly fight me off.”

Azzi grabbed another pillow from the couch and launched it at Paige with precision this time. “I’m not letting you touch me for the next week,” she declared dramatically, though the smile threatening to tug at her lips betrayed her.

Paige caught the pillow, her grin widening as she leaned against the armrest. “Sure, sure. We’ll see how long that lasts,” she teased. “You’re not exactly known for your self-control, Az.”

Azzi crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yet you still love me,” Paige shot back, her tone dripping with playful confidence.

The makeup artist, watching the exchange with a grin, chimed in. “Don’t worry, Azzi. I’ve got you covered—literally. No one will see a thing once I’m done.”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head as she sat down. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, before shooting a side-eye at Paige. “And you? Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. You’re sleeping on your side of the bed for the rest of the trip.”

Paige gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. “My side of the bed? You mean the one you always end up on anyway?”

Azzi turned her head, fighting the grin that was spreading across her face. “Keep talking, and I’ll make you regret it.”

Paige stepped closer, her voice dropping just enough to make Azzi glance up at her. “Regret it? Come on, babe. You couldn’t stay mad at me if you tried.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the soft laugh that escaped her. “You’re so damn obnoxious.”

“And yet, here you are,” Paige countered, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Azzi’s cheek, causing Brittany to groan playfully from across the room.

“Okay, lovebirds, save it for after media day,” Brittany said, waving a hand at them.

Azzi chuckled and muttered, “You’re lucky she’s here to save you, Paige.”

Paige smirked. “Nah, I’m just lucky to have you.”

The room buzzed with laughter and teasing remarks as the team got to work.

…

Azzi sat in the makeup chair, her hair freshly styled in a way that framed her face perfectly. She was mid-conversation with the makeup artist when she glanced to the side and caught Paige staring at her, an unmistakable, goofy smile spreading across her face, her blue eyes shining with admiration.

“What?” Azzi asked, raising an eyebrow, her tone suspicious but playful.

Paige, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, didn’t miss a beat. “You just look pretty,” she said, her voice dripping with sincerity and a hint of flirtation.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. Her dimples appeared, and she gave Paige a soft, “Thank you, baby,” before adding, “You’re looking pretty good yourself today.”

Paige’s smirk turned cocky, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “I mean, I do have that effect,” she teased, shooting Azzi a wink.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, though the smile remained. “You are so full of yourself, I swear,” she said, shaking her head as the makeup artist gently adjusted her chin.

Paige shrugged, completely unbothered. “What can I say? Confidence is attractive.”

Azzi snorted at that, glancing at her through the mirror. “Cockiness isn’t the same as confidence, you know.”

“Oh, but you love it,” Paige countered, her tone smug as she walked over to sit in the hairstylist’s chair.

Azzi gave her a side-eye but didn’t argue. “Unfortunately,” she muttered, her voice low enough to make the makeup artist chuckle.

As Paige’s hair stylist began sectioning her hair, Paige continued to shoot flirtatious looks at Azzi through the mirror. “You’re just mad I’m right,” Paige said casually, her smirk never wavering.

Azzi didn’t bother denying it. Instead, she turned the tables. “You’re just mad because I still look better than you.”

Paige gasped in mock offense, her hands flying to her chest. “Excuse me? You’re lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Lucky, huh?” Azzi quipped, her eyes sparkling as the makeup artist brushed powder across her cheekbones. “You’re lucky I even put up with you.”

“Put up with me? Please,” Paige shot back, leaning forward slightly in her chair. “You’re obsessed with me. You’d be lost without me.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as the makeup artist stepped back to examine her work. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stunning,” Paige said smoothly, her voice softening just enough to make Azzi glance her way again.

Azzi’s cheeks flushed faintly as she tried to hide her smile. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” Paige replied, her tone light but genuine.

Azzi glanced at her reflection, raising an eyebrow as a playful smirk tugged at her lips. “Careful, Bueckers. Keep it up, and I might start thinking you have ulterior motives.”

Paige tilted her head, her grin growing wider. “Who says I don’t? Worked pretty well this morning, didn’t it?”

Azzi shook her head, a low chuckle escaping her. “Oh god.”

“Sounds familiar baby,” Paige shot back, her voice dropping slightly, just enough to send a shiver down Azzi’s spine.

Before Azzi could retort, the door to the suite burst open, and KK and Ice stormed in, their voices filling the room.

“YOUR FAVORITE KIDS ARE HERE!” KK shouted, throwing her arms up like she was announcing a championship win.

“Let’s goooooo!” Ice chimed in, grinning ear to ear as they made their way into the suite.

Azzi turned in her chair to give them both a deadpan look. “Seriously? You guys don’t knock?”

“We don’t knock for royalty,” KK shot back, flopping onto the couch. “Besides, we figured you’d be too busy making googly eyes at each other to notice.”

“Which we were,” Paige said unapologetically, flashing a smug grin at Azzi.

Ice pointed at Paige as she dropped her bag near the door. “And there it is. Your girl’s got no shame, Az.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t know why I even try with her.”

“You don’t try because you already lost,” Paige teased, spinning her chair slightly to face the group as the hairstylist was away grabbing something.

KK groaned dramatically, chucking a pillow at Paige for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Can y’all stop flirting for two seconds? Some of us are single and suffering!”

Paige caught it with ease, letting out a laugh. “Why is everyone throwing pillows at me today?” Paige asked, feigning outrage as she tossed the pillow back onto the couch.

“Because you’re obnoxious,” Azzi said smoothly, catching Paige’s eyes in the mirror with a teasing smirk. “Like I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Paige gasped, crossing her arms and pouting dramatically. “I’m not obnoxious!”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t look away from her reflection. “Of course not, baby,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

KK snorted, grabbing another pillow. “Oh, you definitely are. And don’t think I won’t throw this one, too.”

“Don’t you dare,” Paige warned, pointing a finger at her teammate.

KK raised the pillow higher with a mischievous grin, and just as Paige opened her mouth to protest, KK launched it across the room. It hit Paige square in the chest, earning an exaggerated groan from her.

Azzi turned away from the mirror, glancing at Paige with mock sympathy. “Don’t worry, babe. It’s because they’re jealous,” she said sweetly, though her eyes were twinkling with amusement.

KK rolled her eyes, sitting back on the couch. “No, it’s because she keeps giving us reasons to throw pillows at her.”

Paige crossed her arms again, her pout deepening. “I’m being bullied in my own hotel room.”

Azzi’s lips twitched as she tried to hold back a laugh. “Aw, poor thing,” she said, finally turning fully to face Paige. “You want me to kiss it better?”

Paige perked up instantly, her pout disappearing as she grinned. “Always.”

KK groaned again, flopping back dramatically. “Ugh, can y’all not? It’s too early for this much PDA.”

Paige ignored her, leaning back in her chair and grinning smugly at Azzi, who shook her head fondly before turning back to Brittany to begin getting her outfit together.

“You two are way too happy for a couple that’s about to be separated by states,” KK added, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Azzi exchanged a quick glance with Paige, the corners of her mouth lifting in a knowing smirk. Paige chuckled softly but didn’t say a word, enjoying KK’s mounting suspicion.

“Wait,” KK said, sitting up straighter. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Azzi smoothly redirected the conversation as Brittany handed her the first piece of her outfit. “You should worry about what Brittany’s going to say when she finds out you’ve been throwing her plane pillows at Paige all morning.”

Brittany raised an eyebrow as she looked up from her work. “Excuse me? My pillows?”

KK froze, looking sheepish, while Ice burst into laughter.

Paige, now grinning ear to ear, pointed at KK. “See? Now you’re in trouble.”

“Still worth it,” KK muttered under her breath before slumping back into the couch.

Azzi, not fully immersed in her outfit fitting, yet walked over to Paige and whispered. “You owe me for defending your honor.”

“Trust me,” Paige said, her voice low and playful. “I plan to make it up to you in all kinds of ways tonight.”

Azzi smirked knowingly, her dimples on full display as she walked back towards Brittany. KK groaned once more from the couch, muttering something about “disgusting lovebirds” as the room fell back into a mix of laughter and playful banter.

With nearly everything finished, Paige stepped back to admire Azzi as she stood in front of the mirror. Azzi glanced at her reflection, smoothing her clothes with a critical eye. Paige, however, had no such hesitations. She moved closer, lightly brushing Azzi’s hands aside.

“Hold still,” Paige murmured, carefully adjusting Azzi’s collar and fixing a small crease in the fabric. “There. Perfect.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her dimples faintly showing as she smiled. “Perfect, huh?”

Paige leaned back to get the full picture, a soft grin tugging at her lips. “More than perfect,” she said confidently, her blue eyes shining with a mix of pride and affection.

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Yup and I love you,” Paige shot back with a wink, giving Azzi’s arm a quick squeeze before stepping aside.

Once they were both dressed and ready, Brittany stepped in to snap a few pictures. Paige pulled Azzi close, their chemistry evident in every shot. They also made sure to take some individual photos, showing off their outfits and posing confidently.

“Okay, my turn!” KK shouted, dragging Ice and Caroline over.

The group burst into laughter as they all crowded together for a series of candid and posed shots. KK wrapped an arm around Paige, who held up a peace sign, while Ice pretended to strike a dramatic model pose. Azzi stood at Paige’s side, her hand resting lightly on Paige’s back, while Caroline kept things lighthearted with a bright grin.

“These are definitely going on Instagram later,” Ice said, flipping through the photos on her phone.

“Just don’t tag me with any weird captions,” Paige joked, nudging her playfully.

After a final check to make sure they had everything, Paige and Azzi exchanged a look. It was time.

“You ready?” Azzi asked softly as the group began filing out of the suite.

Paige nodded, a confident smile crossing her face. “With you? Always.”

Hand in hand, the two made their way to the sleek black car waiting for them outside the hotel. Paige opened the door for Azzi, who stepped in gracefully, before following her inside.

As the car pulled away, the energy between them was palpable. Azzi reached over to adjust Paige’s tie, a soft smile on her lips. “You look good.”

“Not as good as you,” Paige replied, her tone teasing but genuine.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her expression was warm as she laced her fingers through Paige’s. The city blurred past the windows as they headed toward one of the most important nights of their lives, together.

The black SUV pulled up to the event's grand entrance, and before it even stopped, the crowd erupted. Flashes from countless cameras lit up the night as reporters and fans alike craned their necks to see who was inside. Paige opened the door, stepping out first in her suit, her confidence shining through her relaxed demeanor.

As soon as she exited, the shouts grew louder, but Paige wasn’t fazed. She turned back toward the car, extending her hand with an easy smile. Azzi, poised and graceful in her heels, took Paige’s hand, stepping out carefully onto the red carpet. The two shared a brief look, an unspoken connection passing between them as they straightened up and began their walk down the carpet together.

The cameras went wild as Paige and Azzi posed for pictures, first together and then separately. Paige played it cool, her hands in her pockets as she flashed a confident grin, while Azzi, though initially a bit shy, lit up the carpet with her dimples and a poised smile.

When it was time for them to pose together again, Paige leaned in close, her lips just brushing Azzi’s ear. “You look so good tonight, I might have to fight the cameras for you,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only Azzi could hear.

Azzi bit back a smile, trying to maintain her composure as she whispered back, “Behave, Bueckers.”

Paige smirked, stepping back just enough to flash her usual cocky grin, the mischievous glint in her eyes earning a soft laugh from Azzi. The brief exchange didn’t go unnoticed, as some photographers caught the subtle, intimate moment between them.

After finishing their photos, the two were ushered toward a set of interviewers. One, clearly thrilled to have them both, greeted them warmly. “Paige, Azzi! First of all, you both look absolutely stunning tonight. I mean, seriously, wow!”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head modestly. “Thanks, but it’s all Azzi, I mean she looks incredible,” she said, gesturing toward her girlfriend.

Azzi, already blushing, ducked her head shyly. “Thank you,” she murmured before glancing at Paige with a teasing smirk. “But let’s not downplay her. Look at her. She cleans up well, doesn’t she?”

The interviewer laughed, clearly enjoying their dynamic. “You two are too much. Okay, so, big night for both of you—how are you handling all of this, especially with each other by your side?”

Paige, ever the smooth talker, took the question first. “Honestly, it’s surreal. It’s a huge honor to be here tonight, and I’m just so grateful for this opportunity. Having Azzi here? That makes it ten times better.” She glanced at Azzi, her expression softening.

Azzi nodded, echoing Paige’s sentiment. “Yeah, it’s... overwhelming in the best way. We’ve worked so hard for this moment, and to share it together is just... special. I couldn’t be happier for Paige.”

The interviewer beamed at their responses, pressing, “And no nerves about potentially playing in different states? How are you both managing the idea of a little distance?”

Azzi, ever the composed one, smoothly diverted. “Right now, we’re just focused on celebrating tonight and the work it took to get here. Wherever we end up, we’ll be supporting each other 100%.”

Paige nodded in agreement, flashing a grin. “Exactly. And besides, we’ve already survived plenty of long road trips.”

The interviewer laughed as they wrapped up. “Fair enough. Well, congratulations to you both. I can’t wait to see what’s next for you—on and off the court!”

“Thank you,” Paige and Azzi said in unison, before walking off, hand in hand.

As they made their way toward the seating area, Paige sighed dramatically. “I still can’t believe we’re not sitting together. Feels like a crime.”

Azzi gave her an amused look. “We’ve known for weeks this was going to happen. Don’t act like it’s a surprise now.”

Paige pouted, her hand tightening slightly around Azzi’s. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly. “We’ll survive one night. Just keep smiling for the cameras, and I’ll meet you after.”

Paige grinned, leaning closer to whisper, “Fine, but you owe me for this.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling as she gave Paige’s arm a playful nudge. “Whatever you say, drama queen.”

When they reached their assigned tables, Paige reluctantly let go of Azzi’s hand, flashing her a small, private smile before heading to her seat. Azzi watched her go, her fond expression lingering as she settled in at her own table.

The draft had finally begun. Paige sat at her table, surrounded by her mom, dad, stepmom, and siblings. The atmosphere in the room was electric, the anticipation palpable as the WNBA commissioner stepped onto the stage. At a nearby table, Azzi sat with her own family, equally surrounded by love and support.

As the commissioner began her welcome speech, Paige’s nerves started to creep in. She wasn’t usually one to sweat under pressure, but this moment—one she had been dreaming of since she was a kid—was different. Her palms felt clammy, and her heart raced as the commissioner announced the Dallas Wings were officially on the clock.

Paige’s eyes instinctively searched for Azzi across the room. When their gazes met, Azzi gave her a subtle wink, her expression calm and steady, like a quiet reassurance meant just for Paige. It worked. Paige exhaled softly, her lips twitching into a small smile.

The minutes felt like hours, but finally, the commissioner returned to the stage. “Before we announce the first pick, we have some breaking news,” she began. “The Dallas Wings have traded their draft rights to the Golden State Valkyries.”

A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd, the unexpected announcement catching everyone off guard. Paige’s eyes looked at everyone whose eyes widened in surprise, her mind already racing as the commissioner continued.

“With that being said, with the number one pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Paige Bueckers from the University of Connecticut.”

For a moment, Paige froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and the reality of the moment hit her all at once. This was it. This was everything she had worked for. Everything she had dreamed of.

Her family erupted into cheers, and somewhere in the crowd, KK’s unmistakable voice rang out, yelling, “Purple Paige Purple!” Paige laughed at her friend’s enthusiasm, the tension in her chest easing just a little.

She stood slowly, still trying to process it all, and hugged her mom, dad, stepmom, and each of her siblings in turn. As she turned to make her way to the stage, her path diverted. Her steps led her straight to Azzi’s table, where her girlfriend was already standing and clapping, a proud smile lighting up her face.

Azzi pulled Paige into a tight hug as soon as she reached her, whispering softly, “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Paige held on for a lingering moment, closing her eyes and letting the warmth of Azzi’s words steady her. “Thank you,” she murmured back, her voice barely audible over the noise around them.

In that moment, without thinking, Azzi cupped Paige’s face in her hands, her thumbs gently grazing her cheeks. Paige’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening. Their eyes locked, and the world seemed to slow as Azzi leaned in, pressing her lips softly against Paige’s. The kiss was brief but tender, a quiet moment of connection amid the chaos.

The crowd, sensing the emotion of the moment, erupted into louder cheers, a mix of joy and surprise filling the air. Paige smiled against Azzi’s lips, the moment searing itself into her memory before she pulled back. Azzi’s eyes sparkled with pride, and Paige’s heart swelled with love.

Before leaving, Paige hugged Azzi’s parents and siblings as well, thanking them for their support. Finally, she straightened up, took a deep breath, and walked confidently toward the stage.

She shook the commissioner’s hand with a bright smile before holding up the purple and white Golden State Valkyries jersey. Cameras flashed around her, capturing the moment as she posed for pictures, her smile growing wider with each shot. As she stepped off the stage, the cheers of the crowd and her loved ones followed her, grounding her in the reality that her lifelong dream had just come true.

…

The draft continued as teams made their selections, the anticipation growing with each pick. Paige, now off to the side after her big moment, watched intently as the commissioner announced the second, third, and fourth picks. With each name called, her excitement built. The Golden State Valkyries were back on the clock for the fifth pick, and this one meant just as much to her as her own.

At her table, Azzi tried to keep her composure, her nerves kicking in full force. She wished Paige were still sitting with her, her steady presence a source of comfort, but she knew her girlfriend was somewhere nearby, watching and cheering her on.

When the commissioner stepped back onto the stage, Azzi straightened in her seat, clutching her hands together to keep them steady.

“With the fifth pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Azzi Fudd from the University of Connecticut.”

Azzi’s breath caught as her name echoed through the room. She wasn’t shocked—she had expected this moment—but the reality of it still hit her hard. Her eyes glossed over, her emotions threatening to spill as the crowd erupted in cheers. Amid the noise, one voice stood out, loud and clear above all the others.

“Azzi! I’m so proud of you! Woooo! Yeah, baby!”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh softly, her heart swelling as she recognized Paige’s voice cutting through the chaos.

She turned to her family, hugging each of them tightly as they whispered their own congratulations. Her mom’s eyes were teary, her dad beaming with pride. Azzi felt a sense of overwhelming gratitude before finally making her way to the stage.

Walking up the steps, she shook the commissioner’s hand and accepted the white and purple Valkyries jersey. Cameras flashed as she posed for pictures, holding up the jersey with a radiant smile. She could already hear reporters gearing up for questions, but Azzi wasn’t focused on them. She was focused on what—or rather who—was waiting for her as she stepped off the stage.

Paige stood there on the sidelines, her grin so wide it could light up the room. The pride and love in her blue eyes were unmistakable, and Azzi’s own smile grew impossibly bigger as she walked straight into Paige’s arms.

Paige pulled her into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. In a voice just loud enough for Azzi to hear, she whispered, “You fucking did it, baby.”

Azzi’s dimples deepened as she looked up at Paige, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her again. “We both did,” she whispered back, her voice full of meaning.

The moment was brief but electric, the love between them tangible as they held each other. But before they could get too lost in their celebration, an event staff member gestured for Azzi to head toward the back, where reporters were eagerly waiting.

Hand in hand, Azzi and Paige walked a few steps together before Azzi broke away to take her place in front of the cameras.

After Azzi wrapped up her individual interviews, she was quickly joined by Paige, and the two of them were ushered to a shared table for a joint interview.

As Paige and Azzi settled into their seats for the interview, the buzz in the room was palpable. This was one of the most anticipated joint appearances of the night, and the energy around the two of them was electric. Paige sat with her usual confidence, her hand resting lightly on Azzi’s knee under the table—a move so casual yet so grounding it had become second nature. Azzi, her dimples flashing as she glanced at Paige, leaned forward, ready for whatever questions came their way.

The first interviewer, the same one who had spoken with them before the draft, began with an easy smile. “Well, first off, congratulations to both of you. What a night, huh?”

“Thank you,” Paige and Azzi said in unison before laughing softly at their synchronicity.

The interviewer chuckled. “Alright, I have to ask the burning question first. Did you know about Golden State’s plans to make that trade for the number one pick? Because I think the crowd is still recovering from that one.”

Azzi tilted her head toward Paige, wordlessly handing the question off to her, but Paige smirked and shook her head. “Nope. This one’s all you,” she teased, leaning back with a playful grin.

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled as she answered. “Yes, we knew,” she admitted, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Golden State reached out a while ago, even when the trade was just an idea. They let us know their plan, and we’ve been sitting on that secret ever since.”

“Wow,” the interviewer said, leaning forward. “No slips, no hints to anyone? That’s impressive.”

Azzi smirked and gave Paige a side glance. “I’m a vault.”

Paige raised an eyebrow and leaned in, her grin mischievous. “A vault? Azzi, you almost told Ice during team breakfast.”

Azzi gasped in mock indignation. “Okay, but you’re the one who almost spilled during the media day Q&A!”

The room laughed as they bickered playfully, their chemistry undeniable.

Switching gears, the next question touched on the impact of their draft selections. “Golden State is clearly putting a lot of faith in you two as the faces of their franchise. That’s a massive responsibility. How do you feel about it, and how are you planning to approach it together?”

Paige spoke first, her voice steady and confident. “Honestly, it’s an incredible honor. We know how much this means, not just for us but for the organization and the fans. Azzi and I have been teammates for years, and we’ve built this amazing connection on and off the court. We’re excited to bring that dynamic to Golden State. It’s going to be a lot of hard work, but we’re ready for it.”

Azzi nodded, adding, “Yeah, and we both thrive on challenges. Having each other there makes it even better. We push each other to be better every day, so I think this is going to be a lot of fun… and a lot of competition.”

Paige smirked. “She says competition, but she already knows I’m winning the one-on-ones at practice.”

Azzi shot her a mock glare, her dimples deepening as the room laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

The conversation shifted again, this time to their personal lives. “The two of you have been a huge story this year, a lot of rumors and speculation about your relationship. Was going public with your relationship planned, or was that a spur-of-the-moment decision?”

Paige leaned back slightly, a sly grin forming. “Oh, that was definitely spur-of-the-moment.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Definitely spur-of-the-moment? So you’re just going to put that all on me?”

“Well, you did kiss me first—on live,” Paige countered, her tone teasing.

“You read the comment out loud!” Azzi shot back, her dimples appearing again as the reporters laughed at their banter.

Another reporter chimed in. “So, no regrets about going public in that way?”

Both shook their heads immediately. “Not at all,” Azzi said. “It felt right in the moment. We’d just won a championship, and honestly we were never really keeping it a secret.”

Paige added, “Honestly, if I could go back, I wouldn’t change a thing. That moment was real, and that’s all that mattered to us.”

The questions continued, touching on their future in the league. One reporter asked about their goals in their rookie year, and Paige leaned in with her trademark confidence. “Win, of course. We want to win games, win the trust of our team, and win for the fans. That’s always been the goal.”

Azzi nodded. “And we want to grow, too. We know there’s a lot to learn at this level, and we’re ready to put in the work to get there.”

As the interview wrapped up, one reporter asked, “How does it feel knowing you’re already role models for so many young athletes out there?”

Paige’s expression softened. “It’s humbling, honestly. We’ve been in their shoes, looking up to players we admire. If we can inspire even one kid to chase their dreams, it’s worth it.”

Azzi added, “Yeah, and we just want to show them that hard work and being true to yourself can take you far. That’s something we both believe in.”

As they stood to leave, Paige’s hand lingered on Azzi’s back, guiding her away from the table. “You handled that perfectly,” Paige whispered with a proud smile.

Azzi looked at her, her dimples showing. “So did you. You’re lucky I didn’t call you out for almost crying earlier.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “I wasn’t crying! My eyes were just sweating a little.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning into Paige as they made their way toward the next round of photos.

…

Later that night, after the chaos of the draft had finally settled and the last of their visitors had left, the hotel suite was quiet. The silence felt strange after hours of celebration, but it was a welcome reprieve. Just Paige and Azzi now, the way it always seemed to come back to.

The room was dimly lit, a soft glow from the bedside lamp casting warm shadows on the walls. Paige was sprawled across the bed, scrolling lazily through her phone, her legs tangled in the sheets. She still hadn’t fully processed the events of the day—being drafted first, the excitement of starting her WNBA career, and doing it all alongside Azzi.

In the bathroom, Azzi was finishing her nightly routine, her toothbrush buzzing softly. Paige could hear her humming a tune—something upbeat that she’d probably had stuck in her head all day. It made her smile.

When Azzi finally appeared, she was wearing one of Paige’s oversized UConn shirts, evident by the #5 in the corner, her damp curls falling around her shoulders a clear indication that she had washed all the product used out of her hair. She flipped off the bathroom light and crossed the room to the bed, slipping under the covers with a content sigh. Without a word, she snuggled into Paige’s side, her cheek pressing against her shoulder.

"Long day?" Paige teased, wrapping an arm around her.

"Long but perfect," Azzi murmured, her voice soft and a little sleepy. She traced absent patterns on Paige’s arm, letting the calm of the moment settle over them.

Paige tilted her head down to press a kiss to Azzi’s curls. "Perfect, huh? I mean, I guess it wasn’t bad. Got drafted first. Got to watch my girl cry happy tears on national TV..."

Azzi sat up, swatting her lightly. "I didn’t cry!"

"You teared up," Paige shot back with a smirk.

"Okay, maybe a little," Azzi admitted, her dimples showing as she smiled. "But I’m allowed. It’s not every day your dream comes true."

Paige’s smirk softened into something more genuine. "You deserved it, Az. Everything about today... you earned it all."

Azzi’s eyes softened as she settled back against Paige. "So did you. It still doesn’t feel real, though. Us. Golden State. Together. It’s like..." She paused, searching for the right words.

"Like we cheated the system?" Paige supplied with a grin.

Azzi laughed. "Exactly. It’s like they didn’t realize what they were doing putting us on the same team again."

Paige chuckled, pulling her closer. "Guess we’ll just have to show them."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with knowing someone so completely. Azzi’s hand moved to Paige’s, their fingers intertwining under the sheets.

After a moment, Azzi broke the silence, her voice laced with mischief. "You know, you still owe me something."

Paige raised an eyebrow, glancing down at her. "Oh, do I? And what exactly do I owe you, Fudd?"

Azzi gave her a pointed look. "Don’t play dumb. You know."

Paige grinned, feigning innocence. "Weird, because I distinctly remember you saying—and I quote—‘You’re not touching me for a week.’ So, I’m a little confused here."

Azzi rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. "I’m a woman of many layers, Paige. I’m allowed to change my mind."

Paige laughed, a warm, rich sound that made Azzi’s chest feel full. "You’re full of it," she said, her voice fond as she shifted to roll over, pinning Azzi beneath her.

"And you love it," Azzi shot back, her dimples flashing again.

"I do," Paige admitted, her tone softening as she leaned down to press her lips to Azzi’s in a slow, lingering kiss. Azzi melted into it, her hands finding their way to Paige’s shoulders.

When Paige pulled back, there was a look on her face—something between awe and joy. Her blue eyes sparkled, the light from the lamp catching them just right.

Azzi frowned playfully. "What’s that look for?"

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just stared at her, something unspoken passing between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but steady. "Just... realizing something."

Azzi tilted her head. "Which is?"

Paige reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Azzi’s face. Her thumb lingered on her cheek, her touch featherlight. "No matter what happens—no matter where life takes me or what I face—it’ll always be you, Azzi. Always."

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes shining. She reached up to cup Paige’s cheek, her thumb brushing over her skin. "Paige..."

"I’m completely in love with you Azzi Fudd," Paige whispered, her voice trembling slightly, but her gaze unwavering.

A radiant smile spread across Azzi’s face, her dimples deepening as her eyes glossed over again. "I’m completely in love with you too, Paige Bueckers."

Azzi pulled her down for another kiss, this one deeper, more consuming. Paige lost herself in it, her heart pounding as if it were the first time.

When they finally broke apart, Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s, both of them breathing heavily but smiling.

"Guess I’m never getting rid of you now," Azzi teased, her tone light but her eyes serious.

"Not a chance," Paige replied, her voice filled with quiet conviction.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, their future stretching out before them. No matter what came next, they knew they’d face it together.

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly as it should as Paige realized it’ll always be the girl in her arms she comes back to.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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merchelsea · 1 year ago

Text

private support- george russell

pairing: george russell x fem! model! reader

summary: you are constantly fighting george’s haters on interviews and socials, but when you need him to do the same, he doesn’t.

author’s note: my first time writing angst, please give me some tips to improve!! and i’m actually taking requests now, so if you have any, let me know!

word count: 2k+ (not counted properly)

warnings: angst, fighting, miscommunication, racism accusations, silence treatment, confused reader.

your mind snapped back to reality as your hairstylist, who also happened to be your best friend, playfully snapped her fingers in front of your face.

"what are you thinking about?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and concern as she stood before you, demanding an answer.

"nothing," you quickly shot back, though the truth was quite the opposite. you had been mulling over everything that had transpired in the past week.

a false accusation of racism had been circulating on the internet, and it had been so well-constructed that people started believing you were capable of such a thing.

it was frustrating that almost no one believed you, but it was even more frustrating that you couldn't deny it. this whole scandal had brought up an unwanted spotlight, and you were obligated to follow a contract, which meant that, if they were to push you under the bus because they'd benefit from it, they could. and that is exactly what they did.

you felt anger and disappointment toward those you worked with daily, as you never thought they would betray you in such a way. in response, you had pulled all available strings and taken legal action to clear your name. while you had managed to set the record straight publicly through the legal process, it did little to ease the weight on your mind.

"that’s bullshit, you have been watching that tiktok for 15 minutes." your friend quipped, redirecting your attention to your phone, which had been playing the same vogue advertisement repeatedly. "so, what's on your mind?"

you sighed, contemplating the flood of thoughts but reluctant to discuss them. "a lot of stuff, but I really don't want to talk about it." your friend took a deep breath and reluctantly accepted your reluctance. "fine," she conceded. as much as she could try to hide it, you knew her, and realized she wasn't happy about it. "don't get mad."

"I’m not mad. I just don’t understand why you never talk with me about this stuff." you furrowed your brows as she moved to hold your hair from behind, starting to curl it again. "I mean, I’m supposed to be your best friend, you should be able to talk with me."

"it's about george," you exhaled as she began working on your hair, curling it once more. "what did he do?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "you guys never fight."

"he didn’t do anything, that’s the problem." you explained, feeling the heat of anger dissipate. the woman behind you turned your chair to face her, and you knew it was time to open up about it.

"what happened, babe?" she asked, pulling over a bench and sitting down. it was clear that she recognized the importance of the conversation.

you silently wondered about what to say for minutes, because even tho it was something really clear in your mind, you had no idea of how to put it into words.

she grew impatient in front of you, drumming her fingers in the bench she was sat in, waiting for you to break.

"he still hasn't said anything about this. he talked to me, told me he knew I could never do such a thing," you began, picking up a makeup pencil to occupy your hands. "but people asked him in interviews, and he didn't even deny it. he would just say hat he wouldn't comment on it."

You felt a mix of emotions, ranging from sadness to disappointment. You had always defended George in similar situations, in interviews, instagram stories, fighting people on twitter. in every way you could.

unintentionally, you expected him to do the same for you when the time came. but it came and he didn't. you couldn't really blame him because you never even talked to him about it, he had no way of knowing, but you did, you blamed him.

you blamed him and you felt awful for that. it was all an endless circle of guilt and shame that you were trying to run of. confused, stressed, attacked. how could someone be fine while feeling all of that?

questions lingered in your brain as your best friend talked to you, trying to help you in the better way she could. besides all of the mess, she was the one thing you were sure off, she was your rock, stabling you through the storm.

posting that video and coming clean about the situation had been a good step, but it hadn't eased the stabbing pain in your chest.

coming home to him was harder than ever. you had ignored his calls and every single one of his attempts to contact you. it was childish of you, and you were aware, but you just couldn't help it.

anyways, things had to be said.

as you entered the room, you found george lying on the couch in his mercedes shirt. he smiled when he saw you, relieved that you had come. he thought you wouldn't come, that caused by the three days left on read and the 14 missed calls.

seeing you was a relief for him. he immediately got up and walked to you, but you denied his attempt to touch your face. the smile on his face disappeared as fast as it came on.

"hey, what happened?" he attempted to caress your cheek, but you pulled away his arm. "what did I do?" his confused and saddened gaze filled you with regret and you realized what you were doing.

you weren't being fair.

"I'm sorry. I just—" you began, stepping back. his reaction made you realize that you needed to communicate openly. "I need to talk to you," you said, and george nodded, ready to listen. he looked genuinely terrified as you refused his touch, not understanding what he had done wrong.

"okay... hm. lets sit down." he suggested, trying to make it as comfortable as he could for you.

you both moved to the couch, sitting on opposite ends. george looked you in the eye, waiting for you to speak.

"so, you know about that racism accusation, right?"george nodded, not daring to speak. "I'm kind of upset about it."

"well that's understandable, yo-"

"george," you interrupted, wanting to clarify your point. "I'm not really worried about the accusation itself right now. you haven't said anything about it yet." the brit furrowed his brows.

"what? I told you exactly what I thought that same night. you could never do such thing and I know that very well." you sighed, annoyed again. it was difficult to try and see things from his perspective, but the truth is that you weren't explaining him things clearly.

"that's not what I mean. you've talked about it with me, but you never did on public. you never said that 'i could never do such thing' to anyone else." his eyes fall on you again, softened this time.

"oh." it lingers in the air for quite some time as he gets ahold of his thoughts and you grow inpatient. "I'm sorry about that. I never thought you wanted to." some other words danced on the tip of his tongue. he contained himself, but he could've easily ended this argument.

"you never thought? how's that?" you offendedly ask. how could you not want your boyfriend to have your back?

"well, once you told me you didn't like the thought of being seen as dependent of me. that you wanted to be seen as an independent and strong woman. I respected, and still respect that." you recalled saying this after a long night in monaco. deep conversations had become a regular occurrence between you two after his race weekends.

"it's not about depending on you; it's about you supporting me," you raised your voice, making it clear how upset you were. "I always do that for you, and it doesn't mean anything."

"yeah, because the media and society are twisted as fuck, and we both know that," george said, turning his body towards you, now more open to discussing the issue. "tell me that if it were me in your position, you wouldn't be labeled as a woman who needs her boyfriend to protect her. do you have any idea of how you would be talked about?"

you hated it when he was right, but he was right now. however, he seemed to miss your perspective on all of this.

"I wouldn't care. I would know you were by my side and I wouldn't care."

"your such a bad liar. you would care. you would and you will because I gave an interview like two days ago, talking about it." he sighs. "because even though I knew it wasn't what you would've wanted, I could not keep quite while you were going through all of that."

silence fills the room as you both just stare at each other. how could have you missed this? okay, you had been avoiding anything george related for the past days, but you would know. wouldn't you?

"of course that, I could've told you if you just picked up your damn phone." george got up and left for your bedroom before you had a chance to react. but he did exactly what you needed—he gave you some time to think, to process, and to feel guilty for treating him poorly when all he had done was thinking of you.

you took out your phone and searched his name on twitter. the first thing coming up being exactly what you were looking for.

"it's unacceptable. it's actually unacceptable that someone can do this and live their life in peace. that person screwed her over — her name, her work, everything she represents. yeah, no, I can not deal with this shit. I mean, she is the most admirable person in this earth and people who can't deal with other's happiness just keep trying to mess that up. they wont succeed, though. she is incredible enough to not let that happen." "george, does it bother you that it was a fan of yours who came up with this?" "fan? sorry but that can't be called a fan. that is just a jerk who tried to ruin someone's life. does it bother me that is the love of my life being attacked? a lot. it drives me crazy. as I said before, I can't deal with this. I honestly think it would be easier if I was the one being attacked. I just can't understand why someone would do this to her. she always does what's best for others, she supports everyone, is always out there in the world fighting other's fights and this is how she is payed? it's not fair, it's just not fair." "i have only one more question for you. why did it take you so long to speak about this? even your teammate, lewis hamilton, talked about this the day it came out, and you're only just now coming clean." "well obviously I wanted to talk about this from the moment I saw it. it took a lot of me to not start a war right there. but we all know how fucked up the world is and how she would've been talked about if I came straight to interviews. she probably will even get a few comments about me but I couldn't keep it in. if she is not allowed to speak, I'll speak for her. that's how we work. we love each other and we support each other." "uh, i'm sorry george. not allowed?" "thank you for having me."

his face displayed anger, and he seemed more than ready to start a war. you couldn't help but smile throughout the whole video, feeling grateful for the man you had by your side.

and then it hit you—you had been treating him horribly when he didn't deserve it. in fact, he deserved the opposite. so, you got up and went to apologize.

opening the bedroom door, you saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door. he had been waiting for you.

"I'm sorry," you said as you moved closer. he pulled you close by the waist, hugging your body, and you caressed his hair.

" you need to talk to me," he murmured against your belly.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," you said, taking his head in your hands and forcing him to look up at you. "I promise you that from now on, we'll discuss everything. I love you so much."

"I love you too. you know that, right?" you nodded your head with a big smile. if this had shown you something, was that he loved you.

"I know, and I'm sorry for cutting you off when things went bad. that was really shitty of me." you looked up, admitting your mistakes.

"never do that again, I got so afraid. I thought I had lost you."

"I'll never do it again. I promise." you stuck out your pinky and he took it. sealing the promise with a kiss on your enlaced fingers.

#george russell #george russel x reader #george russel imagine #george russel x you #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #george russell x you #george russell x y/n #f1 imagine #formula one #fem reader #f1 reader #formula one story #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #fem reader f1 #mercedes reader

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