Hunger Games Stylists Novels & Stories

"A full service for two hours...Whatever she needs...Tonight is the Blackwood gala." Then he hung up. "You can't just..." "I have a stylist on retainer," he explained. "I've never used her for anything this interesting." He spoke with confidence, never worried about money. "You're going to make a scene," I predicted. "Jonathan made the first scene," he replied. "I'm just showing up to it." The stylist's name was Celeste and she arrived with two racks, three assistants, and a makeup case the size of a small suitcase. She had understood the importance of the occasion. "Tell me what you want people to feel when they see you," she asked.

just a courthouse wedding in front of a fashion stylist. He pressed a hand against his chest as though I had wounded him. "There is no such thing as just a wedding. I don't care whether you're getting married in a palace, courthouse, on a beach in Maldives or someone's backyard, A wedding is a wedding, and no Sterling woman is walking into hers looking anything less than absolutely unforgettable.” He pointed proudly at himself. "Besides being your ridiculously talented executive assistant, I also happen to be an exceptional stylist. Fashion is practically my second language."

POV: Samantha *** The "stylist team" turned out to be three terrifyingly efficient women named Anya, Ingrid, and Beatrice. They descended on my suite like surgical nurses prepping a trauma patient. No hello. Just cold fingers pinching my waist, tape measures snaking around my ribs, and critical murmurs in French. "Trop maigre." "La peau est déshydratée, catastrophique." "Les cheveux… mon dieu, une catastrophe."

I have always dreamt that when I finally become a stylist that I should style you someday, five years back, I love the way you dress them, I am happy to style you today" I said. " Thanks" I said. The stylist and her team began to style my hair, the costumier arrived with several gowns sewn in traditional fabrics but in mordern gown styles with head gear. After the dressing, I stood up and stare at myself in the T.V and I almost not recognize myself . I smile to myself. I stare into the mirror and smile happily and my mood change again , I remembered someone, Adeoye, I began to pray not to set my eyes on him because I know I can't resist his child and the guilt of this kids being his will hun

I looked up to see Hughs approaching with three of his biker gang friends, all wearing expressions of cruel amusement. "Holy shit, is that the little princess?" one of them called out, pointing at me like I was some exotic zoo animal. "What are you doing, sweetheart? Looking for your next meal?" The others burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. "Maybe she's so poor now that she has to eat garbage," another one suggested, wiping tears from his eyes. "I hear omega digestive systems can handle pretty much anything." "Nah, look at how carefully she's sorting through it," the third one chimed in. "She's probably looking for materials to make herself a dress for the competi

I am going to be the best Luna, next to their previous one. The stylist, who was also a pack member, was smiling as she looked at me after she was done with my hair and make-up. I didn’t want to put anything on my face, but Sims and Allie insisted. They said that there are other packs that they invited who are intrigued by how I look. They even made fun of me when they told me that they didn’t want our guests to see me in my pants and t-shirts, which is, by the way, my all-time OOTD.

The position, curvature, and colour of each strand of hair were all carefully arranged. Even the seemingly disdainful expression on Lucas' face seemed to be made up. Jenn looked more and more ambitious as she watched. "Try on the clothes, don't be late!" Jenn's confidence grew stronger and stronger. The stylist brought over seven or eight hangers and began to match Lucas' clothes, but Jenn was still not satisfied.

I whispered, and she just stared at me like I had grown two heads. Well, I'd expected that reaction. "Hmm, not even a blowjob? Or masturbated?" she pressed. I stared at her, wondering if she was even really a fashion stylist. How was she Thorne's stylist? Had she fucked Thorne before? The thought made my breath shudder for a second, and I quickly looked down as pain seeped through me. "I haven't. Is this like part of the fashion styling process or something?" I asked, and she only chuckled.

Hector pointed at himself. She patted his shoulder and said, “Hector, having a good taste is a great skill as well. After all, men and women have very different perspectives when it comes to fashion. You can precisely distinguish what kind of jewelry is suitable for girls, and it's a waste if you don't become a stylist.” “I don't know how to do makeup and styling,” Hector said with his mouth pouted.

I shout as she takes a pair of scissors to the bottom hem. "Fixing it. Think of it as a St. Claire Bespoke piece, crafted just for you. You're welcome." What is wrong with these people? Do none of them have any sense of boundaries? As if having Atticus enter my room whenever he wants isn't bad enough, now Madison is ripping my clothing to "fix" it. These people need hobbies. Hobbies that do not include me. “Take off your shirt,” She demands, the look on her face leaving no room for argument.