#although i can see her in a tailored blazer... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aangelinakii · 1 year ago

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NO SMOKING ALLOWED

in which black cat wants a smoke

chapter : six

character : tangerine

fandom : bullet train

song : safeword , tv girl

date : 25th june 2023

as the shinkansen pulled into shin-yokohama station, estela stepped off the platform, watching as people walked in and out of the train. her hand rested on her chest, beneath the breast pocket of her blazer, just in case she had to make any emergency pulls for the beretta.

she stood outside the door that separated carriages three and four, whilst the two fruits stood further up and down the platform.

although she was supposed to be looking for that ladybug man to deboard the train with the decoy case, black cat couldn't prevent her mind from wandering. she found it so odd how, depending on the circumstance, rivals can become partners in the best and worst of times; she was finding this out firsthand, from going from anxious the fruits would find her with the briefcase, to losing the case and now working with them to find it again.

lemon seemed nice enough, with his soft eyes and thomas the tank engine obsession, which was sort of endearing for him being a contract assassin. tangerine, on the other hand, had not presented himself with the best first impression; he was hot-tempered and potty-mouthed, neither of which were a flattering combination, and the porn moustache wasn't really doing him any favours, either.

the woman peered up the platform, to where tangerine stood, eyebrows furrowed as he glared at every person passing him. his silver gun glinted under the overhead lights as he held it firmly by his side. he held himself with confidence, though estela was unsure if it was true confidence, or just cockiness, which wouldn't be surprising.

almost a minute had passed and no ladybugs had stepped off the train, and the platform was beginning to grow less and less busy as people boarded and deboarded the shinkansen.

at the bottom of the platform, lemon, gun in hand, looked over at tangerine and black cat with a shrug and solemn shake of his head. black cat's lips tugged into a line, and she looked further up the platform to spot tangerine. he rolled his icy eyes and let out a grunt black cat could hear from her place on the platform, and he turned around and boarded the train.

black cat looked back over at lemon, and the two shared a shrug and stepped up onto the shinkansen once again.

no sign of the ladybug and his stupid silver case.

the trio met up at the bottom of the shinkansen, the baggage compartment just before the first economy carriage. they decided that black cat and tangerine would work their way up the train in search of the man with black glasses, and lemon would stay with the white death's son, in order to ensure no more harm came to him, working his way slowly up the platform to search for either briefcases more thoroughly.

"no sign of the cunt," was the first thing tangerine said as he emerged from carriage one, hands in pockets and a scowl upon his face.

black cat shook her head, indicating the same for her.

"where'd you last see him?"

black cat stared through the window of the automatic door leading into carriage three. "way further up. we were just out of economy."

tangerine let out a huff. "there's nothing back there, so i guess the only thing left is to go up the cars until we trap the piece of cunt."

the taller, moustached, tailored-suited, fruit-named man put no more time to waste, and pushed past black cat to walk through the automatic door into the first carriage, and the woman followed (not too closely) behind.

as they walked, that was another thing estela could think of that put her off the man; his so blatant lack of kindness and respect, when it was so easy to just avoid doing a certain action that came off as rude. of course, she didn't expect every contract killer to be outstanding in positive personality, but some things were just bare minimum.

for the first few moments, there was silence between them, and neither were sure if it was comfortable or not, until the woman spoke up.

"your shoelace is untied."

"what?" tangerine uttered, thrown off-guard as he stopped abruptly in his tracks, causing estela to bump lightly into his back. he looked down at his shoe and began to grumble as he bent down to retie the loose lace.

once he'd swiftly laced up his shoe, he was back on his way with no more small talk. estela followed behind, looking about the overhead baggage store, puffing some air in her cheeks out of boredom.

was teaming up with the fruits really the best idea?

she worked best alone, so why did she think this "collaboration" of sorts would be a good idea? maybe it was because she knew having a partner, or partners, would save her ass by one third. if it were just her alone having to face the consequences for stealing from the white death, chances are both arms and a leg would be gone, but with two other people, it would probably be one arm each, which would be better than just a single leg remaining. might as well make the most of it, right?

"how do you and lemon know each other?" black cat asked, trying to make small talk, which felt less unnerving than walking in complete silence.

"brothers. we grew up together."

"oh, brothers?" the woman repeated, sort of taken back in surprise. "i wouldn't have expected that. are you, like, biological, or...?"

"why does it fuckin' matter?" tangerine scoffed with a roll of his eyes, glancing over his shoulder to shoot a short-lived glare in her direction.

and estela took this harsh-wording as a sign to shut up.

tangerine clearly wasn't the warm type, or nice, or anything positive, really. if lemon truly was his brother, estela pitied the time he spent having to grow up with him.

together, one behind the other, they continued to walk down the aisles, trying to appear inconspicuous, moving further up the train cars.

it wasn't until they'd just made their prompt way out of carriage five, that tangerine's phone buzzed from within his blazer. he pulled it from his inner breast pocket and stared at the no caller id on the screen. the two joined eyes, and tangerine broke the eye contact first. "i'll just be a moment."

estela nodded and stepped into the sixth train car, which was a great introduction to the first carriage in first class.

as she walked through, careful with each step so as to not disturb the people trying to get some shut-eye, estela took note of a young girl sitting with the same shaggy-looking man who'd bumped into the trolley lady. her pace slowed as she approached them, trying to inspect them closer.

the young girl was white, whilst the man was asian, which she found an odd combination, considering how he hadn't been with this little girl at the beginning of the trip. but, if she'd learnt one thing from this mission, it was to not judge two people who claimed to be related if they weren't the same race.

her judgements were dissolved as she heard the door zip open behind her, followed by a long string of profanities grumbled under breath. she stopped in her path to wait for the expletive-ridden man.

as he walked past the little girl and shaggy man in brown, tangerine quickly noticed their presence. "i beg your pardon, sorry, i wasn't aware there was a young lady present. apologise."

the man in brown waved a hand dismissively. he didn't seem too thrown by his language, which seemed suspicious as a normal father would tell adults to watch their profanities around their young children. unless she wasn't his child?

but, at this point, he was on a roll. tangerine continued, his eyebrows upturned and his mouth pulled into a grimace. "uh, you didn't happen to see someone come by with a silver briefcase, did ya?"

the young girl, short black hair and matching pink clothing, spoke up. "actually, yeah!" her voice was high in pitch, with a cute tone attached. "um, a man with black framed glasses had it. he went that way." she pointed with her thumb back down the train, the direction in which black cat and tangerine had just came.

tangerine let out a deep sigh, and looked back over at estela. "i just had my first encounter with the fucker," he spoke lowly, eyes twitching in anger. was rage is default emotion?

he glanced back down at the little girl, trying to control his anger as he spoke. "thank you, love." he offered a short smile, which ended up looking more like a pained grimace, and he was off down the aisle again.

"that fucking bastard," tangerine seethed as he stomped down the aisle, estela by his side. "he was fucking listening to me on my fucking phone call, that fucking creep."

as the duo returned to the large storage compartment separating economy from first class, tangerine whipped out his mobile once again, and estela noted the west ham sticker stuck to the back as he furiously typed away.

once he'd hit send on his screen, tangerine pushed his mobile into the pocket of his navy pinstripe trousers, and positioned himself in front of the lit-up mirror, running a hand over his chestnut hair to smooth down any fly-aways.

"so you support west ham?" estela piped up, rummaging through the external pockets of her oversized blazer for her half-empty pack of benson & hedges.

tangerine's icy eyes met hers in the mirror, appearing even brighter in the vanity light. "yeah... what about it?"

"nothing, i just noticed it on your phone," the girl replied with a shrug, opening the pack and pulling a stick out between her lips. "don't get why you have to be so defensive about it."

through the mirror, tangerine continued to inspect her, eyes following her movements as she replaced her pack, and ran her hands over her pockets. she looked up at him, eyes on his true self rather than his reflection.

"do you have a lighter?"

"you shouldn't smoke inside, love."

estela's eyes trailed over to the sign stuck to the side of the silver restroom compartment: "no smoking allowed."

cigarette still hanging from her plump lips, her eyes narrowed. "do you have a lighter?"

the corner of tangerine's mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile. he reached inside his blue waistcoat and pulled out a shining silver lighter.

the man slowly stepped forward, eyes on the woman before him, expertly flipping the cap off with his thumb. he stopped in front of her, hand lingering beneath the butt of the cigarette. a small orange flame burst to life with a click of the flint wheel against steel. the flame flickered under the white stick for a moment, to burn the material, and then it disappeared and pulled away.

estela inhaled softly, and exhaled a small amount of smoke, the stick between her index and middle fingers. maybe it didn't count as smoking inside if she just breathed out less smoke, you know?

tangerine flipped the lid back on his zippo, and tucked it away into his blazer breast pocket. he stepped back a few, situating himself against the wall opposite estela, covering the "no smoking allowed" sign, so now she technically was allowed.

"what 'bout you, black cat?" he asked, nodding his chin up at her, digging his veiny hands into his pockets. "you support any sports?"

with a soft smile, accompanied with a chuckle, estela blew out some more smoke. "do i look like the support-any-sports type?" she teased, raising an eyebrow and shaking her head softly as she brought the cigarette back up to her lips.

jutting out his bottom lip, the man shrugged. "i wouldn't know." his eyes narrowed as he looked her over again, scrutinising her. one hand pulled itself out of his pocket and pointed at her lazily. "you know what you look like?"

estela's eyebrows furrowed, pulling away the stick to ash it into the wall-mounted bin beside her. "what...?" she replied lowly, her tone suspicious and unsure.

"you look like you'd support chelsea."

a small laugh brushed past the girl's lips. "chelsea? really?" she rolled her eyes and brought the cigarette back up to her lips. "that might be the worst insult i've gotten in the past six months, and i've been called some bad shit."

now when tangerine smiled, his teeth were just about on show, revealing his ice thawing somewhat. "alright, then, love, who do you support?"

"i'll give you a hint," estela began, breathing out her final puff of smoke before burning the cigarette out on the rim of the wall-mounted trash can. "they're not premier league."

"oh..." tangerine hummed, bringing his hand up to scratch pensively at his chin, eyes narrowing to scrutinise her again.

the woman didn't give him any time to think of his answer. "barçelona," she stated, dropping the burnt-out cigarette into the bin. "you know where that is, right?" she asked, waving a hand to separate the smoke in the compartment and moving in front of the mirror.

"course i do," the male replied, watching her as she inspected herself in the mirror.

estela tilted her head to the left and leaned closer to her reflection. along where her temple connected to her forehead, a green bruise began to form, still just lingering beneath the skin. a small profanity brushed past her lips as she brought a finger to trace the sickly colour.

tangerine's eyes narrowed, and he peered around the woman before him, trying to get a better look at the bruise in the mirror. "that looks shitty, how'd you get that?"

with a sigh, estela leaned back to her full height and met the man's eyes in the mirror. "bumped my head."

"looks like you bumped it pretty hard. you lose some braincells with that?"

"let's just go," estela grumbled with a roll of her eyes, pulling away from the mirror once she'd spied tangerine's cheeky smile and teasing tone.

#smooth operator tangerine #smooth operator bullet train #tangerine #bullet train tangerine #bullet train imagines #tangerine imagines #tangerinz x reader

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siren-ej-exe · 2 years ago

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The Messy French Girl Aesthetic: It’s Origins and Impact

When you think of Parisian style, what comes to mind?

Is it Parisian style staples such as trench coats, ballet flats or a little black dress? Or French fashion style icons such as Françoise Hardy, Bridget Bardot and Jane Birkin?

Many people on Tik Tok have been infatuated with the fantasy of the “Messy French girl” with the idea behind it being to dress effortlessly chic, timeless and stylish, whilst being careless. Achieving the look involves investing in items such as tailored jeans, mini skirts (usually black or plaid), basic plain tops with small patterns, a little black dress, loafers, ballet flats, oversized blazers, dress shirts, preppy jumpers, black healed boots, black stilettos, loafers, Mary Jane’s, fur coats, black or white tights with either designer logos or delicate patterns and a leather blazer. They also take inspiration from people like Lily Rose Depp being the main one, Carla Bruni and Camille Rowe. The colours associated with this style are mainly: Red, Black,White, Creme and Camel. The brands that are usually mentioned are: Dior, Chanel, Burberry, Ralph Lauren, Brandy Melville, Reformation and Realisation as they are seen as creating classic clothing items or footwear as well as Dior and Chanel being actually French which can be seen as more ‘authentic’.

The “Messy French Girl” loves red lipstick, smudged eye makeup, almond acrylic nails, listening to Lana Del Ray, wearing pearl jewellery, smoking, drinking red wine and is mysterious, has a small group of friends, journals, loves to read, is always on the go, goes out to fancy dinners and can be a party girl but will arrive home early to avoid the hangover. Whilst also being academic/intelligent and down to earth. With the idea of living in a lavish apartment in Paris and living her best life. This new re-birth of “The French Girl” is another example of trends repeating themselves and again connecting with younger audiences, making the whole aesthetic very profitable for brands. This aesthetic has quite a few crossovers between the Rockstar Girlfriend aesthetic and the Coquette aesthetic as it’s a more grunge version of the normal and lighter French Girl aesthetic. However, with most aesthetics birthed by Tik Tok there is also an issue with being inclusive as the aesthetics are usually curated to rich, thin, white women. As it has idealises the “heroin chic” body type created by Kate Moss in the 90′s and 2000′s.

But how realistic is the idea of how actual Parisians dress day to day? Luckily I was able to go to Paris myself earlier this year in April of this year and observe peoples actual everyday style and here are some of my observations:

Parisians do seem to dress in mainly plain colours and quiet a few people do wear trench coats as well as tailored Jeans and basic tops. However, almost no one was wearing ballet flats and the majority were wearing tennis shoes ( I also saw a lot of Adidas Sambas on the men particularly.) Although eventually you will see pops of bright colour. So basically, they dress like everyone else who lives in a European city.

I think that Parisians in general don’t dress necessarily for style purposes but mainly for practicality and comfort trying to walk around the city as European cities are usually made for walking due to the amount of public transport.However, it is important to remember the aesthetics are mainly fantasies and in a way is not meant to be realistic The romanticisation of Parisian style or Paris in general, mainly seems to come from Americans.

The origins of this romanticisation stem from the making of old Hollywood films such as An American in Paris and Midnight in Paris. This is because in 1923 when the International Research Kinema asked the Séeberger brothers to take photos of Paris that are representative to help Hollywood help reconstruct it on sets. They took fashion photos of the highest class on what we now call street style. Some people see them as the “Fathers of street style photography.” In an article by Cody Delistraty titled “Why Americans Romanticise Paris” he explains why Americans are infatuated with Paris because “Everything in Paris is close enough to the American equivalent where it’s still accessible, not too foreign – it can still act as a screen to our desires. But there are slight differences. There are of course the obvious differences: the Eiffel Tower is not the Empire State Building, the Seine is not the Hudson, but it’s the smaller things in quotidian life that throw the visiting American for a loop.” Showing that Americans find a clear familiarity in Paris, but it could also be an affect of their long history together.

France is known as the US’s oldest ally, helping them win the American Revolutionary War in 1775-1783 and American diplomats travelled to Paris and write of there experiences. In Mina Le’s video titled “American Girl unpacks the “French Girl” Style” she talks about the history between America and France and how that helped France’s tourism from 8:46-14:03, which I recommend as well as Dion the Taurus’s video titled “Style Analysis: The Messy French Girl - opulence,cigarettes + continued Francophila” which I found interesting and if you are interested in aesthetics and fashion history I recommend their channels.

I think that “The French Girl” aesthetics will always be re birthed so long as it is profitable and are mainly catered to American audiences a good example of seeing how Paris and Parisian style is marketed towards American audiences is the show “Emily in Paris.” seems a lot of people don’t actually enjoy watching it because it’s good but because it is a good hate watch. Although it doesn’t necessarily link to the “Messy French Girl” aesthetic it does show a good example of trying to sell the idea of Paris to Americans. Obviously, the aesthetic is only a fantasy and not realistic as many actual Parisians dress for comfort and practicality whilst being stylish if that is their goal.

Let me know what you guys think about “The Messy French Girl” aesthetic!, if you are French what do you think of it?

Lots of love,

~Siren~ <3

#paris #france #fashion trends #fashion #french girl #messy french girl #lily rose depp #fashion history #aesthetic #french girl aesthetic #carla bruni #camille rowe #lana del rey #coquette #rockstar girlfriend #rockstar gf

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mobiused · 2 years ago

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I'm kinda curious, what sort of outfits would you want to see hyeju in?

A lot of this comes down to personal preference but I personally think Hyeju suits outfits that pair with her body language and posture. She's someone who stands shoulders squared, feet planted firmly - in group photos you can see this best (and how her vibes are at odds with what she gets stuck in).

In my opinion someone who stands like her, like an MMA fighter waiting for the results of the fight, suits clothes that make them look strong and dynamic, so I think triangles and rectangles are especially flattering. Round, soft, flowy bullshit just makes her look silly imo. Like that in this pic the fuzzy sweater rounds off her shoulders and makes her look frumpy, and the blunt cut on the skirt and lack of anything on the legs make her legs look stumpy - Haseul's sick as fuck pants taper to make her legs look long as hell even though she's tinyweeny.

Contrastly, this outfit which suits Hyeju with sharp angular shoulders & neckline makes her look awesome. The longer short leg on the left side suits her thighs better, but the angular cut on the right side isn't so bad either - she still looks pretty badass. Then with haseul, the round neck and tshirt style sleeves on Haseul looks so fucking stupid!

Anyway. IMO Hyeju suits clothes that make her look strong and angular. This doesn't have to mean masculine although its inherently yang oriented, although it's also why she looks so damn good in suits - because they're flattering.

Ignore her stupid slouching (and the fact it's too short lol) this is an incredibly flattering top for her broad shoulders, steep angular neckline and cinched waist (although the bottom half being too short which you can't see in these images loses some of the effectiveness of the angularity) like she's literally slaying here. AND it's feminine so there this isn't just me being on my butch lesbian agenda.

2 more angular neckline / broad shoulder / cinched waist that is totally flattering (but the way they put a wave in her fringe detracts... I'd like if if her bangs cut her face sharply as opposed to rounded it out) (from the previous ask, the only reason I hated that blazer look from PTT was because of how off-theme it was compared with everyone else, the blazer itself was flattering but the top paired with it underneath not so much)

If we're actually talking masculine (please dont kill me) fits... Funnily enough I was not compelled by the Sorry Sorry (left) suit at all, both the shirt and jacket are too shapeless and rectangular like it's giving nothing... Why Not suit is better cuz the waistcoat brings the angularity as well as the taper of her jacket. Way better.

Well now I'm just being self indulgent. But you see my point (haha) about angularity right? Anon who said the navy boiler suit outfit slayed now you know why it slayed. Actually everybody go do yourself a fucking favor and watch the entire fancam cuz you need to see how in love she is with how she looks here

(and these ones comparitively arent up to par imo.... dont let the neckline on the right fool you just cuz its a rotated square doesnt mean its not square neckline, the bodycon sleeves are doing nothing for her and like cmon its just shitty and sits wrong)

Um yeah anyway so I think that should give you an insight into what I want to see from her. More angles basically whether that's suits, blazers, jackets, jumpsuits, wide leg pants, high cinched waists, TAILORED TAILORED TAILORED, asymmetry (but don't half ass it). I like her in wide lapels, and if I HAVE to put her in a dress than I think draping sweeping diagonals, thinking satiny, silky (but not baggy or fluffy, puffy or flowy) would look fucking SICK on her. But the stylists are just scared of her eating up everybody else in loona so they wont do it it.

#I am like not remotely a fashion expert I'm just a Hyeju expert so if I'm talking BS please correct me cuz its literally just my preference #Also this one doesn't get a read more sorry I love subjecting you guys to her

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hiraethenthusiast · 3 years ago

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The Hollandairé | t.h.

pairing: ceo!tom x ceo! reader

word count: 16k+

synopsis: exes cross paths on a big event. will they be able to forget each other's mistakes?

warnings: language, sexual innuendos, mentions of an anxiety attack (if you squint), talks about miscarriage, my favourite angst.

a/n: well, well, well im back from a very shitty writers block! look at me, writing angst with exes? oof. can you tell that i absolutely love angst and makeouts in the end? i was somehow inspired by 'idfc' by blackbear to write this fic lol. it took some time and ofcourse i went overboard with it, so hope you enjoy! don't forget to like and reblog! (i even made a moodboard kinda thing uwuwu)

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"Conan I won't hesitate to knee you in the crotch if you don't stop pulling me off this sofa right this second" You tell your roommate, who is desperately trying to get you to go to a gala with him. Being a CEO brings its pros and cons. Pros being, you have a private jet, you're your own boss and you can shout at people with a reason. Cons being, annoyingly nice roommates. You had just shifted to a penthouse in downtown London with your friend Conan, because you refused to stay alone in this bigass house. (You tried living alone once, you were bored to death)

"Conan leave me alone yoo!" You said whining and hunching back into the sofa.

"Get the fuck up and get ready for the launch dude you promised me you wouldn't leave me hanging" Conan shouts over the voice of the t.v. blaring in the background. You pull you hand away from his grip and reach for the remote to shut off the t.v., focusing back on this tall red-headed figure in front of you.

"You know I don't like fancy shit." You grumble.

"It's YOUR fancy shit, get up Y/N." He says and reaches for your arms now, finally making you stand.

"Call Laura, I really don't want to go." You say pulling your phone out from your back pocket and handing it to him.

"If you haven't realised, your manager is the one who forced me to force you to attend the introduction of your fashion line" He fights back.

"- and Y/N. Hey, look at me. You've dreamt of this for how long? Almost all your life. And if you miss the chance to see your empire expand, it's gonna be devastating. You'll obviously miss the fashion show who's got the actual Rudy Pankow walking on a ramp, you'll also miss the opportunity to see people happy with YOUR work. Now get your ass up and get ready." He says and leaves the room, to get ready himself.

It's not that you don't want to go, you really do. Afterall, all of it is your hardwork. But the reason you're not going is because of that asshole. That asshole with whom you used to go out with once, the one who's current goal is to bring you down. The one and only, Tom Holland. You two used to date at some point, the ones who were in love actually, but the rivalry you two have got going on now has lead to you two knowing too much about each other. More than you know about yourself, the other knows it all. Small arguments turned into big ones, that eventually lead to the two of you leaving each other alone. You don't want to go because whenever you meet him, it all turns up into a big mess and your night is typically ruined, and you weren't in the mood for that, atleast not today. He's just a narcissistic bitch who thinks of nothing but degrading you. And that's the reason you don't want to go. Because you know if you talk to him one more time, these banters will persuade you.

But you do realise that you have to go. You have to go because you haven't gone to the last two launches for your perfume and swim line as well, and if you don't go today, Laura will actually end you.

So you just chug all your tea, leaving the kitchen with a grunt to go get ready.

"Hey Marco, can you send in that pantsuit I got done the other day? Look over for modifications if possible, although it looks great in just the solid colour, and please get it drycleaned." You tell your designer over the phone, to which he agreed and you go into your room to get your hair and makeup done.

"Wear a dress to the launch of your fashion line when it gets famous, yeah?"

"Pantsuits all the way Holland, you know I hate dresses."

"I know you do."

You remember the faint memory from over two years ago, that dream actually coming true, just without the person you dreamt it with.

You put your hair in a low bun with a middle part, giving you a classy formal look, and you do a almost non existent makeup look, only your eyes bold to accent with your outfit. Marco drops off the forest green pantsuit at your house, you giving it a twist with wearing a lace corset beneath the blazer.

"I look hot." You told yourself.

You and Conan leave for the event, you fidgeting in between 15 minute durations, Conan reassuring you that he'll be with you until the night ends.

That didn't last long. You lost Conan as soon as you entered the venue, so you occupied yourself with having conversations with other company owners, hearing how they're doing in the industry, blah blah blah.

"Do I look like I care?" You say to yourself.

You move ahead, only to cross paths with the one and only. He was wearing a cherry coloured perfectly tailored suit, adding a hint of Tom with the glasses. He looked good.

"And what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Y/N?" He says, twirling his champagne glass in his hands.

"Look Holland I really don't have time for this shit, please take a goodie bag on your way home" You say with a bit of sass and start to move away, only to get your arm held back, making you bump in his chest.

"I see you wore the pantsuit you always wanted to wear at your event, angel " He says, making you pull away from him.

"Don't ever call me that again, and this is a warning." You were about to continue further with your answer, but you were utterly shocked to see the person in front of you.

"Is that the Y/N Y/L/N, in person, the one who's way too busy to answer my phone calls?" He says, making you laugh a bit.

"Jaeden?" You say, laughing heartily.

"In the flesh, tigeress." He says, doing grabby hands at you as an indication to pull you in a hug. You oblige and walk towards him and give him the biggest bear hug you've given anyone in two years. You pull back just to hit him on the chest once, playfully ofcourse.

"Tigeress. Oof haven't heard that in a while" You keep your conversation going on with Jaeden, while Tom is absolutely dumbfounded about whatever just happened in these past few seconds.

There's this hot guy named Jason or whatever, who calls you 'tigeress' and you aren't pestering him for calling you with a nickname but you definitely were ready to give Tom a piece of your mind when he called you 'angel'? Who is this guy?

Tom goes off to find Conan, who was situated at the bar downing a shot of tequila.

"Hey who's that guy Jason?" He asks him, pointing towards you and Jaeden in the middle of the hall.

"You mean Jaeden?" He says, biting onto a slice of lemon.

"Yeah whatever who is he?" Tom asks again, turning towards to bartender asking for a glass of whiskey.

"Why do you want to know?" Conan shoots back.

"Just curious. Can you just fucking tell me now?" Tom tries again, getting frustrated now.

"Chill dude. Jaeden used to work with Y/N a long time ago. He had this crush on her for like forever, but then Y/N went in for entrepreneurship and they were just not in contact with each other." He says.

"Crush huh?" Tom says, gripping onto his glass so tight that his knuckles almost turned white.

"Why do you look like you're about to murder someone?" Conan asks, getting concerned.

"Because I might." Tom says, grinding his teeth while forcing a smile.

The night goes by pretty smoothly, for you. You and Jaeden were clinged to each other almost the whole night, and then Tom watching you both from a distance, trying not to snap hard at people. He just took enough of it, he had to do something. He wasn't really sure why was he jealous, 'maybe because you love her' his heart said, but his mind crossing paths with a 'no you don't' in the middle. He was in a dilemma, but was mostly leaning towards his heart's side. He finally got up from his seat and walked towards you.

"Y/L/N." He says, keeping his composure.

"Yes?" You turn around to come face to face with him, laughing on something Jaeden had said.

"Board of Directors want to meet you on third floor. I was going that way only, wanted to inform you." He says.

"Oh okay. Jaeden I'll be back in a few. And tell me about that Mario Kart incident." You say, your laughter dying as you walk towards the elevator, motioning Tom to move as well. You both enter the elevator and you click the button for third floor.

"So Jaeden's a long lost friend, I assume?" He tries to small talk, failing miserably.

"Yeah, I used to work with him a long time back. Why do you ask?" You say, being the nicest you've been to Tom in two years.

"Just making small talk. So, exactly how long ago, you used to work with him?" He tries again.

"A really long time ago." You tell him.

"When we were dating?" He says, hesitating.

The elevator dings and you reach third floor, both of you moving into a very empty hallway.

"Why do you care Tom?" You say, making him frustrated even more.

"Because you're my fucking ex-girlfriend whom I'm worried about because that asshole has a mega crush on you" He says, making you jerk your head towards him.

"How many whiskeys have you had?" You ask him, because he was sounding oblivious that's for sure.

You turn around to open the meeting room to find it empty, making you glare at Tom once again.

"Why the fuck did you bring me up here Holland, where's the meeting?" You say, narrowing your eyes towards him.

"There is no meeting Y/N, the Board didn't show up this year, remember?" He says moving and fidgeting around the room.

"Then why did you bring me up here, dumbass?" That put him over the edge. He starts walking towards you making you take a few steps back, finally cornering you in the room.

"Because that guy is fucking flirting with you Y/N. That guy has been roaming around the whole night with my girl, touching and hugging my girl in front of me and you expect me to keep my calm? Huh? I don't fucking care okay? You're supposed to be mine and I was a jerk who let you go. I can't stand seeing you with other people. What the fuck is wrong with you Y/N, why did you leave me?!" He shouts at you, making your blood boil even more.

You push him back and stand in front of him, glaring as if you were going to rip his head off.

"No Tom, YOU left me, alright? I cried almost every night after that day when you left, and you didn't even have the empathy to give me a call. You, are too self-absorbed, and not me Tom. It was all you. I haven't been to even one of my launches just because I know you'll be there, you'll be there to put me down again. And why the fuck do you care about whom I talk to huh?" You shout at him.

"Why would I come to every single one of your launches Y/N?! To see you! To see the person who understood me more than I did, just to fucking see your face and calm my nerves!" He shouts back. He moves towards you and holds you chin to put your eyes at his eye level.

"Look at me Y/N. Look at me. Did we mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you? Look at me in the eyes and tell me you never loved me. Tell me I meant nothing to you and I'll leave this second. Tell me that this was all a lie." He says, making your eyes water.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Then why do you keep hurting me Y/N?! You hurt me so much! You left me when I needed you the most! I wanted you and you weren't there-" He shouts again.

"SHUT UP TOM, SHUT UP! Stop it! Stop! Please. Stop." You're crying hysterically now, hunching up in a corner trying to calm yourself down. Tom immediately sees it and runs towards you holding your hands and cradling them.

"Hey, hey Y/N. Look at me, look at me baby. It's Tom. Hey baby. I'm here, yeah? I'm here. Stop crying come on babe, please. Love, look at me. I'm here." He says, now running his hand over your cheeks wiping your tears.

"Go away. Go away from me." Is all you say, which makes his ears perk and brings water to his eyes.

He stands up and moves out of the room, closing the door just to hear you crying again. He sits down on the floor with his back on the door now, crying, waiting for you to say something.

"Please, open the door." He says, bursting into tears and hugging himself with his arms, wishing it was you.

Fifteen minutes pass by and you still haven't said anything. Tom misses you so much, and it was so fucked up of you to leave him like this. He was hurt, but he could never stop loving you. Ever.

"Losing you would be a nightmare that I'd beg to be awaken from everyday." You say opening the door, your eyes blood red, hair disheveled making Tom look at you, whose eyes were blood red too.

"What?"

"I was pregnant, Tom." You tell him, making his eyes widen and holding your hand for comfort.

"The day-" You clear your throat "The day we fought is when we lost the baby. I was going to tell you I was pregnant that day, but then that happened." You were crying a bit more now, but still held you composure so you can handle Tom from now.

"The argument gave me too much stress and, and it was affecting the baby so as soon as you left, um, my stomach started aching really badly and, and yeah we lost our baby then. That's why I left." You say, you were crying on his shoulder now, intentionally ignoring his reaction because you knew it would hurt him.

"We, we- lost our baby?" He says, a bit shocked but choking on his tears. You remain silent.

"Hey, hey. Listen. It's okay. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I shouldn't have fought with you. You were already really worried and I just added onto your pressure. I'm so sorry baby I'm so so sorry." He was full-on crying now, he sniffled in your neck because he was too afraid to show his emotions.

"It wasn't your fault Tommy, it was ours." You say, running your hand in his curls. The way you missed his chestnut curls. It was all good again, well atleast you hoped.

Tommy. That always brought butterflies in his stomach.

You talked everything out in the bathroom, while washing your faces and cleaning up. You both understood that everything was going back to normal, just like the old times. One conversation lead to another, and you spent two hours on the bathroom floor just laughing and having gossip.

"It's been a while." You say laughing, looking at your watch.

"Yeah."

"Why did you say 'my girl' Tom?" You ask him directly.

"Hm?"

"You called me 'my girl' in the conference room. Why?" You tell him, and he instantly remembers that he did do that.

"You're in my head almost everyday Y/N. Even when you're not supposed to be. It shouldn't have been this hard letting go, but it was. I still love you, even if you don't." He says, taking some tissue paper off the counter.

"Who said I don't love you?" You say, making his eyes widen.

"Wha- wh- what are you implying here?" He stumbles upon his words, making you laugh.

"I still love you, you goof."

"Y/N you have to be serious you're making me want things I can't have." He says wholeheartedly.

You say nothing but grab him by his collar and kiss him with full force. After two years, you felt those soft lips on yours again, reminiscing every moment you had missed in these past years. They felt the same, soft and plump, just as if they were made for you. They fit in with yours like a puzzle, that was meant to be solved by these two hearts which were tangled, but now, in a right way. Tom kissed back almost immediately, feeling your lips was like a dream come true. A recurrent dream in his mind. You both pull back to see red and puffy lips and give out a light laugh. He doesn't stop, he keeps leaving peppery kisses all over your face mumbling sweet words again and again.

"I missed you so, so much angel." he says leaving a kiss on your nose.

"I missed you too bubba." you say leaving a small peck on his lips.

"Let's go now, we've been here for almost two hours." You start to move towards the door, but get pulled back by your waist.

"Tell Jaeden to maintain distance, yeah?" He says.

"Or what?" You say in a playful tone.

"Babygirl, I think you've forgotten what I'm capable of." He says, kissing your neck.

"I think I have. And stop kissing me I look shit." You say, laughing.

"I really don't care. You still look hot and I'm trying not to kiss you senseless right now." He says leaving another harsh suck on your skin, which can hopefully be covered by your blazer.

"Are you going to eyefuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?" You say, now kissing Tom's sweet spot.

"Finish this event in the next half an hour. I'll see you at my house babe." He says leaving one last peck on your lips.

You both reach downstairs after fixing your makeup and hair, you reach upto the stage and and hold onto the mic.

"Thankyou all for attending the event. We look forward to having more business with you! Don't forget to post something about our line 'The Hollandairé' on your social media platforms and don't forget to tag us! We are, The Y/L/N's thankyou have a good night!"

He listen to you and smirks to himself, because you do do what you say.

"I'm going to name my first fashion line 'The Hollandairé' " You say making a banner with your hands.

"And I'll be right with you then baby" He says, kissing your cheek.

Looks like he kept his promise too.

tagging some friends whom i think would like to read!:

@hollandslittlekoala @hollandsmushroom @leafy-holland @tomsoxytocin @scarletspideyy @t-lostinworlds

(pls do tell me if you don't want to be tagged further on!)

don't forget to reblog!

ilysmmmm. tpwk y'all!

#tom holland #tom holland and reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland gifs #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #raya writes #raya is a mohmaya #q #smut #angst #fluff #makeout #jealousy

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the-modernmary · 3 years ago

Text

chess, not checkers || a. hotchner x f!reader

Summary: Cross-examining Agent Hotchner should have been a lot more simple than it had been. But when the questioning slips out of your control, you find yourself being profiled right there in the middle of the courtroom. Amazing how one stranger can know you better than anybody you've ever met.

Contains: SMUT! 18+ only, minors DNI. Fingering, (light) choking, semi-public sex, adultery, anger sex, enemies to lovers, edging, lawyer hotch <3

Word Count: 8k+

Comments: This is so heavily inspired by “charcoal grey” because we all know how hot he was in that scene. Thank you to @angelfxllcm for being an absolute godsend as I wrote this and being the most supportive friend ever. (If you haven’t read her work, you absolutely should!)

“Fucking FBI and their selfish ass schedules,” you grumbled as you hurried through the hallway of the courthouse, your intern Robin on on your heels. “Court gets pushed back for a week because Agent Hotchner just had to leave with them on a case instead of working remotely, and then expects us to drop everything to go to court the second he gets back to D.C. As if we don’t have jobs too. As if I don’t have six other cases sitting on my desk that now have to be pushed back because of him.”

Robin scrambled behind you, nodding along to every word that left your mouth. “Does this happen with the, uh…”

“BAU,” you supplied.

“—BAU, right. Do court cases usually get pushed back for them?”

You shook your head as you checked your watch. A glint caught the corner of your eye. Shit, your ring. You hadn’t expected to go to court, and completely forgot to leave it at home. You pulled it off and slipped it into the outside pocket of your bag, hoping nobody noticed.

“No. Most cases from the BAU never go to court,” you explained. “There’s enough evidence against the people they arrest that it’s almost always a plea.”

The Bankers Box in Robin’s hands almost slipped as you placed another file precariously on top of it. “Then why is this case going to court?”

Your step faltered as you processed her question, and you couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. “You did read the brief for this case, right?” you asked, unsure if you really wanted the answer, except her embarrassed blush and averted gaze gave you enough of one. “Seriously? Okay, well, first of all, because of that, you won’t be sitting at the attorney’s table with us. Instead you’ll be in the public seating. I won’t weaken my case because you decided to be unprepared. If this happens again, you won’t be welcome to join me in court at all, am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Deciding to take pity on the poor intern, you sighed as you started your explanation. “Our client claims that his arrest was unlawful and therefore none of the evidence they found should be usable. I’m inclined to agree with him, so we’re fighting all of the charges that were made with evidence found after the arrest.”

“So you don’t think he’s guilty?”

“I don’t ask that question. I’m not God and I’m not his priest, I don’t need to hear his confession. I just need to get him out of unjust and illegal charges.”

Robin’s eyebrows furrowed. “So he’s going to walk free? Even after everything he did? How do you sleep at night?”

Fucking Christ, how did this girl even get into law school? You rolled your eyes, suddenly regretting your decision to take on an intern. “No, he’s not going to walk free. He’s going to get a lesser charge, because everything else was obtained illegally. And I sleep very well, actually, because my job isn’t some episode of Law & Order. Less than 10% of my cases ever go to trial. I’m not here to suddenly convince juries that the evidence is wrong. My job is making sure that everybody is given their constitutional rights, that the police are doing their jobs correctly, and that the State isn’t over-punishing. Any cop knows that, and if you ever come across one that doesn’t, you know that you should look into those cases even further. You have to realize, criminal defense lawyers—”

“— are the last line of protection against a corrupt system.” You turned to see your assistant, Marcus, making his way towards you, briefcase and your spare blazer that you keep in the office in hand. “I see you’re giving her your famous anti-prosecutor lecture.”

Marcus helped you slip on your blazer over your satin button up, his hands lingering on your skin for just a little too long to be considered professional, and it made you shiver in anticipation. “God knows she needs it. Thank you, Marcus, for bringing these so quickly. Were you able to get the physical copies of Agent Hotchner’s files?”

Marcus held up his briefcase. “All right here. Although I have to say, I’m a little lost as to why you need his service records.”

The three of you turned the corner to enter the courtroom, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Robin obediently took her seat in the public viewing area while you and Marcus pushed through the swinging door to settle at your table. “I’ve heard stories of Agent Hotchner’s testimonies. He used to be a prosecutor, so he’s not easily tricked, but he is prideful and will defend his work. I’m going to use that to my advantage. It’s like I always say, practicing law means always playing chess, never checkers.”

Marcus took the seat next to you, making sure to sit close enough that his knee brushed yours the whole time. “You know, I was thinking, this case is complicated,” he whispered, “And we haven’t combed through everything yet… It could take more time than we planned.”

You smirked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. “Agreed. I’ll tell Tony I have to stay late at the office tonight.”

Before Marcus could continue his flirting, you were distracted by the door to the judge’s chamber opening, revealing the back of a man in a black suit. “Thank you again, your honor, for the continuance,” came the deep timbre of the man, and oh. You certainly weren’t expecting that. “A young girl was able to be reunited with her family this week because of it.”

The man in the doorway turned, and your breath caught in your throat. He was tall and buff and expensive-looking and absolutely gorgeous. His suit was tailored to fit him perfectly, the sleeves of his blazer straining against his biceps. He carried himself with an aura of confidence, like he belonged in the courtroom, and he was making his way directly towards you. Unconsciously, you separated from Marcus, putting as much distance between you and your assistant as possible without raising suspicion.

The man said something to the prosecution before turning to you, hand outstretched. He said your name as a greeting, and your name had never sounded so good. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

When you stood up to shake his hand, you tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body, or the way the two of you held on just a moment too long to be considered proper. It felt as if he was looking right through you, learning all of your secrets as though they were written on your body. No, you knew that look. He was studying you. “Agent Hotchner, it’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise, Counselor. Please, call me Aaron.”

You raised your eyebrows in Aaron’s direction, still shaking his hand, and it made your skin burn. You dropped his hand. “I’m just glad we’re able to get this case done and over with. Hopefully with no more delays.”

His eyebrows quirked upwards in what could only be described as shock. “I see your reputation precedes you,” was his only reply before going to his respective seat, and if he noticed you watching his every move, he made no indication of it. That being said, you definitely felt his gaze on the back of your head as the judge entered the room and the session began.

As the proceedings dragged on, you and Marcus continued to talk strategy, his hand finding its way to your thigh ever so often. You also continued negotiating with the prosecutor, both of you flashing Post-It notes of potential plea deals that you would be willing to accept, always careful to keep it out of the eyes of the judge and jury. By the time Aaron had been called to the stand, the offer given to you still wasn’t low enough. Fine, if the prosecution wanted to make a fool of themselves, so be it.

You listened to Aaron’s testimony with the prosecution, completely enraptured. There was something about the way he spoke, so full of authority and confidence, that made the entire room drawn to him. He was incredibly intelligent, that much was clear, and despite the many years since he had actually practiced law, that prosecutor candor hadn’t left him. Staying focused on the case had proven to be more difficult than previously expected. You found yourself staring at his lips, and it didn’t take long for your mind to conjure up some obscene and explicit situations starring the man in front of you.

Eventually, his eyes caught yours, and he watched you, his lips — god, those lips — quirked up in a smirk. Aaron watched you expectantly, and in the light of the courtroom, his eyes were almost the color of whiskey, and you wanted nothing more than to drink it all in.

A sharp “Counselor” broke you out of your trance. In the corner of your eye, you could see Marcus looking at you in concern, but he was the furthest thing from your mind now, especially as Aaron let out an amused huff of air.

“Counselor, does the prosecution wish to cross-examine the witness?” the judge asked with barely hidden annoyance, making you think that it probably wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

You stood up quickly, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you did. “Yes, your honor. Thank you,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you noticed Aaron’s eyes trailing down your bare legs.

The cross-examination started normally, and Aaron answered all of your questions with careful precision that only a lawyer could pull off. He seemed to know exactly where you were trying to go with your questions, and easily sidestepped any unflattering implication you were trying to make. Long, biased questions were met with short, clipped answers, not giving you anything to work with. Whatever move you made, Aaron was right there, two steps ahead with you. Never in your life had you met somebody who could follow you so easily or could match your wit without so much breaking a sweat.

It was exhilarating.

“Agent Hotchner,” you started, hands clasped behind your back. “Could you please explain to the court how profiles are used when finding and apprehending suspects?”

Aaron sat up a little taller in the witness box. “Using behavioral research and past case studies, we’re able to construct what we call a profile of the perpetrator, or unsub. Anything they do can give us insights as to who they are — their victims, what weapons they use, even how they dispose of the bodies. Once we have a profile of who we believe is committing these crimes, we have our technical analyst run the parameters through her system. From there, narrowing down our search is easy.”

You nodded slowly, pretending to mull over what he was saying. “For clarification’s sake, in layman’s terms, you build your profile off of assumed psychology, and not concrete evidence, is that correct?”

The muscles in Aaron’s jaw flexed, a sure sign he was gritting his teeth. “Behavior analysis is a tool, just like any other—”

“It’s a yes or no question, Agent,” you interrupted, and oh, he was not happy about that.

His tongue darted out from between his lips. “The research we use for behavior is—”

“Yes. Or no.”

Aaron hesitated, his frustration building up to palpable tension that settled in the courtroom like a thick fog. You weren’t giving him a chance to explain or show off anymore, didn’t allow him to be seen as the smartest person in the room anymore, and that was getting to him.

“Yes,” he conceded, grimacing as if admitting that was physically painful for him.

“Thank you,” you replied, and he caught the unspoken that wasn’t so hard now, was it? even if the rest of the room did not. You walked back over to your table, snatching up a piece of paper and holding it in the air. “Your honor, the defense would like to submit Exhibit Seven into evidence.”

Once the judge gave her express permission, you placed the form in front of Aaron with your left hand, perfectly manicured fingers splayed out in front of his eyes. You almost missed the way his head tilted ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed, like he was staring at a puzzle half complete. “Agent, could you please tell us what’s laying in front of you now.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the paper before meeting back with yours. “This is a part of our official report of the case. Specifically, it has the profile that was used to lead us to the apprehension of Mr. Mckenna.”

“Does it say on that paper who had the final sign off on the profile before it was circulated?”

“Yes, that would be me. As Unit Chief, my job is to sign and finalize any reports.”

“And could you please read the profile, verbatim, as written on that report?”

Aaron’s face remained neutral, with the exception of his eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly, he had started to piece together your strategy, and he didn’t like it. “The unsub is a white male, between 32 and 40 years old. He’ll most likely be unemployed and driving a van or truck — anything that would let him easily transport his equipment and victims. We believe that he’s also had run-ins with the law before, likely as a juvenile. He’ll come across as friendly, if not a little shy. We believe that this comes from a failed relationship in his past, one where he believes that he was manipulated and wronged, and now he’s going after surrogates for that woman. Killing these women is the only thing that gives him any sort of power. If we can figure out who this past relationship was, it will lead us directly to the killer.”

You paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, your skirt tightening around your legs with every step you took. “Between 32 and 40 years old, unemployed, and killing surrogates… Except Mr. Mckenna is 22 and works part time as a bartender. How do you justify arresting my client with those inconsistencies?”

“As I mentioned before,” Aaron started, his voice dangerously low, “A profile is just one tool we use of many. Not every single part of the profile will fit every single time. Which is why we also rely on outside evidence to ensure that we have the best chance at catching the unknown subject as quickly as possible.”

“Except you had no concrete evidence, which you admit in your own report!” You took two steps closer to him, getting as in his face as possible without risking being held in contempt. With every word that left your mouth, your voice got more and more forceful, and you got more and more under Aaron’s skin.

“All of it was circumstantial at best. You had a hunch, an inherent bias against my client due to his previous conviction record, and you were frustrated at your own inability to get a good lead. But you can’t arrest somebody on a hunch, or because you’re angry. You had no evidence and the man you arrested didn’t even match the profile that you came up with!”

Your eyes locked with Aaron, his gaze heavy, and neither of you dared look away first. “Objection!” came from the prosecutor behind you. Exactly what you wanted. “Argumentative and foundation.” You flashed Aaron a predatory grin.

Two moves to checkmate.

“Sustained,” said the judge.

“Withdrawn.” You tapped the witness bench, hoping to convey an air of aloofness and calm. Aaron scowled. “Agent Hotchner, before joining the FBI, you were a prosecutor, is that true?”

Confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, and it gave you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that you had the upper hand. You knew the answer to every question you were about to ask, and he knew that. He just couldn’t figure out where you were going with this line of questioning, or what the relevance even was. “Yes, that’s correct.”

You made a soft hum of approval. “Could you please walk us through your higher education?”

“I attended George Washington University for both my undergraduate and law degree.”

“What did you major in for your undergrad?”

Aaron hesitated. “Political Science.”

Check. “So all together, you’ve had about seven years in higher education. In that time, how many psychology classes did you take?”

It was almost sadistic, the way you relished in the slight twitch of his face — the realization that he had been backed into a corner. The silence was deafening as Aaron’s scowl met your smug grin.

“None,” Aaron said finally.

“None,” you repeated, performative shock dripping from your words. “Do you have any academic background in psychology or human behavior, then?”

Aaron’s jaw clenched, and as you made your way closer to the witness stand, you saw his thumb frantically moving back and forth over his fingertips. Clearly, you had struck a nerve. “The FBI has rigorous coursework in order to become a profiler, along with multiple exams and continued training as more research becomes available to us. The profiling classes are no easy feat and are written by experts in the field. Creating profiles has a long and respected history in detective work, and these profilers have caught some of the most prolific serial killers of all time.”

You placed a hand over your chest in faux modesty. “My apologies, Agent Hotchner, I believe I wasn’t very clear. I’m not calling into question the validity and effectiveness of profiles. I’m calling into question the validity and effectiveness of you as a profiler.”

You could practically see the cartoon fire spewing out of Aaron’s ears. He was so close to being in your trap, something he had to have known, too, yet he continued to toe dangerously close to that line.

“A lack of formal education in profiling,” you continued, keeping your voice light, “and the blatant disregard for basic police and legal procedure as shown in this case with my client… I mean, how many other mistakes were made in your past cases? It’s hard to believe that you can read anybody, much less the hardened criminal that you have painted my client to be.”

Checkmate.

“Objection!” cried the prosecutor again. “Your Honor, this is —”

He was cut off by the judge raising her hand. “Sustained. Counselor, I would advise you to tread lightly from here on out.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Withdrawn.” You turned around to make your way back to your table, ignoring Marcus’s look of complete disbelief. Baiting Aaron had been easy, and now all you had to do was wait.

The courtroom was uncomfortably silent for one beat… two beats…

“Not only can I read Mr. Mckenna,” echoed Aaron’s voice, “But I can also read you.”

Once you got back to your desk, you turned around, hands resting on the cool wood of the table top, but you never sat down. Instead, you leaned forward, and arched your eyebrows in a silent challenge — one he was all too eager to pursue.

“The red Harvard Law tag on your briefcase is a perfect match to your lipstick, and you wear the same one every time you go to court. Not because you’re superstitious the way most lawyers are, but because it’s your way of maintaining control in the courtroom, something you’re desperate to keep in every aspect of your life, personal and professional. I would guess that this need goes back to late high school, early college. But you’ve been worried about appearances and how you’re perceived for even longer than that.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So he thought you were Type A? Anybody could have guessed that by your anything. All they would have to do is look at your color coded case files or your daily schedule, planned down to the minute. You had only been trying to sway the jury when you insinuated that he wasn’t a good profiler, but maybe you were actually starting to believe it yourself.

Except Aaron got a dangerous glint in his eye, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. Clearly, he was playing chess, too, and by the looks of it, he believed he was winning.

“In fact, you’re so worried about losing control, that despite your busy schedule, you refuse to hire a planner for your upcoming wedding.”

That got your attention. The objection that you were about to call died on your lips, and all you could do was stare with poorly hidden shock. Next to you, Marcus turned pale as a ghost.

Aaron, cocky bastard, continued his profile of you, with no clear signs of stopping anytime soon. “You have a tan where your ring usually is, and I know you’ve been wearing it recently as you subconsciously fiddle with where it would be whenever things in court aren’t going your way. Just like you’re doing now. You still have your maiden name, which you plan on giving up when you do get married because not taking his last name would arouse too many questions that you want to avoid. Just another way your concern of appearances is manifested. So you’re engaged.

“I would say congratulations, but it’s not a happy relationship, not on your side, anyway. Younger female professionals will take their rings off in fear of not being taken seriously, but you’re an established and respected lawyer. You needn't worry about that. So if it’s not about you, it’s about the fiance. You don’t want to be associated with him.”

You gripped the edge of the table, too angry to form words. Your nails dug into the varnish, and you were sure that your heavy breathing could be heard from across the room. This dick. This absolute, garbage, piece of shit dick. The worst part was how casual he sounded as he aired all of your dirty laundry for everybody to hear.

“He’s holding you back, in all aspects of life, but mostly intellectually. He doesn’t have a sliver of your capabilities. The two of you are probably high school sweethearts, prom king and queen type, but while you grew up and matured, he never did. He can’t keep up with you. Still acts the same way he did in high school, only now with more access to alcohol and money. Career wise, he doesn’t have much going for him, probably some sports related pipe dream. But you stay with him because you know how to control him and how to use him to your advantage.”

Aaron’s eyes zeroed in on Marcus, and all of the color drained from your face. The voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to object, to get the judge involved, anything, before Aaron did any more damage, but you were frozen in your spot. For the first time in your life, you were completely and utterly speechless and spiraling out of control.

“That need for control is also why you’re sleeping with your assistant. It’s casual for you, but not for him anymore. You should break that off. That’s nothing new for you, though. In fact, I would bet that if we looked back at all of your affairs since your engagement, we’d find a long string of men and women, all of whom are your subordinates or of lower status than you. It’s a win-win situation — they’re more than eager to have a chance with you, and you get to stay in control. Oh, you’ll stop when you actually get married, but you continue to push that date back, as well. So…”

He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling good about himself, and God, you could kill him. You could reach over the witness box and wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until his whiskey colored eyes popped out of his smug, beautiful face.

Aaron lifted his chin, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Do you believe in my abilities as a profiler now, Counselor?”

That snapped you back into action. You cleared your throat and unnecessarily smoothed down your skirt in an attempt to regroup your thoughts. “Well, Agent Hotchner, thank you for that little show and tell. It’s clear that you are very passionate about your career. However, just like your profile of my client, you have no evidence for any of your unsubstantiated accusations.”

It was a pathetic attempt at saving face, and Aaron knew it, but it had to be enough for you. You turned your back towards Aaron so that you could face the judge, who, to her credit, had a perfect poker face the whole time. “Your Honor, I move to strike Agent Hotchner’s outburst” — not an outburst, Aaron was too composed to ever have one of those, but he grimaced at the word all the same — “from the record, as no question stands before the witness at this time.”

The judge looked at you dubiously, clearly debating her ruling. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry, you were legally in the right, but there was always the chance that she wouldn’t be on your side. You noticed yourself fiddling with where your engagement ring would usually be, and you cursed yourself under your breath. How could Aaron have possibly known all of that?

“Sustained,” she said finally, “I direct the jury to disregard the witness’s, uh, example when considering the evidence.”

You let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t much of a win — everybody still heard what had happened, it was still in the back of their minds, like the ring of a bell echoing — but at least in regards to the case, you had the legal upper hand.

The judge turned back to you. “Defense, the witness is still yours, if you have any further questions.”

If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have cut your losses, but between your oath to defend your client to the best of your ability and that stupid self assured grin on Aaron’s face, you knew that you really had no choice.

Deep breath in… Slow breath out… You’re at a stalemate now.

“Agent Hotchner,” you said, causing him to perk him up in interest. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to continue. “Wouldn’t an ex-lawyer and an FBI agent be familiar with the rules of decorum in a courtroom?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Counselor.”

“Let me rephrase, then. Would you say that you have a history of emotional outbursts and rule breaking in your line of work? And I’ll remind you that you are still under oath.”

Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, I wouldn’t. Integrity is one of our core values, and we take that very seriously.”

With shaking hands, Marcus handed you one of the files you’d had him print out on Aaron. “If that’s so, can you explain why, since your promotion to Unit Chief in 2005, you and your team have had seven disciplinary hearings, one of which being an internal investigation into the excessive force used by one of your agents, and another being a congressional hearing?”

A sick sense of satisfaction passed over you when you saw him get visibly shocked, his poker face breaking for the first time that day. If he wanted to go for blood, you could fight back twice as hard. “I’m not at liberty to discuss either of those cases.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, Agent. So between the discrepancies in the profile, your inability to control your temper, and your history of breaking procedure, coupled with the fact that you arrested my client without any warrant by kicking in the door to an innocent civilian’s house, do you really believe that your arrest and the subsequent evidence that came from that arrest was obtained legally? Or do you just not care either way, as long as you’re able to prove that you’re right?”

Right as he opened his mouth to speak, you turned your back on him and started to walk back to your table. Aaron wasn’t even able to get a peep out before you cut him off with a sharp “Question withdrawn. At this time, the defense rests.”

“Our arrest was made on the grounds of—” Aaron tried, and you smirked to yourself. He must have been desperate if he was trying that move twice. You whipped around, gaze steeled.

“I have no further questions, Agent Hotchner,” you repeated, only letting out the slightest hint of amusement. “But thank you for your cooperation with Lady Justice today.”

Aaron’s eyes met yours, and a weight settled in the pit of your stomach. You should have hated him, but something about him had you completely and utterly entranced by him. Maybe it was the novelty of the case. Maybe it was the matching intellects and the fact that he was the only other person who could give you a challenge.

Maybe you just liked the way you got to lose control with him.

As he passed you, his arm brushed yours, and your whole body burned.

“Very cute, Counselor,” he whispered, voice dripping with condescension. “How long did it take you to come up with that little switch up?”

“Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “I was playing chess, you were playing checkers, and that’s why you lost.”

The rest of the session went on normally, if not a little tense. To your surprise, Aaron hadn’t left immediately after his testimony, and instead took a seat in the section for the public. Good. As soon as courtroom decorum wasn’t a factor, you were sure to give him a piece of your mind.

Court adjourned for the day, and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You told Marcus to continue to push for a better plea option as you grabbed your briefcase and stormed out, pushing through the throngs of people until you could see the back of Aaron’s head.

You sped up your steps until you were right behind him, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

You pulled Aaron into an empty conference room, hoping to get some privacy before you completely blew your lid. You already had one public humiliation because of him, and you did not need another.

“What is your problem?” you hissed, locking the door behind you. “You had no right to put my personal life on blast like that.”

Aaron placed his hands on his hips, swooping the sides of his suit jacket back, and you had to make a very conscious effort to not stare. “You questioned my profiling abilities, and I proved them.”

“You didn’t prove shit,” you argued, folding your arms across your chest. “Except for the fact that you’re an insufferable bastard.”

“Are you saying that my profile was off? Because if you didn’t want to be caught committing adultery, then you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

You gritted your teeth and took a step towards him in a futile attempt to come across as intimidating. Even in your heels, he still seemed to be towering over you. You’d have to level the playing field somehow. You gripped his tie and used it to pull him down so that he was closer to eye level with you. “I don’t need your judgment, Aaron.”

Aaron moved closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His Adam's apple bobbed and it captivated you. “I couldn’t care less about what you do,” he said flippantly. “Matter of fact, I don’t think this fit of anger is even inherently about your little secret coming out. Do you want to know what I think it is?”

“Not at all.”

“I think,” he continued, completely ignoring your protest, “You’re angry because as much as you can dish it out, you can’t take it.”

Your grip on his tie tightened at his words. “Trust me, I can take anything,” you said, voice low and breathy.

Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips — those kissable, red stained lips of yours. You hadn’t had to reapply your lipstick once throughout the day, and he idly wondered just exactly what it would take to muss up that perfect, pouty red lip.

“I also think that for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t have control, and you liked it.” He bent down a little bit more so that his lips brushed against your ear with every word and you could feel his breath run down your spine. “Aren’t you bored of sleeping with boys who are so far beneath you?”

You’re not sure who initiated it, but the next thing you knew, your lips crashed against his, the two of you making out like it was the last kiss either of you were ever going to get. His hands felt impossibly everywhere all at once — gripping your hips, tugging at your hair, and even snaking under your work blouse to palm at your breast. His teeth nipped at the fibres of your lips. With every movement of his hands, little gasps escaped you, and you could feel the curve of his lips curling up into a smirk.

His fingers trailed up the side of your body, past the curve of your neck, and tangled themselves in your hair before yanking it back, exposing the column of your throat. Immediately he attached his lips to your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

“Aaron,” you whined, trying to regain the breath he stole from your lungs. You practically melted in his arms, going completely weak at the knees, especially as his tongue trailed across the underside of your jaw. You let his tie fall from your grip, instead bringing your hands up to cup his face to pull him in for another kiss.

His lips set a bruising pace, and it caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach. You had never once been kissed like this, never once felt so all-consumed by a person. Aaron’s cologne surrounded you, making your head spin. Bruises were sure to form from how harshly he was gripping your hips, but you didn’t care. He was addicting, and you wanted more.

Hotch walked you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, his thigh shoved in between your legs, forcing your skirt to ride up. The position made his arousal obvious as he pressed against you. The way he held you was possessive, primal even, Unconsciously, you ground down on his thigh, hoping for anything to help relieve the ache between your legs.

Unfortunately for you, Aaron caught on to what you were trying to do, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling away just far enough to speak. “Look at you,” he whispered, and the raspiness of his voice only served to turn you on even more. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and his thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging at it ever so slightly. His other hand slowly trailed its way up your thigh, nails scratching at your skin. “Skirt hiked up around your waist, desperate to get off. Your little boyfriends aren’t doing it for you anymore?”

He pressed his thigh further into you, ripping an involuntary moan from your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your hips still moving back and forth against him, not caring how needy it made you seem. “I need… I…”

“What? Big, bad lawyer doesn’t have any more smart ass comments?” he cooed sarcastically, pushing your skirt up even higher. He replaced his thigh with his hand, and his fingers ghosted over your covered pussy, teasing you, not giving you nearly enough contact. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. Go ahead, needy girl, if you’re that desperate.” Aaron yanked down your panties in one fell swoop, and you blindly kicked them off to the side. “Be a good girl and show me how much you want this.”

Without any more of a warning, one of his fingers entered you, and you let out a breathy moan that Aaron was sure to have on repeat in his mind for days to come. When the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your brain completely short circuited. You threw your head back as far as you could despite being pressed against the wall as his name clumsily tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pressing you further against the wall. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

Electricity coursed through your veins as he added a second finger, easily finding that spot in you that made you see stars. You rocked your hips back and forth against his hand, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. His lips trailed from your jawline, down your neck, and to your collarbone.

“Look at me,” Aaron ordered, tightening his grip on your chin, and your eyes shot right back open. Instead of the whiskey colored irises you had gotten used to, Aaron’s pupils were so blown that they made his eyes completely black. “I want to see you lose control all over me. Gonna make sure you come harder for me than you have for any of your boy toys.”

That wouldn’t be very difficult. Nobody had ever made you feel the way you did then, Aaron’s fingers buried deep in your cunt and lips exploring every inch of skin he could access. No part of this was for his pleasure — from the curl of his fingers to the slow circles on your clit, it was all expertly calculated to bring you to the edge with as much intensity as possible, and it was all devastatingly effective.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, and if it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would have completely lost your balance. “More, fuck, please.”

“More?” he mumbled against the column of your throat. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

Coherent sentences were not an option for you at the moment, not when you were so deliciously overwhelmed with pleasure and with Aaron. Besides, how could you tell him that you wanted him to completely and utterly ruin you? That you wanted him to bend you over the conference table and pound into you until you could barely speak. You wanted Aaron to mark you and send you home to your fiance with reminders of every little thing he did to you for the days to come. You wanted raw and untamed passion. You wanted to be consumed, for him to settle in your lungs like smoke, and haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

You didn’t want nice and calculated the way every other man you’d been with had acted — you wanted Aaron Hotchner to take control.

You couldn't say any of that, so instead, you grabbed his wrist, the one that was holding your chin in place and, without breaking eye contact with him, you guided his hand down until it rested on your throat. “More,” you choked out, giving him an animalistic grin.

That was all it took. Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and desperate and swallowing all of your incoherent moans as his fingers moved harder, faster.

You clung to him like a lifeline as you felt your whole body tense up, your orgasm fast approaching. You were so fucking close and he felt so fucking good and, God, if this is what losing control felt like, then you and Aaron could do this forever and —

His fingers were gone from you, and you clenched around nothing. You cried out in protest, which only seemed to amuse him.

“Oh? Prom queen isn’t used to not getting what she wants?” Keeping his hand on your throat and you pinned against the wall, he made slow, teasing work of his belt buckle.

Your chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to catch your breath. “What happened to watching me come undone all over you?” you shot, trying to even out your voice as much as possible. It didn’t work very well. “Did you lose your nerve?”

A dark, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, Princess, that’s still the plan. I just never said where. I want to make sure you’re nice and wet and ready for me to turn you into a moaning mess on my cock.”

In an attempt to regain some control of the situation, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah? And how do you expect to do that?”

He smirked and released your throat. Wordlessly, he grabbed your wrist, and guided your hand down your body, further and further until you reached your throbbing pussy. He used his hands to press your fingers to your clit, and you whimpered softly. God, you were dripping, and the extra stimulation didn’t help your shaking legs.

“By making you so needy and whiny that by the end of this, you're begging for me,” he hissed, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word. He moved your fingers so that you were rubbing small, slow circles around your clit, although it wasn’t nearly enough to give any real relief. “Begging for me to come and fuck you over and over and over again. Because you know that your pathetic fiance and your string of affairs have never made you feel like this before.”

Aaron yanked your hand away from your clit and you could sob. You wanted to cum so badly that you could barely put it into words. Still holding your wrist, Aaron brought your hand up to his face. He took a brief moment to admire the way your fingers glistened, covered in your arousal, before bringing them to his lips and sucking.

Eyes wide, you made a choked noise as you committed the view of Aaron to memory. “Please, Aaron, fuck, I need you,” you whined, the start of a long string of incoherent begging. You needed him then and there, damn the consequences.

He pulled your fingers out of his mouth slowly, and you moaned at the obscene wet noise it made. “So desperate,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his slacks. “All for me. All because I edged you once.”

Aaron pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his dick, and you licked your lips involuntarily when you saw it, big and thick and leaking precum. Clearly, it gave Aaron a bit of an ego boost, because as he ran the head up and down your sensitive folds, he reminded you, “You did say you could take anything, Princess.”

Your breathing came out shaking as you shivered, waiting for him to do something — anything. You were so empty and you needed him so badly. If you didn’t get his dick in you soon, you were pretty sure you would lose your mind completely.

“Fuck me, Aaron,” you moaned, arching your back to press into him more.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in an almost intimate gesture. “Patience is a virtue,” he chastised.

In your haze of arousal, you barely noticed him grabbing your briefcase and digging through the small pocket in the front. You especially didn’t notice his pause when his finger touched something small, round, and metal in the bottom of the bag. The only thing you cared about was him coming back to you, holding up a condom packet with a smirk.

“I knew I’d find one somewhere in your briefcase.” You let the comment slide, the excitement at the prospect of sex with Aaron Hotchner outweighing any jackass comment he could make. Aaron made quick work of putting on the condom. The second he was done, one of his hands ran up your thigh, getting a good grip on it before pulling it up and around his waist.

“Do you feel how wet you are for me? How willing you were to give up control? All for me? That—” Lips pressed to your ear, he pushed his cock into you, bottoming out with one thrust. You threw your head back in pleasure. “—Is playing chess, sweetheart.”

Aaron dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck as he began pounding into you at a desperate pace. He had held off on his own pleasure for long enough, and now he was chasing his orgasm with a ruthless determination. One hand stayed gripping your thigh, the other one braced against the wall next to your head. Aaron nipped at your neck in between moans of praise for you.

“I — oh, fuck — knew it,” he groaned, digging his fingers deeper into your thigh. “You wanted somebody to take control. Somebody who knows how to please you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You were an incoherent mess at this point, his name tumbling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. At that moment, it probably was.

“Finally, that bratty mouth of yours is good for something. You sound so pretty, moaning out my name. Say it again.” A particularly deep thrust caused you to tug at his hair. “Louder.”

Never before had you met somebody like Aaron Hotchner, and you weren’t sure if you ever would again, so you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself get lost in the absolute pleasure he was providing. You memorized everything you could — the way the calluses on his hands felt against your skin, the way he moaned out your name, how deliciously full you felt, and how for the first time in your life you felt truly seen — so that you could suspend the moment in amber to preserve in the back of your mind.

“Please,” you begged, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. “I’m so close. Fuck, Aaron, you feel so good, please.”

Aaron tore his lips from your throat, choosing instead to press his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours with every word he spoke, so close that you were practically kissing him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. Be a good girl and come. All over my dick.”

When you came, it was with a cry of his name as your whole body shuddered. You clung to him as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts began to stutter, and he took the opportunity to capture your lips in one last, scorching kiss, and you were all too happy to oblige.

You think he moaned something as he came, but you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure that you felt every single inch of him. As if you could ever forget it.

The two of you stayed where you were for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of being full a little longer. Your walls fluttered around Aaron, which caused him to muffle his whimpers into your throat.

“Aaron…” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment. “That was so—”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know.” He pulled back just enough to leave a lingering kiss on your lips, and your whole body burned. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.” The confession lingered in the hair for a tense second because both of you seemed to remember where you were.

Aaron slowly pulled out of you, an act that looked almost painful for him when you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling. He could have spent all day in you, if given the chance.

The two of you adjusted yourselves in silence, both of you hoping to be able to leave the room with some semblance of professionalism. At the very least, the goal was to not look like you had just had sex in a courthouse conference room. Shame and embarrassment flooded you — what had you been thinking?

Once you felt that you were presentable enough, you grabbed your briefcase and tried to ignore Aaron burning a hole in the back of your head with his gaze.

“Well, Aaron, this was fun.” You cleared your throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around at some point.”

You were two steps away from the door when you heard his smug, courthouse voice come back in full swing.

“Forgetting something?”

You turned around in a huff, ready to go right back to arguing with him, but what you saw made your whole body heat up in embarrassment. There was Aaron with a self-satisfied grin and dangling off his finger was your panties.

“These are cute,” he mused. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to fully appreciate them.”

You rushed over there, fully prepared to snatch them out of his hand. “And you never will,” you shot, but even as you said it, you didn’t make much of an effort to take them out of his hands. You just stared at him and his swollen lips and mussed hair, all your doing.

Ever the gentleman, Aaron started to hand your underwear back to you, but instead of taking it back like you knew you should have done, you covered his hand with yours, closing it in a fist around your panties.

“Who says you can’t?” you whispered, guiding his pantie-filled hand down to his pockets. “This way… You can keep it as collateral. To make sure I’ll come and see you again.”

His breath hitched in his throat as you guided him to put your panties into his suit pocket, and you were glad to be the one surprising him this time.

“I don’t care about your fiance,” Aaron started, and you braced yourself for the worse. “But I’m not interested in being the ‘other man’ to your affairs with your assistants, too.”

“Consider it ended,” you promised, not caring how desperate or easy it made you look. You wanted to keep Aaron around for a long, long time.

Just until the wedding, you corrected yourself.

You slung your briefcase over your shoulder, wincing as it dug into a bruise that Aaron had left. It would be there for a while — you’d have to find a way to hide it from Tony until it faded. The thought made you stupidly giddy. “I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

He nodded in goodbye, and you slipped out of the conference room on shaking legs. As soon as the door closed behind you, you reached into your bag, and reluctantly slipped on your engagement ring.

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #Aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds fanfic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #my writing #criminal minds

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possiamo-andare · 3 years ago

Text

Just You (5)

JJ x Reader x Rafe (love triangle)

MASTERLIST

word count: 7.4k

a/n: you know I had to sprinkle a couple of jane austen references here and there ;)

The Midsummer festival had been celebrated at the Cameron household for decades, if not longer. Their family was one of the oldest in the small town of Outer Banks and it became tradition for Rose Cameron to organize the event. She spent a majority of her year planning for one night of festivities, relying only on her close friends for help. She bore the brunt of the work, deciding on the theme, caterers, decorations, live band, venue, and so on. After all was said and done, Rose slept for a week, exhausted from all the planning. At one point in her and Ward’s marriage, she had almost decided against planning it at all since the task was so stressful. But she had pushed on, determined to make this year’s Midsummer festival the best one yet.

And, in theory, she succeeded. This year’s theme was regency; an idea that slipped into her mind after she had watched Pride and Prejudice for the first time. Rose had a taste for the finer things in life and although Ward gave her everything he could, she did grow envious of the women who lived in the regency era and got to live in exquisite dresses. So, with further support from her friends, Rose handed out invitations to Outer Banks’s elite, citing on the invitation that this year was regency themed. Now, all she needed to do was plan the festival.

She decided to host the festival in a beautiful hall called the DeClaire Hall. Most of the time, the Midsummer festival was hosted merely from their big backyard that spanned acres of land. But Rose wanted to outdo herself and prove to the snobby PTA moms that she had what it took to host an event for the town. This hall was one of the only ones in Outer Banks and it was rarely used, mostly because the Outer Banks’s Historical Society deemed it a national landmark. It had been a hotel for the elite some 120 years ago and it had not been used in the last fifty. But it was beautiful, the original marble and vinyl floors still in great condition, and Rose knew the festival had to be thrown here. So, with permits from the city council and Historian Society, Rose began planning the Midsummer festival at the DeClaire Hall.

Once word spread of where the festival was being held, everyone was gossiping about it. All the Kooks, even the ones who thought they were too good for the Midsummer festival, had RSVP'd. Well, everyone except Y/N’s parents.

“You’re not going?” Y/N grumbled, entering her kitchen with loud stomps of her feet. She had just got off the phone with Sarah. who had mentioned to Y/N that her parents had never RSVP’d.

“Your father and I decided that none of us are going.” Y/N’s mother spoke sweetly, cutting her daughter's sandwich in half. She placed her plate on the table, but Y/N made no move to sit.

“Why?” Y/N stood tall, watching as her mom and dad walked around the kitchen, preparing lunch. Her siblings were at the table, eating, but she promised herself to go on a hunger strike until her parents let her go.

Her father stopped for a moment and looked up from his plate. “Sweetie, why do you wanna go to a party like that anyways?”

Y/N furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

This time, Y/N’s mom spoke. “You said it yourself a couple days ago; the Cameron’s have been nothing but unkind to you since you got here.”

“But not Sarah! She’s been nothing but nice.” Y/N felt a deep urge to defend her friend from her parent’s hurtful words.

“Yes, Sarah is lovely but I’m not talking about her.” Y/N’s dad began. “I’m talking about Rose Cameron, who didn’t let your mom join the PTA and called your mom names behind her back. And Ward Cameron, who bad mouthed me to the country club so I wouldn’t get in. And let’s not even talk about how rude Rafe Cameron has been to you.”

Y/N bit her lip, shuddering at even the mention of Rafe’s name. “Seriously? Firstly, mom didn’t even want to join the PTA. She hates those snobby women. And you,” Y/N points to her dad. “You don’t even like golf. It’s bad for the environment.”

Y/N watched her mom roll her eyes. “That’s not the point, Y/N. Even if we don’t want to do those things, we should at least have the choice.”

Y/N sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew her parents, in some ways, were right but she still wanted to go. She had never dressed but before and she wanted to feel like a princess for at least one night. “But I wanna go. I already stick out like a sore thumb in this town, I just want to fit in for one night.”

Y/N’s parents glanced at each other, sorrowful looks on their faces. They hated seeing their daughter so upset and tried to swallow their own disgust. Finally, after looking at each other for a moment, their eyes returned to Y/N.

Y/N’s mom spoke first. “If you go, promise me you’ll be careful.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “I promise.”

Y/N’s mom forced a smile, unsure on whether she made the right decision. She wanted her daughter to be happy, but she also wanted to protect her daughter from the Cameron’s bitterness. “Okay, then you can go.”

Sarah had bought five regency themed dresses for the Midsummer festival. She had the first two tailored, a white and pink one but, when they didn’t look the way she wanted, she custom ordered another three from a small business on the mainland. The three dresses; a blue, green, and yellow one, had been shipped from the mainland to OBX in a matter of days and had come in just on time. Literally. The morning of the festival, a frantic delivery man dropped them off at the Cameron house. This was literally Sarah's last hope. If none of them looked good on her, she would just not show up.

Thankfully, the blue one fit perfectly and looked like a dream on her. It was a sky-blue silk dress that flowed down to her feet. The sleeves, which were this blue lace material, ended just above her elbows. The dress, although flowy, was cinched just a little at the waist by a ribbon. It looked absolutely stunning on Sarah and Y/N made sure to tell her the second she saw her friend.

“You look gorgeous.” Y/N spoke sweetly, marvelling at even how Sarah’s hair was styled. It was in this half up, half down hairdo; the top pieces of her hair held together by the same fabric of her dress.

Sarah blushed, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?”

Y/N had and even she had to admit that she was blown away. Sarah had let her choose from all the dresses she had, and Y/N decided on the white one. It was of the same style as Sarah’s dress but much more elegant. Sarah didn’t think she could pull it off but as she looked at Y/N, she knew her friend made a good choice. It was a white satin dress with short sleeves but, over the satin dress, lace was decorated. Stitched into the lace were small red flowers littering the dress. It was beautiful and complemented Y/N so well.

Not to mention, Y/N’s hair looked breathtaking. It was a simple style but matched the sophisticated theme of the festival. The two front pieces of Y/N’s hair were pulled back, the only thing holding them together was the same red flowers that decorated her gown. She passed Sarah for a moment, looking at herself one more time in the full-length mirror. She was in awe of how she looked.

Y/N rarely had an occasion where she could dress up this elegantly. At her old school, she had been invited to prom by a senior and went with him, dressing up in a pink floor length gown, but that had been years ago. Besides, she didn’t exactly have the best time since the senior that invited her never even asked her to dance, too busy with his own friend group to care if she was having fun.

Y/N shook off that awkward memory. This time it would be different. This time she was going to a party with someone who genuinely liked her. She had a feeling that she was going to have a different experience at this party.

“Sarah!” Rose called from downstairs, momentarily stopping Sarah and Y/N’s conversation. “It’s time to take pictures!”

Sarah looks to her bedroom door, then back at her friend. “Ready?”

Y/N nodded, a slight flutter in her chest. She knew Rafe would be down there, and she wondered, for a moment, what he would think of her dress. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Unfortunately, Rafe was concerned with other matters. As Y/N and Sarah made their way downstairs, Rafe stood uncomfortably in his father’s study. They had been in there for five unbearable minutes. Rafe dreaded every time his dad had to speak to him alone because he knew it’d only spark an argument. They rarely got along; Ward being too tough on Rafe and Rafe constantly looking for validation from his father.

“You’re going into your first year of university in the fall and you have no plan.” Ward said, rather matter-of-factly.

Rafe gulped. Against his father’s approval, Rafe enrolled in the business program at the University of North Carolina. His father wanted him to enroll in a science program, which he thought was more structured. But Rafe wanted to own his own business someday, just like his dad. Besides, although he was good at science, he didn’t enjoy it the way he enjoyed the business classes he took in high school. What Ward didn’t know was that Rafe had a plan, he was just afraid to share it with his father for fear that his father would disapprove and eventually stop helping him pay for school. Rafe couldn’t do it alone and he knew his dad’s money would help.

“I’m taking courses that will help me graduate. I promise I know what I’m doing dad.”

Rafe pulled at the collar of his shirt. He wore a stunning but simple suit. He wore a white dress shirt, the two top buttons unbuttoned for comfort rather than for style, and a black fitted blazer. The gold cufflinks Rose gifted him shone against the light in his dad’s study. The most annoying part of his outfit definitely had to be the sleeves. There were annoying frills at the edge of them, some type of embroidered pattern sewn into the sleeves. It was supposed to scream regency, he remembered Rose saying, but all he wanted to do was scream bloody murder.

“I’m giving you one year Rafe, if you don’t have a plan by then,” Ward sighed, massaging his temples. Rafe grew sad at the idea that he was stressing his dad out by simply following his dreams. “I’m cutting you off.”

Rafe didn’t try to protest. He knew there was nothing he could do to change his dad’s mind. All he could do was prove to his dad that he made the right decision. He had to be the best and he had to outperform everyone in his class. That way, his dad would be proud of him and support him in university.

Rafe only nodded at what his father said, making no effort to even respond. Over the years, he figured it was best to just let his father get the last word.

There was a knock on the door before any more words could be exchanged between the two. Ward, knowing that it was probably his wife, welcomed the person inside. The door opened slightly, only enough for the person to peek their head through. It was, in fact, Rose. Rafe smiled, remembering to make sure it looked like he was having fun. Rose had gone through all this trouble to plan this festival, the least he could do was play along.

“Oh, honey, we’re taking some pictures before we leave.” Rose’s voice was quiet and mellow, not wanting to disturb whatever conversation Rafe was having with his father.

Ward smiled, nodding sweetly to his wife. “We’ll be right there.”

Rose nods, leaving the door slightly ajar so Rafe and Ward can follow after her. Ward makes his way towards the door, glaring at Rafe.

His words are just as menacing as his glare. “Do not disappoint me.”

Rafe doesn’t even nod this time. He’s too afraid. He knows, not only by his dad’s glare, but also by how his dad leaves the room, that he is serious. More serious than he’s ever been. Rafe doesn’t move for a moment, almost too nervous to take the first step. His legs feel like jelly, and he knows that if he doesn’t calm down soon, he might faint. He wants his dad to be proud of him so badly, that he’s ready to work himself to the bone. His dad has never so much as given him a nod of approval before and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t something he craved. He yearned for the day when his dad would smile at him, telling Rafe he was proud of him.

But that day was not today, and Rafe knew he had to get over it. One day, it may happen, but he had to push all that down for tonight. Tonight, was a night to support Rose and all the hard work that went into planning a celebration like this. So, Rafe began to walk towards the door of his dad’s study, trying to forget about the conversation he just had with his dad.

As he exited the study, he straightened his collar. He felt very uncomfortable in such a fancy suit, but he tried to focus on the afterparty, something he was a little more excited for. Sure, Y/N was going but he knew JJ was jealous and would try to keep them apart all evening. All he had to do was tolerate her now and on the way to the hall and after that, he would not have to think of her for the rest of the night.

Unfortunately, things never go Rafe’s way. The second he walked outside, he felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Rose was taking pictures of everyone in their front garden, mentioning to Rafe before that her tulips would look great as a background piece. He had figured that since no one seemed to be in the house, they were all outside. He was right, but at what cost? Well, the cost was his sanity.

She stood there as if it was another normal day. As if she dressed like that every day. Rafe was utterly speechless. How could she be doing something as mundane as talking to Sarah but look so stunning? This was the first time he envied JJ Maybank. Although Rafe had everything a guy could ask for, JJ got the ultimate prize; he got to escort Y/N to the Midsummer festival. He got to intertwine their hands and show her off. He was the one who could dance with her and hold her and tell her how breathtaking she looked. All Rafe could do was watch (more like stare) and pretend to not notice the most beautiful woman in the room.

He hesitated for a moment. His eyes were trained on her dress instead of her face, fearing he would blush too much and make his attraction toward her obvious. Unfortunately, looking at her dress didn’t help. The fabric blew in the wind, enhancing the silhouette of her body. Ultimately, Rafe just looked away. Every moment he looked at her was another moment he was reminded that she was not his.

“Rafe!” Rose called, watching as Rafe stood away from the group. His head was down and only when she called did, he turns it up slightly. “Come over here and take some pictures!”

Rafe nodded, realizing her eyes were probably on him now. He gulped nervously. “O-okay.”

Rose frowned, confused at Rafe’s shy behaviour. She looked to Ward, who was typing something on his phone. She knew how rocky Ward and Rafe’s relationship was and knew that whenever they entered Ward’s study, Rafe would come out a meek boy. She figured Ward had done something again to hurt Rafe. Although this was true, it was not the real reason Rafe was acting so shy.

“What did you say to him?” Rose whispered to Ward once his phone was tucked away.

Ward rolled his eyes. “He needs some tough love, that boy.”

Rose was fuming but tried to keep her cool. Just for this one night. “I swear Ward, this is my day. Do not ruin it.”

Ward smirked, leaning down to kiss his wife on her cheek. “Of course, not darling. Everything will go your way tonight.”

If only they knew what was to come.

JJ Maybank was nervous. He swears, before he met Y/N, he was never an anxious person. Now he seemed to be panicking all the time. He knew it was because of Y/N. She was one of the best parts of his life right now and JJ had a dangerous pattern of ruining all the good things in his life. He knew it was because he was always scared of losing someone or something so special to him and never recovering. This was especially true with Y/N. Although they were not official, they had hung out basically every day since they met, and JJ’s feelings had become clear. He wanted to be her boyfriend.

And tonight, if everything went well, he would ask Y/N to be his girlfriend. He had never moved this slow with a girl before, but he was willing to try. He didn’t want to scare her off, so he played it safe.

Except, for right now. Agreeing to go to the Midsummer festival was probably the least safe thing JJ could do. He was not accepted by the Kooks, his reputation preceding him. He was rarely on his best behaviour when Kooks were involved so he was very nervous that he would somehow ruin the evening for Y/N. He could tell she had been excited for this festival, and he was sure that if he ruined the night for her, she would never want to be with him. So, with a deep breath, JJ promised himself that no matter what, he’d be on his best behaviour.

And then he saw Y/N exit Ward Cameron’s car.

She stood out like a sore thumb. None of the other girls could compare to her. JJ felt time freeze for a moment as he looked at the most beautiful girl in the world. Her white dress fitted her perfectly, it was as if it was made for her. Her hair made her look ethereal, like a fairy glowing in the dimming light. The festival was supposed to start right as the sun set so many people were already using flashlights so they could see the path to the entrance of the hall but not JJ. Y/N was his flashlight, illuminating not only herself but his entire life.

Once their eyes met, it was fireworks. JJ felt his heart skip a beat, the reality of her beauty setting in. He didn’t have to smile at her, he’d been smiling since she stepped out of the car. When she registered that it was JJ who was wearing the goofy grin, she smiled right back.

Although JJ thought Y/N looked beautiful, Y/N thought JJ looked handsome. He wore a black button up with black blazer and slacks. The collar of his shirt was embroidered with white flowers and lace, seeming to match Y/N without knowing. The usual messy hair look he wore so well was brushed back and styled. All the dirt and grime on his face was gone. It was like looking at a new JJ. A JJ that Y/N never thought she would get to see.

Once she’s an arm’s length away, JJ’s arms stretch out towards her, and she gladly accepts the hug. They both seem excited but nervous to be here. Even though Y/N is technically a Kook, she feels out of place. She knows that everyone is looking at her with disdain; knowing her family is from new money. Everyone except JJ and Sarah.

“You look beautiful.” JJ remarks as they pull away from each other.

“Thanks, J. You don’t look so bad yourself.” Y/N blushes, looping her arm around JJ. “Where’d you get that suit?”

JJ smirked. “Sarah lent it to me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, glancing at Sarah. She was being escorted inside by John B. Y/N reminded herself to thank Sarah again. The festival is starting and every woman with a date is being escorted in now. “Shall we?”

JJ nods, tilting his chin up higher. “Yes, m’lady.”

Whatever image Y/N had in her mind of how the DeClaire Hall would look quickly vanished once they were inside. Large, tall marble pillars stood tall in every corner of the room. They were white, reflecting off the marble walls and vinyl floors. The middle of the hall was empty, only a few couples dancing to the melody of a violin playing. The tables were scattered along the outer part of the hall, decorated with white linen and golden embellishments. Both Y/N and JJ were astonished that Rose pulled it off. It was as if Y/N and JJ had been transported to the regency time period, watching in awe as every person seemed to be playing a character. The women wore long, bright dresses while the men were styled in fitted but elegant suits. Sarah was right; Rose really did go all out for this celebration.

“Woah.” JJ gasped. He had never seen something like this before. Although he was in awe, he was still a little bitter. The Kooks had all this money to spend on a festival that didn’t really matter but couldn’t donate some money to fix up JJ’s school or help out the dirt poor Pogues? He was bitter at the thought of all these Kooks enjoying themselves while his friends like Kie and Pope sat at home.

Y/N nodded; her eyes trained on Rafe. She couldn’t help herself. She wished he didn’t look so good but there he was, standing 20 feet away and looking like a dream. “Yeah, woah is right.”

Before any more words could be exchanged, the soft music stopped, and Rose entered the dance floor. She stood tall, the train of her yellow dress trailing behind her. “Hello everyone!” She had begun to speak but instead of her normal voice, she pretended to put on an English accent. “Thank you for coming to the ninety fifth anniversary of the Midsummer festival!”

Y/N snickered, leaning towards JJ’s ear. “This can’t be real.”

JJ smirked at her, his voice lowering. “We call them Kooks for a reason.”

“Shortly, the festivities will commence but before then, let us go over some ground rules.” Rose paused for a moment, waiting until everyone quieted down. “Firstly, young ladies will not stand up for more than two consecutive dances with the same partner. Secondly, there will be no vulgarity of any sort. And lastly, have a wondrous time!” The last sentence was spoken in her own words, the English accent no longer present in her voice.

Everyone seemed to cheer, some even clinking their champagne glasses together. The music began again, a soft melody flowing throughout the hall. Although everyone else seemed to be taking this seriously, waltzing with their partner and speaking in an English accent, Y/N and JJ were not.

JJ bowed, a goofy grin on his face. “M’lady, would you care to dance?” His southern accent was hard to disguise, even under a fake and terrible English accent.

Y/N giggled, curtsying slightly. “Why, of course!” Her hands rested in JJ’s as he led her to the middle of the hall. With anyone else, she would feel embarrassed, but it was so fun being with JJ that she didn’t care what other people thought of her.

As they pushed past crowds of Kooks, all dressed up in the finest clothing she ever saw, JJ leaned down, his breath fanning against her neck. “This has to be the stupidest shit I’ve ever done.”

Y/N smirked, looking up at him. Their lips were inches apart and she had the sudden urge to kiss him. “That can’t be true.”

JJ pouted, finally finding an open spot for them to sway to the music. He twirled Y/N around, watching in awe as her smile only grew wider. He swore he could watch her like this all day. “You’re right, it’s not.” He knew the stupidest thing he’d ever done was not kiss her sooner.

Y/N grew nervous, unsure of how to actually dance with a partner. She had never done this before. Thankfully, JJ did not hesitate like she did. She watched as he carefully placed one hand on her waist as the other clasped onto her hand. She let her other hand fall to the side, unsure of what to do next.

She looked up at JJ sheepishly. “How do I do this?” There was an awkward giggle at the end as Y/N tried to hide behind her embarrassment.

JJ smirked, his hand leaving her waist for a moment and guiding her limp arm to his shoulder. “Hold me.” Once his hand returned to her waist, he pulled her body closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her chest against his which only made his heartbeat faster. They had never been this close. Never touched each other in such a delicate way.

Soon, the two of them swayed to the music, a lovestruck grin on both of their faces. Y/N wished she could capture this moment forever. She was sure no one else had ever made her feel like this. She felt so protected. So secure. She knew that if she could, she’d choose to be in JJ’s arms forever. She was the happiest she could ever be as she danced with JJ, swaying to a song about unrequited love.

But, about twenty feet away in the corner of the room, Rafe enviously watched as the girl he wanted most danced with another man.

The first two hours of the Midsummer festival went marvellous. Y/N and JJ seemed to be attached at the hip, dancing, drinking, and laughing together the entire time. It seemed that all the nerves the two of them had at the beginning of the night dwindled down when they were with each other and had a few drinks. For Y/N, the best part was she had not run into Rafe once. He had been on the other side of the hall all night, drinking with his friends and dancing with a few girls. And although Y/N convinced herself that she was not watching him, she couldn’t help but feel a tad envious seeing Rafe dance with a couple girls.

The rules that Rose spoke about at the beginning of the night were more serious than Y/N and JJ initially thought. They thought it was all for show, just another way for the night to feel more realistic. But in reality, Rose would not let women dance with the same man consecutively. It was odd the first time she caught JJ and Y/N dancing, both of them ready to lie just so they could dance together again, but Rose shooed them away, telling them to wait for the next song to come on before they danced together again.

After the fourth time of Y/N and JJ trying to sneak past Rose and being caught red handed, they decided to just wait it out. How long could one song be?

“JJ,” Y/N cooed, sitting down at their table. They were seated with Sarah and John B at table two while Rose, Ward, and their friends were seated at table one. “Can you get me a glass of water?”

JJ smirked, crouched down to meet Y/N’s eyeline. “I’ve worn you out already?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a devious glint in her eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t have the stamina to drink and dance for two hours.”

JJ shrugged, standing up again. “Fine, but you owe me a dance after. That line is so long and I’m gonna have to make conversation with those snooty PTA moms.”

Y/N giggled. “Well, if you come back with a cold glass of water, I’ll do more than dance with you.”

It was supposed to be a teasing comment and it was, but there was a serious undertone to the way she talked. She had waited too long to kiss JJ. If he could just stop being a gentleman for one moment.

JJ’s back straightened, his brows raised. He slightly nods, as if he’s tipping his nonexistent hat in her direction. “I’ll be right back.”

Y/N watches in amusement as JJ scurries across the hall, impatiently waiting in the long ass line. Y/N sighs, thinking she’ll be able to relax for a moment. Although she loves dancing with JJ, she needs to rest her feet. Unfortunately, before she can properly rest, Sarah and John B rush towards her.

“What did you say to JJ that got him so riled up? That man basically ran to the bar.” John B jokes, glancing at his friend. Some of the PTA moms began talking to JJ and he watches as his friend uncomfortably tries to make conversation.

“Nothing. I’m just waiting until we can dance again.” Y/N smirks, watching JJ from across the hall as well.

“But the waltz is on next, and JJ won’t be back in time!” Sarah frowns, glancing at JJ before her gaze returns to Y/N.

Y/N shrugs. She knew her and Sarah promised to dance the waltz together with their partners, but Y/N wasn’t too worried. She figured the waltz would be played many times that night and they’d dance it next time it came on. She tried to reassure Sarah by saying so, but Sarah only frowned deeper.

“No, I’m leaving in, like, twenty minutes. Rafe and I have to start setting everything up at our house for the afterparty. It starts in an hour.” Sarah groaned.

Y/N frowned, now a little upset as well that they wouldn’t be able to fulfill their promise. “I’m sorry. I wish I could dance with you guys; I do.”

It seemed that the second those words left Y/N’s mouth, Sarah’s eyes lit up and she was no longer frowning. “Maybe you can.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “JJ’s not leaving that line now. I promised him something if he got me some water.”

Sarah giggled, instantly knowing what Y/N was implying. “No, silly. Not JJ. Someone else.” But before Y/N could ask her who she had in mind, Sarah dashed off, disappearing into the crowd of people gathered on the other side of the hall.

Y/N looked to John B, getting up from her seat. Her feet didn’t hurt as much anymore, the little rest she took had helped a lot. “What’s she up to?”

John B shrugged, a smug grin on his lips. “I never know.”

Y/N giggled at John B’s little remark because it was so true. Sarah was a very creative person and someone Y/N could go to whenever she was having a problem. Sarah always came up with the best solutions.

Except for now. Sarah was Y/N’s best friend in OBX but, when she emerged from the crowd tugging on the sleeve of a familiar face, Y/N wished Sarah didn’t have these creative plans. The person she was dragging along was Rafe. She had somehow looped Rafe into this. The last person Y/N wanted to see tonight. He looked confused and it was clear to Y/N that Sarah had not let Rafe in on her plan. This comforted her a little; knowing Rafe would be just as mortified.

When they reached about six feet away from Y/N and John B, Rafe finally understood what was about to happen. Y/N was right, he looked mortified. Rafe didn’t feel as though mortified was the right word. Humiliated. Nauseous. Literally any word that would describe how shitty he felt the second his eyes met Y/N’s.

He tried to run away; he really did. He stopped walking the second he realized what was going on. Sarah was only tugging on him because he let her. If he really wanted to, he could overpower her in seconds. And that’s what he did. He stopped in his tracks, refusing to move even as Sarah pulled harder on his sleeve.

“C’mon, she’s, my friend.” Sarah pleaded, her grasp on Rafe tightening.

Rafe shook his head, glancing Y/N’s way once more. He quickly grew embarrassed that her eyes were still on him and immediately looked back to Sarah. “Well, she’s not my friend.”

Sarah sighed, her lips in a deep pout. “Whatever weird energy you have for her, swallow it. Just for one dance.”

Rafe wanted to argue. He wanted to say that they shared no weird energy. That he just didn’t care for that hippie. But his sister knew him too well and although she might not have noticed his feelings for Y/N fully, she did register some tension between them. Rafe hated lying to his sister so, with a deep breath and a quick roll of his eyes, he agreed. It was just one dance. What’s the worst that could happen?

Y/N, on the other hand, was less flexible than Rafe. The second Sarah was close enough to hear, Y/N voiced her disdain. Which was bold since Rafe was standing in front of her.

“No way. I’m not getting a pity dance from your brother.”

Rafe scoffed, rolling his eyes for what seemed like the tenth time tonight. “A thank you would suffice.”

Y/N shook her head. “Oh, a thank you?” She repeated, her blood boiling. How could someone be so attractive yet so annoying at the same time. “How about this as a thank you?” Without even thinking, Y/N raised her hand and stuck her middle finger in the air defiantly.

Y/N’s anger only made him cockier. Call Rafe a coward all you want but he was damn good at hiding behind anger to protect his own feelings. “Not very ladylike, is it? Especially in this time period.”

“You know what is appropriate in this time period though?” Y/N grumbled. “The guillotine.”

Before Rafe could come up with an intelligent rebuttal, John B cut through the tension by stepping in between the two of them. It was getting pretty heated, and John B was sure Y/N was about to punch him. “Hey guys! The waltz should be on any minute so can we please put a pin in this and just have a fun time?”

Y/N stared at Rafe, her heart fluttering a little at how rosy his cheeks had gotten during their conversation. Although he had said such terrible things, somehow, she knew he had not meant any of it. So, with a steady breath, she outstretched her hand. She had a tiny smile on her lips and this time, it wasn’t forced.

“I’m willing to put it aside if you’re willing to dance with me.”

Rafe gulped, looking at her outstretched hand and gingerly taking it. “Fine.” It was all he could muster out. He was so nervous, and it didn’t help that this was the first time they had touched. She had always felt so far away from him and now their hands were intertwined. Her skin felt soft against his and he swore he felt a buzz of electricity course through him the second their hands touched.

Y/N could feel it too. She tried to ignore it, blaming it on static electricity or anything else. She would blame it on the wind before she would conclude that there was some part of her that was drawn to Rafe Cameron. They both stayed speechless and even as they approached the middle of the hall where everyone was dancing, they barely made an effort to look at each other. Everything felt so tense the second their hands touched.

Finally, the music died down for a moment. The waltz was the next song and Y/N prepared herself mentally. No matter what her brain told her, she did not feel anything for Rafe. She liked JJ. But as the music began and Rafe made the first move, she was not so sure. His hands were gentle but hesitant, scared to place his hand on her hip. They were in each other’s space. Y/N had never been this close to him. She breathed in through her nose, smelling his wonderful cologne.

“You’re gonna have to hold me, you know that right?” Her tone comes off as sarcastic because it’s the only one she’s familiar with around Rafe.

Rafe rolls his eyes. “Uh, yeah. I know.” He places one hand on Y/N’s hip, swallowing harshly before reaching out with his other hand and holding onto her hand. Their thumbs are intertwined, a small gesture that causes Rafe’s stomach to stir.

When the music starts, it’s soft and low at first and Y/N expects them to just sway. She had really only been swaying when she danced with JJ since they both weren’t sure how to formally dance. But Rafe had been to enough of these festivals to know how to lead a girl through a dance. So, as the music’s pace began to grow, Rafe led Y/N across the floor. Their feet seemed to be at the same pace, quietly shuffling like everyone else. He wasn’t going too fast like Y/N expected and she was grateful for it. But she was nervous nonetheless and looked to her feet so she wouldn’t accidentally step on Rafe’s toes.

Rafe chuckled at Y/N’s nervousness. He couldn’t stop thinking that she was so cute. “You have to look at your partner when you’re dancing with them.” The tone was more teasing than he wanted it to be.

Y/N looked up, blushing at her naivety. “Um, I’m afraid I’m gonna fall.”

She was being vulnerable with him. Sure, it was a very small step, but it was a step forward, nonetheless. Rafe beamed, endeared at her bashfulness. She had never been this way with him. He was taking her out of her comfort zone. “I promise you won’t step on my toes. And if you do, I won’t mind.”

Y/N gives Rafe a bashful smile. She’s looking at him while they dance now, never breaking eye contact. But Rafe is the bashful one now and continuously finds himself looking away. He’s so nervous. She’s looking at him. She’s really looking at him. He has to wonder; does she like what she sees?

“Now look at who's not focusing on their partner.” Y/N’s tone is teasing, and he can’t help but blush.

Rafe says the first thing that comes to his head. “It’s hard to look at someone so beautiful and not blush.”

This only makes the two of them blush more. Y/N wants to tell Rafe she thinks he’s beautiful too. She wants to ask him how they could be mean to each other one moment and all bashful the next. She wants to ask him if he’s ever felt like this with anyone else. She wants to know how he feels. But before she gets a chance to do any of that, they’re pulled apart.

JJ was going to let it go. He was going to just wait in that stupid line and get her a glass of water. He even wasn’t going to complain that Rafe and Y/N were dancing even though he was sure he would burst from jealousy. He convinced himself that Y/N was probably just trying to be polite and Rafe was the one to blame. But when he saw that Rafe had made her smile like that, a smile he had never seen her use, his blood boiled and all he saw was red. He left the line, not even saying goodbye to those snobby PTA moms, and bolted to the centre of the room where they were dancing. He knew that pulling Rafe by the collar would cause a scene. And he knew he promised himself that he was going to be on his best behaviour, but he couldn’t help himself. Rafe was not about to take the only good thing in his life right now. He cared so deeply for Y/N, and he wasn’t gonna let Rafe Cameron, of all people, ruin it. So, he did the only thing he knew; he used his fists.

Rafe choked on his collar as JJ pulled him off of Y/N. He fell backwards, a surprised gasp leaving his lips before his back hit the ground. Before Rafe could even defend himself, JJ was on top of the poor boy and punching him. The only thing Rafe could do was shield his face as JJ tried his best to punch Rafe.

Y/N was mortified. She could not believe this was happening. She had never seen JJ so angry, let alone at Rafe. Sure, JJ wasn’t the biggest fan of Kooks but to fist fight one? Besides, she couldn’t remember a time when JJ mentioned such disdain for Rafe. But that didn’t matter now. She needed to intervene.

“JJ! Stop!” She tried yelling, her voice piercing through the air. The music had stopped, and many people had begun congregating around them to see what all the fuss was about. It was no use though, even Y/N’s yelling did not stop JJ.

The only thing that stopped JJ was John B. As JJ threw his fifth punch, John B approached JJ and pulled him away from Rafe. JJ fought against John B, trying to free himself from his friend’s grasp but it was no use. John B held him in a way that was difficult for JJ to get out of.

“Let me go, bro!” JJ continued to struggle as John B’s grasp, unaware that all eyes were on him.

“Dude, stop!” John B tightened his grip on JJ.

JJ finally stopped struggling, noticing that the room got very quiet. Suddenly, his actions came rushing to him and he realized the mistake he made. When John B felt JJ relax, he finally let go. He was unsure what his friend would do but he knew he had to be there just in case.

Everyone was looking at JJ, their judgemental stares burning holes onto his skin. He felt so exposed, so embarrassed that strangers had seen him like that. But he was more worried about Y/N. He knew he made a mistake and wasn’t sure how she’d react. Knowing her, it wasn’t going to be good.

And when he looked at her, her eyes brimming with tears, he knew he had fucked up big time. She was standing off to the side, standing beside Sarah who was trying to comfort her. JJ took a few steps towards her, his face pale.

“Y/N…” JJ began, the look on his face saying it all.

But Y/N didn’t care. She just wanted one perfect night. She had never seen this side of JJ but now that she had, she was afraid. She shook her head, backing away from him. “No, leave me alone.” And with that, she turned on her heels and walked farther and farther away from him.

Sarah stood there for a moment longer, dumbfounded. “JJ, I think you need to give her some space right now.”

JJ wanted to cry. Although he was embarrassed, it didn’t matter now. He had just ruined the only good thing in his life. The dangerous pattern had finally caught up to him.

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#jj x you #jj x reader #jj one shot #jj fic #jj fanfiction #jj maybank #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #rafe imagine #rafe cameron obx #obx kiara #outerbanks #outer banks fic #obx s2 #rafe cameron

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lavellenchanted · 2 years ago

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Year of the OTP

January | Fake Dating

I did not manage to get the entire thing finished, but please enjoy a preview of the next installment of the Steggy fake dating AU for month one of year of the OTP.

Dr Helen Cho is a doctoral student, who explains as she lets Steven and Peggy into her office that she’s running this study as part of the research for her thesis - which uses a lot of complicated language but Steve eventually understands is, essentially, exploring the psychology of intimacy.

In his mind he had conjured an image of someone clinical and dispassionate in a white lab coat with a clipboard, but Dr Cho’s in jeans and a tailored navy blue blazer, a university lanyard around her neck and a pen tucked behind her ear, just visible where her hair is swept back into a knot at the base of her neck. Her eyes were warm and she clearly cares about her subject.

“That’s why we’re focusing on romantic couples first - moving from dating to cohabiting will naturally impact how intimacy develops and is experienced, but I’m not just looking at it from a romantic perspective. I’m also planning on running studies on platonic and familial relationships as well,” she says, gesturing for them to sit in the chair opposite her desk, while she settles herself and readies her laptop for taking notes.

Steve can’t help thinking that if she had started with her platonic study first, he would have been saved a lot of bother. Although he supposes that strictly speaking platonic might not the best word to use for a friendship where one side is trying to conceal the fact that they’re in love with the other

“That’s also why you two make such a fascinating case to have as part of the study, as a couple that cohabited platonically before you started a romantic relationship,” Dr Cho continues. “I’m very interested to see how your data will compare with our other couples.”

She smiles at them, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her, and has such a poised, confident air that Steve is immediately sure she’s going to see straight through their lying. Which, honestly, would be no more than they deserve; now that he’s met her, he cannot help feeling a twist of guilt, and fervently hopes what they’re doing won’t completely skew her data.

Maybe she can sense his discomfort, or maybe she’s just trying to act the part, but whatever the reason Peggy reaches across to lace her fingers with his and rest their joined hands on his thigh. The weight is warm and reassuring - albeit a little distracting - and grounds himself enough to take a breath.

They’re doing this because they’re desperate, he reminds himself. It’s this, or an eviction notice.

“Well, we can’t wait to get started,” Peggy says.

“Great. Let’s just get straight into it, shall we? This will just be an informal conversation, so I can get to know you outside what you put in your applications and learn more about your relationship. Then I’ve put together a questionnaire for you to take home and fill in separately before the next session. Are you both happy for me to record this?”

“Record it?” Steve repeats warily.

“Yes, just audio, not on camera.” Dr Cho holds up a dictaphone. “It makes it easier for note taking and means I can replay your answers - it won’t be shared with anyone, nor will there be any copies.”

“Oh, well, sure, I guess.” Steve glances at Peggy who nods, seemingly completely at ease with the whole process.

A few moments later, the recording has started and Dr Cho has her fingers hovering over her keyboard, set to type as they speak.

“So - you’ve been dating for eight months, but you’ve been living together for a year, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Did you know each other before you started living together?”

Peggy shakes her head. “No. I only moved to New York a year ago, to study law at Columbia, and I answered Steve’s listing looking for a roommate. We’d never met before that.”

“Have either of you ever cohabited with a romantic partner before?”

“No,” Steve says, but at the same time Peggy, a flush stealing over her cheeks, says in a clearly reluctant voice, “. . . Yes.”

He stares at her. She keeps her eyes fixed so determinedly on Dr Cho that he can’t help thinking she’s deliberately avoiding looking at him.

If Dr Cho notices his surprise, she diplomatically chooses not to comment on it and instead continues focusing on Peggy, “May I ask how long ago? And how long you lived together?”

A grimace flickers across her face, but a beat passes and then she sighs and says shortly. “About five years ago. We only lived together for a few months - five, I think? No more than that. Then we broke up. It was a disaster.”

The jealousy that has started clawing its way up Steve’s insides loosens its hold a little to hear her put so bluntly, but it doesn’t dissipate entirely. Which is ridiculous, he knows, since he’s not actually her boyfriend - and even if he were there’s no reason to feel jealous over a relationship from half a decade ago, he can hardly expect her not to have a past.

But that’s just the problem. He thought he knew all about her past, only now he’s discovering that there are things she’s kept from him. It’s not just jealousy churning in his stomach but hurt, and a kind of feeling of betrayal.

What else hasn’t she told him? And why?

Dr Cho has made a few notes, her keystrokes loud in the quiet of her office, and now asks,“Could you describe for me the differences you found in starting to date someone after having lived together compared to moving in with someone you were already dating?”

Peggy’s silent for a time before answering, sitting back in her chair, her mouth twisting slightly to one side in the way it does when she’s thinking carefully about something.

“I suppose . . . with Fred - my ex - it was kind of like a shattering of illusions. We both thought we knew each other, but when we started living together we realised we’d both been trying to be these - these polished, perfect versions of ourselves, hiding our flaws, and when they came out we were inevitably disappointed with one another. Whereas, with Steve - ”

Her gaze darts briefly to Steve and her blush deepens. Assuming she’s embarrassed about whatever story she’s about to make up, Steve gently squeezes her fingers, trying to offer her some reassurance that he’s still here with her and they’re in this together. Whatever other surprises she might have in store, that isn’t going to change.

“With Steve, we really did know each other far better. It felt . . . it felt like jumping into a relationship much further down the line. Which has its own pressures, but still. We were already so close, it somehow didn’t feel like our relationship changed that much. There was a much stronger foundation there, I think.”

Steve smiles, and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face just how much he wishes what Peggy was saying was true.

#steggy #steve x peggy #year of the otp #it is technically 7 minutes past midnight and therefore february here #but since it is still january in other timezones I am COUNTING THIS AS ON TIME #my fic #otp: the right partner

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costellos · 4 years ago

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❥ ┋ ❝ nanami, itadori, fushiguro & the things that make them flustered!

@babyyuji said: for your valentines day event can i request blush with itadori, megumi, and nanami? thank you so much!

a/n: you sure can! thanks for the suggestion 🤍🤍

tw: none.

ask game:💌 15 valentine’s day questions (closed!)

disclaimer: I’m anime-only outside of the prequel, so apologies if my character interpretations aren’t accurate.

nanami kento.

Nanami gets flustered when you fix his blazer.

fashion and sorcery aren’t a good combination. it’s a shame really, because if you’re going to be stuck in a job that you hate, you can at least make a statement. and Nanami does try to make said statement. the Tokyo Stock Exchange has a very strict dress code. since he’s left it, he’s tried wearing things that make him feel as far apart from it as possible.

key word: try. again, fashion and sorcery aren’t a good combination. he still finds rips and tears in his clothes despite how careful he is.

hence, he has a good relationship with his tailor. she’s a grumpy old woman who knows she’s good at her work. but Nanami always tips her well, and that’s enough to keep her thoughts to herself (especially when she finds dried blood on his blazers’ lapels). although her work is affordable, even that piles up over time.

so before Nanami can bring his next set of blazers to her, you take it upon yourself to fix them. you’ve taken home economics. you know how to work a needle. so much so that when Nanami comes home and he sees that his favorite’s sleeve has been reattached to its shoulder, he asks when you brought it to Mrs. Fujimoto.

his face suddenly feels warm when you beam you did it yourself. all this work? for him? a small part of Nanami is annoyed you didn’t tell him sooner you could fix it, but... most of it is pride. pride that he has someone like you, that knows him so well, and cares that much to help him. ↳ “you didn’t have to go through all this effort to do this. but... thank you. I... I really appreciate it.”

itadori yuji.

Itadori gets flustered when you make him a playlist.

it’s cheesy. even he’d admit it. but he’s a sucker for cheesy antics, and this is just one of many. it’s not his fault that mixtapes are such a personal gift, made with nothing but love for the receiver. maybe it was from watching too many John Hughes movies during his training or maybe it’s just his being a romantic, but he’s always wanted one.

no he hasn’t thought about standing outside of your window with a stereo.

it’s something you’ve known for a while now. cassette tapes are a thing of the past and other than his laptop, Itadori would have no way of listening to a burned CD. so you opt for a Spotify playlist.

you fill it with a variety of songs. songs that remind you of him, songs that you’ve danced in the quad to, the song that played during your first kiss — all little moments shared with him, all the perfect summary of your relationship. of course, it being Itadori Yuji, there’s a handful of joke songs thrown in there, too. romance and humor mesh well with him. it’s a fact you’ve become very familiar with.

and Itadori just lights up the moment you show him the playlist from your phone. the cover photo is an ugly selfie you’ve taken together, with the title being something like “heat beats 2 play on repeat.” it’s something so stupid, but something that matches your relationship so perfectly. he’s unbelievably giddy. he honestly can’t believe that you remembered such a small thing he mentioned in passing. ↳ “you’re joking. all of this is for me? I’m... agh— this is perfect! ...wait, did you seriously put Chug Jug on here...?”

fushiguro megumi.

Megumi gets flustered when you stand too close to him.

he gets embarrassed far more easily than he’d like to admit. it doesn’t help that you have this peculiar habit of coming into his personal space. it’s not that he minds, it’s just something that you do frequently.

like when you’re studying together. you always bump shoulders with Megumi, peering over his work in a desperate attempt to see what he wrote for number 12. he always covers the answer and looks away, mumbling for you to do your own work. he’s thankful it’s just the two of you in the quad today. it’d be embarrassing if anyone could see how red his ears are.

there’s also when you go out to watch movies. every damn time you do it: you get settled in your seat, nestling yourself in the plush chair with a smile on your face. and when the movie starts, you always hook your arm with his. it’s customary for you to lean your head on his shoulder at the 30 minute mark. again, Megumi doesn’t mind. he’s just glad that you’re watching an action-packed thrill ride. the beating of the film’s percussion help deafen the beating of his own heart.

his favorite habit, though, is when you take the train home after missions. Gojo’s gotten into the habit of sending you both on grueling tasks. Megumi’s starting to think that these are really the missions his teacher is too lazy to take on himself. but he isn’t complaining. he loves it when you rest your head on his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing soft. he won’t wake you until it’s time to get off. besides, he doesn’t want you to see how much his hands are shaking.

you decide to ask him about it. you’re not stupid. you know how embarrassed he gets. does he mind, though? because you could always stop... ↳ “why would I ever want you to stop? all of these things are things unique to you. if you stopped, it wouldn’t be you.”

like this piece? here are similar works! 🌑 🌒 🌓

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #itadori yuji #itadori yuji x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #headcanons #ask game response

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ejzah · 3 years ago

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I believe this was originally suggested by @wanna-be-bold: AU where Kensi is UC and has to infiltrate something and get close to who they believe is the leader that turns out to be Deeks undercover.

This was requested many months ago, which seems to be the norm these days. Obviously I stolen and pieced together bits from the show.

***

Ain’t It A Kick In The Head

“Kens, you in position?”

“Yep,” she responded, brushing her hair back from her ear to cover the movement of her mouth. The toe of her high heel caught on a loose stone and Kensi stumbled slightly before catching herself. Personally, a pencil skirt, blazer, and three inch heels wouldn’t be her first choice for conducting a drug deal, but right now she was Bella Mendez.

They’d arrested Mendez after intercepting a message between her and a high stakes drug dealer. With a significant amount of pressure, Bella had given up her contact’s name, one Max Gentry. Fortunately, Gentry had never met Bella or spoken to her, which meant Kensi could easily take her place.

Eric and Nell had found little about Max Gentry, other than that he seemed to have built a name for himself in the criminal world fairly quickly and had a suspiciously slim background.

Kensi, acting as Bella, had agreed to meet Gentry at a building that was once used to pack electronics. Since Bella had been dressed in business clothes when the arrested her, Kensi had chosen a pencil skirt, blazer, and stilettos. They were exactly the most practical, for quick getaways, but if Max Gentry was a “high class” drug dealer, she needed to look the part.

She approached the side entrance, stopping a few feet away, and pulled in a short breath.

“You good?” Sam checked and she hesitated a second before responding with an affirmative sound. Although going undercover wasn’t new to her, Kensi was adept as Sam or Callen. Not that she’d ever tell them that.

“Just make him believe your the Bella Mendez, make him believe you have what he wants, and get out,” Callen instructed her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. At this point she had the plan, right down to why she was supposed to say, memorized.

Shaking her hair back, Kensi knocked confidently on the door, folding her hands in front of her while she waited. After approximately thirty seconds, the door slid open with surprisingly little noise and she was greeted with an scowling man with shoulder length hair. He was lanky and slightly awkward looking, probably no more than his early twenties.

“We’re closed,” he barked out, placing his body between her and the door so she couldn’t see past him.

“I think your boss would disagree,” she responded lightly, covering her surprise at being denied entrance.

“You got the wrong place lady.” He squared his shoulders, suddenly appearing less scrawny and Kensi tensed as well, preparing for a fight. It was definitely not in the plan, but she wasn’t about to be taken down by a wannabe thug.

“Frankie, let her in,” a voice drawled, prompting the young man to step back enough for Kensi to slip by. She walked in slowly, carefully scanning the room. Two men sat at a card table, clearly in the middle of a poker game, a third casually heading towards her. It was too dark for Kensi to fully see him until he was right in front of her.

“Sorry about Frankie, he likes to tease,” he said, in the same drawl she’d heard a minute ago. He held out his hand, smirking at her and added, “I’m Max.”

He was nothing like she’d expected. Her eyes ran over him, quietly taking in the dark blue silk shirt and tailored pants he wore, before drifting up to his face again. His hair was blonde and slightly unruly, curling around his ears and he had a light beard.

Eyeing him cooly, Kensi ignored him as he clearly checked her out too, unapologetically staring.

“I don’t appreciate jokes, Mr. Gentry,” she replied in an aloof tone.

“Please, Max.” He winked again, nearly drawing a smile from Kensi. “After all, we’re going to be business partners, right?”

Damn it, she thought he was charming. Annoyed with herself, Kensi gave him an unimpressed look and crossed her arms.

“That remains to be seen. I only deal with serious buyers.”

“Well, I am completely serious, Ms. Mendez,” he said, his voice deepening although his expression didn’t change. “During our earlier conversation you indicated you’d like make this a long term endeavor. What’s in it for me?”

“I can get you anything you want and in large quantities. I have contacts,” Kensi explained, tilting her head as Max narrowed his eyes in her direction for a moment.

“Is that so?” His upper lip twitched, eyes darkening, and then he suddenly grabbed her around the waist, tugging her against him. Kensi gasped as he tangled a hand in her hair, kissing her aggressively. He stole her breath away and she froze, not resisting when he moved his mouth to her neck.

“I’m an undercover cop,” he hissed in her ear, making her jerk at both sensation of his warmth breath brushing her skin and the unexpected message. “Quit ruining my op.”

He made a show of running his nose along her jaw and then released her. Kensi sucked in a deep breath, trembling as he smirked at her, clearly pleased with himself even as his eyes flashed a silent warning. A flash of rage swept through her and Kensi pulled her arm back, punching him squarely on the jaw.

He jerked back, but managed to keep his footing as his men rushed to defend him.

Max-or whatever the hell his name was-waved them off, casually wiping blood from his chin.

“It’s fine, guys.” He nodded at Kensi, his gaze suddenly making her want to squirm. “I like you,” he decided. “We can discuss the rest of this at my apartment. Frankie will give you the address.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” Kensi told him, lifting her chin defiantly. “The next time I won’t be so gentle.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Ms. Mendez.”

As he walked away from her, Kensi knew that whatever was going on, she was way in over her head.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #au #undercover deeks #undercover Kensi #ejzah fanfiction

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widowsofchaos · 4 years ago

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Poor Little Rich Boy

summary: you find out your boyfriend isn’t all that innocent as he seems.

warnings: yandere behavior, violence, and gore. dub-non con. Ya know the filthy vibes.

Pairing: dark college!Tony Stark x black!reader

a/n: this is my first time writing Tony so be gentle with me <3

do not respost my works!

“I, Howard Anthony Walter Stark, being of sound, mind, and body do hereby declare that this document is my last will and testament. I bestow my legacy in the hands of my only heir, my son, Anthony Edward Stark. All my assets, finances, and chair as CEO of Stark Industries are now in his hands.”

Buzz.

A dull silent vibration shook in the confinement of Tony’s jean pocket, pulling him out of his sullen trance. Instinctively ignoring the notification, as he listened onto the blurred words of the lawyer reading his late father’s will.

Biting his lip to contain his swirling emotions -- aggravation to just collect his inherited earnings, and head home to you.

Buzz.

With a hazy eye-roll, Tony casually sneaked his palm into his pocket, retrieving the phone. As the family lawyer droned on reading, aged eyes glued onto the paper; Tony peaked at the screen, with the quick analysis of face ID -- his pupils dilated like saucers.

His nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, his chest heaving -- he gotta get home immediately. An iron grip onto the phone, he roughly dug it back into his pocket, his foot tapping against the carpeted flooring. Antsy.

God, please make time go faster.

Buzz.

His fingers itched to snatch the cellular device, internally screaming for another peak at the salacious cheeky messages.

Messages from you -- photos of yourself seated on his bedroom floor, in only a high-waisted thong, and his custom tailored blazer.

The creamy beige against your buttery smooth bronze skin was divine, Tony swears anything you wear is pulled off with elegance. Your brown areolas are slipping out just a tad bit from the flaps, a hint of what’s awaiting for him.

His cock hardened against the denim fabric, Tony salivates whenever you wear his clothing, his scent imprinting onto your flesh - of you in compromising positions, your neatly manicured fingers inside your panties, rubbing your swollen nub. Biting your plump bottom lip.

Buzz.

Another picture with a text, you were sipping from a glass, his best Scotch, with the typed words, “I miss you. I know my favorite boy is blue, come back home so I can take care of you.” Signed with a kissy face emoji, and a red heart.

You were leaning on your elbows, your bouncy ass in the air, legs bent upward with your ankles playfully interlocked in the air.

The glass of ale leaning downward against your teasing lips, and sultry eyes through the reflective mirror -- Tony’s cock twitched, oh he’s gonna eat you up when he gets home.

- It was midnight, the full moon shining bright in the inky indigo sky -- beaming upon the Stark manor. The white fluorescent solar satellite glistening upon the grand bedroom where two lovers lay satiated in bed.

Rubbing random circles by the pads of your fingertips on Tony’s sweaty broad chest, taming the beast into a purring feline.

“I love you.” Tony’s mild slurred speech infiltrated the serene silence, your nose scrunched up in glee. “I love you too.” you murmured in his neck, a lazy grin stretched on your face.

For hours, Tony, and yourself haven’t left the bedroom, stringing release after release -- letting Tony pinch, pull your hair, bruise, slap, and choke your soft flesh-- that’s what he loves about you, trusting him wholeheartedly with your body, and soul.

A lot of tears of euphoria, and fear of abandonment. Reassuring Tony that you would never leave him, breathy hymns of I love yous in his ear.

It’s been a couple of difficult few weeks, Howard Stark has passed at the age of 74. A fatal car crash taking his life, leaving behind his only son. It was only freshly five months ago that Tony lost his mother, Maria. Uterine cancer - multiple tumors.

Maria Stark, the matriarch of the family, was the light of Tony’s life. Maria was a saint, even at death’s door, she had a positive perspective. You can still recall her calling her tumors fruit bowls of pain - her tumors were the size of miniature melons; grew from the size of strawberries.

And when she died -- the already fractured relationship of father and son deteriorated to ash. Howard started becoming colder, more stricter on his son -- his disappointment fueling by the second.

Clayed into a modernized Narcissus -- guising his trauma with bloviating chatter to impress the little people. Boasting his youthful genius with no shame.

Tony may have been born from the finest cloth, a silver-spoon wedged in his mouth -- but he oozes the work ethic of a blue-collar joe.

Under the molden gait of a promising demigod is a fragile boy -- yearning for affection. A neglected child desperate for attention.

Sending nudes to your boyfriend while he’s attending his dead father’s will hearing -- many would deem that as distasteful -- tacky, even. But, you knew Tony’s coping mechanisms.

Frat parties, drinking excessively to the brink of oblivion, and copious amounts of sex.

Tony was raised in a household, where any emotional turmoil expressed to his father was shot down, except with his mother -- he needs a womanly touch.

He never saw his conquests as ladies, only whores to get his rocks off, but once he laid eyes on you -- sweet, and bubbly -- that little rich boy was a goner.

Succumbing to a dazed half-slumber, Tony’s cell phone rings at the bedside table -- you groaned at the intrusion. Flashing on the screen was Happy’s goofy grin, one of Tony’s closest friends. You mumbled a ‘of fucking course’, Tony cheekily chuckled at your frustration.

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. This won’t take long.” With the wisp of a lingering kiss on your hairline, Tony begrudgingly detached himself from you--proudly strutting his naked bare firm ass, picking up his boxers from the floor shamelessly displaying his hung cock, and balls.

“Nice ass.” you teased. Tony snorted, “Nice? Toots, it’s the finest ass. And you love it.” He winked at you over his shoulder, you giggled. Tony’s footfalls faded down the hall, his conversation blurring into the distance. You laid back down, sighing as you stared up at the ceiling, quickly getting bored.

Without Tony to entertain you, you had nothing to do. Maybe I could get a head start on my thesis? Your eyes languidly rolled to the corner of your lids, staring at your opened crumbled book-bag mocking you at the corner of the room, Fuck that. You grumbled.

Mindlessly deciding to get dressed, and search for substance. Hours of unadulterated love-making can take out a lot of energy.

Nimble quiet feet tip-toe down the stairs, covered in only Tony’s wrinkled white button-down, brown statuesque legs gracefully head to the kitchen -- but you halt in your tracks. A dim light seeps from the crack out of an office -- Howard’s former office.

Curiosity overwhelms you, biting down your tongue, you check your surroundings, making sure Tony is nowhere in sight. Earlier in the day, the office was locked -- why is it now open?

Open-palm press against the door, a tiny creak of the mahogany makes you cringe internally. Stealthy you walk into the office, nothing seems to be out of place. Maybe Tony was in here? Fidgety fingers skim against the polished wooden desk, at the corner of your eye, a mess of papers sit idly by.

You pick the papers up, fastly flicking through it. Statements declaring Tony as the new CEO of Stark Industries, royalties, and -- mechanic blueprints?

Your chest began heaving, breaths still choppy fuming out of your nose, your left eye twitched from the stressing bile rising. Here in your hands are the blueprints of a familiar vehicle -- Howard Stark’s car. Descriptive details on the full functionality of the car, why are these here?

Warm palms clutch your shoulders, soothingly rubbing, you flinch by the surprise, “You weren’t meant to see those.” A hot breath fan against your ear, you whimper, his voice sounded husky, menacingly.

Not daring to look him in the eye, frozen in your spot as if the soles of your feet grew roots in the flooring, Tony’s grasp on your arms tighten. “The old man was going to take me off the will. I know he was.”

A chaste kiss on your temple, “As if I didn’t take his shit over the years just for nothing. Blaming me for my mother’s death.” He grumbled against your skin, your blood running cold. There was no remorse in his voice, a hint of satisfaction.

This isn’t the Tony you knew.

A beast of his father’s making.

“Tony - I - I won’t tell anyone, I promise--” Tony shushed your stuttering, his rough hands snaking its travel to your waist, slithering his forearms around your torso, ensnaring you.

“I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t. You’re my good girl.” He spoke in your hair, small lingering kisses on your scalp. Tony was rocking your body back and forth, cradling you -- he can sense your fear.

With trepidation, you held his arms, a little shaky. “Tony, let’s just go back to bed.” Your voice was cracking, this isn’t the man you fell in love with, and you wanted to just run away as far as you can.

“You’re scared of me?” Although it was an intended question, its tone came off as a fact. Indeed you were terrified of him.

“No.” You spat too quickly for your liking. Tony gripped your chin, and twisted your head to face him, “I would never hurt you. I love you. Everything I do is for you.” Your breath hitched, his face was morphed into a sad feral puppy.

“I know. I know you do.” You feigned a weak smile, “I just didn’t think --” you stopped yourself before you vomited any other words. “Do what? Kill?” Tony cocked a brow, with a shit-eating grin. “I did it before. For you.” Tears were forming at the brim of his eyes, your doe-eyes widened, you began squirming in his arms. “Tony, what did you do?!” you shrieked, limbs failing.

Tony’s iron-grip didn’t let up, refusing to let you go, “He wasn’t right for you!” Tony bellowed on the top of his lungs, impulsive rage seeping through, fumbling feet colliding.

Both of your bodies falling to the carpeted floor as Tony tried to restrain your wrists, fumbling feet slipping. A miscalculated misstep sent you, and Tony colliding downward.

Tony’s weight pinning you down. Confusion making your head go dizzy, “What do you mean?” You whispered. Tony smashed his lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks, “You know what I mean.” His brows furrowed, gently his forehead on yours, his eyes staring into your soul.

Realization hits you like a freight train, flashes of your ex, the cops alerting you of his disappearance, Tony’s lingering shadow always appearing to provide comfort -- “Brock?” a lone tear trickle down your eye, down your temple, and hitting the carpet below. Tony nodded frantically.

Tony’s lips peppered against your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your eye-lids, your nose, your chin; mumbling affection against your tear-stained face.

It’s been three years since Brock vanished, rumors flew around campus from students believing he killed himself in some remote location, you lost him in the first years of university.

You were grief-stricken, but Tony, being the ever-present close friend lend a shoulder -- then soon, it blossomed into much more.

“Now, it's just us. We can start a new dollface.” Tony sniffled, hot tears drip upon your flesh, “We can start our own family” he rasps, “I can be a dad. A better father.” Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

A family? You both were just shy of twenty-one, and already Tony is mapping out your entire futures. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was futile.

Tony murmured nonono to your bodily request of escape, chasing clumsy blubbering kisses against your chavile. Your body began to be wrecked with sobs, your chest heaving.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s better this way.” Tony’s brows were furrowed sorrowfully, his tremor low with ache. “You killed Brock, how could you?! I loved him!” Tony gripped your jaw, painfully his fingers kneading,

“Loved him?! He wasn’t right for you! You need me! I need you! No one is going to love you like I do. I loved you the first day I met you.” Harsh fingers rip off the fabric, exposing your breasts to the elements.

“You’re mine! No one can have you! I will kill anyone who tries to take you away!” Tony’s mouth plunged, fangs nibbling on your nipples, his entire mouth suckling your left breasts.

Tony’s left hand pinching your right nipple, twisting and slapping it roughly. You yelped, shutting your eyes closed. Your skin crawled, Tony’s brown eyes peered at you, dissatisfied that you refuse to look at him.

A sloppy pop echoed, “Look at me!” he slapped you, the crack of it pounding in your ears, the heat of the sting scorched throughout your cheek. Your eyes popped open, watery from the hit, Tony has never once laid a hand on you -- until now.

Nose to nose, “We’re gonna be a family--” one of his hands traveled down to tug down his boxers, his hard swollen cock is man-handled in his palm, you struggled to get away, but Tony clutched your wrists in one hand, and pinned it on the carpet.

Tony spit on your cunt, rubbing it within your velvety folds by the base of his veiny cock, earning a hiss out of you. “You’re going to look so hot swollen with our baby.” Your thighs twitched, Tony roughly forced your thigh to wrap around his torso, positioning himself.

“Please - Tony, please don’t”, you cried, Tony shushed you. Lining himself to your hole, with no hesitation, plunged his cock inside your pussy. You screamed, your back arching, “Feels lovely, right? Feels so fucking delicious - you were made for me.” Tony snarled, biting your chin, his tongue trailing your jawline, pistoning his cock inside you.

Dripping slick smears against your thighs, clenching onto his cock, a broken groan slips from Tony’s lips, “Fuck - yes, do that again.” You were blubbering tears down your cheeks, the inevitable pleasure Tony strings out of you is undeniable.

“You’re so tight, and warm.” He growled in your ear, “I can’t wait to have a baby with you. You all swollen, waddling around with bare-feet. You’ll be a great mother - just like mine.” He whispered, biting on your lobe.

You murmured muffled whines in the crock of his neck, bruising is slowly forming on your hips, fucking you like it’s the last time. Shivers run down Tony’s spine, time slows down.

Sweaty skin slapping against skin spurred him on, taking all of you. Your nails scratch at his palm, still bounding you down.

“I love you.” He whimpered, you bite your lip, refusing to sink into the instinct of saying it back. Tony perked his head up from your neck, growling, “Say it back!” he thrusted his pelvis against you, a cattle wail hit you, “Say -” thrust “it-” another thrust “-back!” his smile falters slow, a bruising touch.

He can see you slowly yielding, small pants of electric euphoria, “No!” you bite back.

Wet lips slant against yours. Your entire body jolting from his unforgiving pace, your back burning slightly from the rug beneath you.

Releasing your wrists, his rough hand find it’s way to your back, hiking you up, squeezing your ass in his fingers, bucking your hips; fucking you onto him, your nails dig into his sculpted back -- scratching for him to stop, but it felt too good.

You’ve become dizzy. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, hoping the pain makes him halt his actions, but it makes him harden inside of you.

There’s no space between you, melting into one, the friction, the heat; the tethers of reality blur into nothing.

“Please - say you love me.” Tony pleaded, his weary eyes sinking into yours. A robbery -- a heart-wrenching robbery of your soul, in an instant, you didn’t see a cold-blooded killer, but the mire of a lost boy.

He slowed down his thrusts, leisure movements, his brown orbs are glossy, “Say it, please.” Tony gently kisses you, not feverish, but you can taste the sweet commitment. Like he doesn’t own you, but he worships you.

“I love you.” you mumbled against his swollen lips, his eyes dilated, rubbing his nose against yours, “I love you” maneuvering your hips, squelching can be heard - sticky as honey, as the pace picked up.

Your fingers grip his soft fluffy hair, his balls slapping against your ass, “I love you, Tony.” You sucked on his bottom lip. He whimpered. His cock was coated in your juices, you can feel the swelling of his balls, and his uneven jerking movements -- he was close.

“Cum for me, baby.” Tony’s eyes were shut, he mewled, “Cum inside me, give me a baby, Tony.” The dam breaks. The window bursts open from a gust of wind, the full moon gleamed upon your sweaty sheen bodies, a howl erupts from Tony -- as the wolf within has been unhinged -- primal, feral fueled lust.

Toothy grin, all fangs lunged for your pulse point, devouring you. Squirted juices spray from you, splashing against his toned stomach, not once stopping, riding through the orgasm. Tony’s tongue peaked out, droplets of your cum sprinkling his mouth.

Your vision turns white, an inhuman scream leaves you, Tony collapses onto you.

He’s trembling, frightened, you massage his dome, “My sweet boy.” Tony sobs into your chest, ensnaring himself around your torso. You hugged him, cradling like a baby, as he cried water-falls.

“It’s okay.” You kiss his head, a lingering one, “It’s going to be alright.”

You’re all he has.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #tony stark x reader smut #tony stark x reader angst #yandere tony stark #yandere tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark tony stark x reader #dark marvel

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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hi i’d like max x reader where he’s having very stressful day at work like everything that can go wrong does go wrong and the reader is his gf and bc of all this stuff going wrong he forgets that she’s supposed to visit him at work so she comes in and starts talking about her day and how great it was and then he just shoots up and goes to hug her and starts kissing her and playing with her hair and she’s like ??? cause this never happens and he just lays his head on her lap and he rants about his day and she listens and she tries to comfort him as best she can thank u 🥺

Rough Day At Work [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Author's note: Oh. my god. This is a long one. I write a lot of Maxwell fluff but this one is by far one of my favourites. It's a journey of pure, unadulterated sweetness with a sliver of comedy. And it's set at Christmas— perfect to get you in the festive mood! Reblogs appreciated because this isn't showing up in tags.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: food mention, drink mention, brief allusions to sex, Maxwell is ~stressed~.

Rating: PG-13

Masterlist in pinned! Requests open x

Maxwell Lord had his fair share of bad days. Things almost always went wrong in his line of work, but it was almost never his fault. He could always squander up an excuse or find someone else to blame. But today it was one thing after another.

He was late. He had a meeting with the board team first thing but as the Christmas traffic filled the bustling roads of DC, he had already missed the first twenty five minutes of the conference. He practically fell out of the black limo that drove him to work every morning, plodging his feet through the thick layers of snow. It was so deep this morning, the ice cold water seeped through his leather Armani shoes and even through his favourite cashmere socks. The ones with little purple polka dots. He shivered uncomfortably as the clumps of ice sat in between his toes, melting, and so every footstep made an obscene squelching noise. He didn't have the time to fuss around and change his shoes. The bottoms of his tailored pants were dripping. He bolted through the glass revolving doors of Black Gold Cooperative, trailing a pool of water behind him. His receptionist Anna, and his assistant Raquel, stood up abruptly, their eyes widening as they saw their boss in such a hurried frenzy.

"Mr Lord! You have your nine o’ clock meeting and it’s now nine twenty-” Raquel raised her hand and called for him, but he didn't bother to stop in his tracks.

"Yes Raquel, I know!" Maxwell yelled after her, already tapping his feet impatiently as he waited for the elevator. "Cmon, cmon…" he grumbled as it slowly made its way down from the 25th floor to the ground floor.

When Maxwell entered the board meeting, his cheeks were a rosy pink from the cold winter weather. His eyes were glazed and the waves in his dark blonde hair were falling out of place. He had styled it perfectly this morning, the same way he did it every morning. You had even helped him, brushing through his locks when he had hopped out the shower. But now he looked as though he had just run a marathon, breaking out in a cold sweat. He swore if he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he'd have a heart attack. But surely, the day couldn't get any worse. Right? Maxwell had made it to the meeting, albeit late. At least he was there.

Wrong.

"I am so sorry." he scrambled, plopping his briefcase down on the table and slipping past the many occupied chairs. He slumped down in one eventually, pulling out in a notepad and pen. "Bad traffic," he huffed. "Can someone give me the lowdown?"

He eventually looked up to see his company. Twelve older ladies in pink button down dresses and white frilly aprons, their hair tied back into matching low buns. Maxwell froze up, his gaze wandering from woman to woman as it slowly began to sink in.

"Mr Lord…" the woman at the head of the table said cautiously. She looked just as baffled. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've worked for Black Gold Cooperative for five years now but never did I expect to see you in person."

Maxwell looked back at the other girls who were all nodding in agreement, beaming with excitement. "Uh." He didn't know what to say, but instead, he placed his pen and notepad back into the inside of his suit jacket pocket and stood up. "I think- I think I'm in the wrong meeting." he announced.

"We are the body of staff who are responsible for the cleanliness and hygiene of your company sir. We spend ten hours a day washing and tidying every surface, every inch of this building. We take great care of it." one of the ladies spoke up and Maxwell became even more confused. Although clearly, on a day like this, it didn't take much to confuse him.

"The cleaning staff have meetings in here?" He wondered out loud, immediately regretting the words as soon as they left his lips. He didn't want to come off as rude. "I mean, I'm your employer. Pft, of course I know that you have meetings. And I'm glad you do so. It's good to take direction!" he was doing that motivational voice he used on television, making the 60 year old cleaners swoon with admiration. "I- I should get going but. Uh, yes. Lovely to meet you all."

"Mr Lord!" A lady with ebony hair and crinkles by her eyes stood up, handing Maxwell his briefcase. He nodded appreciatvely and walked to the door where her hand met his arm and stopped him in his tracks. "Could I get your autograph, please? I'm just a huge fan of your infomercials."

Maxwell checked the time on his wristwatch. Almost half an hour late, but he couldn't deny one of his cleaners. Once upon a time he wouldn't have bothered giving them a second glance yet he leaned over the table and signed his name on a sticky note. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Pamela," she beamed brightly.

"Nice to meet you Pamela, have a good day." he pat her shoulder and went open the door when another voice yelled his name.

"Mr Lord!" a woman with white hair stood up, a grin pinned on her face. "I'm Doris," she introduced confidently, but her voice was shaky with her old age. "I remember when your father was on the television. I used to clean for him too, you know? Oh, he was such a lovely gentleman. And you look more and more like him every day. Such a handsome man, you are."

Maxwell stiffened up, his hand grabbing the door handle so hard he was sure his knuckles might've turned white. "Oh," was the only thing that could really leave his lips. He wanted to leave.

"Mr Lord, your father I mean-, every Christmas he'd give little old me a kiss," she recalled, her heart blooming at the memory. "Of course I wasn't old then. I was young. And beautiful."

Maxwell exhaled and nodded his head, unsure of really what to say or where this conversation was going. All he could think about was the board meeting that he was already extremely late for. Maxwell pushed down on the door handle and Doris let out a long dramatic sigh, making Maxwell pause once again to hear what she had to say. "I haven't been kissed like that, by a man as attractive as your father, in years." she sighed longingly, fluttering her eyelashes.

That was when Maxwell realised. He sighed quietly, his eyes scanning the room. All the cleaners were staring at him, expecting him to make his move on poor old Doris. Then, he turned back to Doris and offered her that familiar Hollywood smile. The same smile that the whole world was used to seeing on five o'clock television. He took her hand and brushed a soft kiss over her wrinkled knuckles before gently dropping her hand again. There was no denying the pink blush that coloured her cheeks. The action earned a few squeaks and squeals around the room and while they were all babbling with excitement about what they'd just witnessed happen to their friend Doris, Maxwell took the opportunity to run.

He did finally make it to the meeting. He squeezed past his business associates, trying to locate his chair around the table. In the process, he knocked over a cup of coffee. It spilled all over Maxwell, and one of his colleagues. Maxwell's pale blue suit jacket was now stained with brown espresso, and he knew it would take more than just a few washes to get the stain out. He muttered a small 'sorry' before finding his seat and taking out his notepad and pen. Just as he finished writing the date at the top of his piece of paper, the director of the meeting called it quits and everyone flustered out of the room.

All this had happened and it was only ten in the morning.

Luckily, that was the only meeting of the day and he knew he was going to be spending the rest of the day in his office doing paperwork. That was easy enough. Maxwell padded into his enormous office which took up the entirety of the top floor at Black Gold Cooperative headquarters. He shut the double doors, finding peace in knowing that there was no need for anyone to come in and distract him. Maxwell tugged off his blazer and hung it on the back of a chair. He unclipped his suspenders that held his tailored pants up, and threw them to one side, along with his shoes and soaked socks. He padded into the closet at the back of his office and shuffled out of his pants, changing into some grey sweatpants.

He smiled, beginning to feel warm again. Wearing the sweatpants reminded him of you and it made him feel like he was at home. He remembered a few weeks into your relationship; your surprise when you caught a glimpse of his wardrobe. Not a single piece of casual wear in sight. You wondered if Maxwell Lord had ever known the comfort of sweatpants and so, that afternoon, you went out and bought him a pair. They changed his life. Maxwell would always favour his suits, that's just who he was, but he would love to wear the sweats when he wanted to lounge about in the house.

He was tired. His hair was still damp, the dark blonde waves curling at the nape of his neck and falling out of place every time he tried to remedy it. He still smelled vaguely of espresso, and was still haunted by the interaction of Doris the cleaner. He pursed his lips together into a thin line at the memory of kissing her hand.

Maxwell walked over to his desk and sunk into his chair, holding his head in his hands. Finally some peace.

Until there was a loud knock at the door. Maxwell swung his head back and groaned. "Come in!" he shouted, quickly composing himself for whoever wished to see him. It was his blonde assistant, Raquel.

"Hi sir!" she beamed, waving her free hand and placing a glossy catalogue on the table.

"Raquel." Maxwell nodded politely, sitting up and looking at the catalogue she had positioned before him.

"For the Christmas gala," she explained, flicking open the pages and pointing out different things. She'd carefully highlighted and labelled everything she wanted to show him, making it easier for his conveience. "I was thinking huge black and gold balloons with the company name on. Gold confetti. Banners and streamers hanging from every corner. A buffet, and every table cloth will also have the company's name on, printed in small, glitter ink." Her loud and chatty voice was giving Maxwell a headache.

"Yeah, balloons with Black Gold Cooperative written on really scream ‘Have a Very Merry Capitalist Christmas’." he sighed, slowly looking up at her. She blinked a few times. "Well Raquel?" he quizzed, growing irritable. It wasn't her fault, it's just everything was beginning to build up. She blinked again, dumbfounded by his comment. "Is that what Christmas is about to you?"

"W-what do you mean?" she asked nervously, removing her hand from the catalogue and taking a step back from his desk.

"What about red and green balloons? We'll have a Christmas tree in the ballroom. We could even make it family friendly and hire a Santa Claus for the kids to meet." Maxwell suggested. "And no weird company merchandise."

Raquel blinked, not saying a word. It had never really dawned on Maxwell how much you had changed him. His staff realised practically instantly— from the moment he came into work after the first time you had spent the night, it was like he was a changed man. He held the door open for people, he wished people a good morning. And as your relationship with him developed, you opened up a brand new side to him. He became more affectionate and caring for those around him, a feeling he had shut off from the world for his entire life.

He had never cared for Christmas, never cared as much to host a Christmas gala either. His father died during the festive season and it hadn't been the same without him. His mother didn't do much to celebrate. Maxwell had everything he always wanted; all the new toys and fanciest designer clothes. But it meant nothing to him without his father. Christmas meant nothing to him without love. That's why it all changed when he met you. You finally brought love back into his life, and everything felt whole again. You completed him. You taught him how to enjoy events and celebrate. You taught him happiness but most importantly, you taught a cold and broken man how to love and be loved in return.

The Christmas gala was your idea. One night, around a month ago, you and Maxwell were both lying in bed together. Maxwell had expressed to you that he wanted to do something special for his staff at work. Over the past few years since he had met you, he'd slowly been softening with the people around him. Christmas time was no different and his staff were always jolly to receive a hefty bonus from him. But they didn't expect anything more.

You came up with the idea of a gala, and Maxwell couldn't help but smirk a little when you mentioned it. He knew that your suggestion was deeply rooted into the fact you had always wanted to attend a gala, wear a beautiful dress and have your hair and makeup done. More importantly, you wanted to go to a gala with Maxwell and have him by your side looking as handsome as ever. The prospect excited you so much. With Maxwell, you knew that you wanted for nothing. That he could give you anything and everything. But you would never ask. You wanted him to know that for as long as he was with you, you had everything you needed.

Normally for Maxwell, gala’s were a place for adults only. Bars that served the best alcohol and a place where men who were just as rich as him would meet and schmooze. Before you, gala’s were a fine opportunity for Maxwell to meet a lady and take her home. That's all he enjoyed them for. But you had taught Maxwell that there was more to life than wealth, women and good champagne. He was so sure you'd love the idea of turning the gala into a family friendly party, and he was certain that his employees (the likes of the cleaning staff, for example) would love the ability to bring their families to such a high class event.

"Don't worry Raquel," Maxwell smiled. "Forget about the party planning for now. I know someone who would love to organise the Christmas gala." Today was tough, but everytime he thought about you, he couldn't wipe the grin from his face. He was one lovesick puppy. "Could you bring me a coffee?"

Raquel nodded and picked the catalogue back up, padding out his office without saying another word.

At around twelve o’clock, Maxwell was about to take his lunch break- but the phone on his desk began to ring. "Maxwell Lord." he introduced himself, holding the phone to his ear. It was the CEO of Powergrid Electrics, an electrical company in Rome. Rude and unhinged, the boss man reminded Maxwell of a version of himself that he had left in the past.

Maxwell had almost sealed an amazing deal with the company, but it had seemed that the CEO hadn't received a vital part of the contract. Trying to regulate the anger that was building up inside of him, Maxwell shakily put the phone back on the hook and called his second assistant, Emmerson, into his office.

"It's impossible," Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows together in bewilderment, after explaining the situation. He scrambled amongst the papers that were stacked mountain high on his desk. "I put it in the envelope and had Raquel send it off to Rome last week. I remember… I know I didn't forget. I never forget." he said, trying to sound as composed and confident as possible. There was no mistake in the worried little warble in his voice, though.

Emmerson, Maxwell's second assistant, wasn't sure if he was going to regret his next move. "Sir," his voice was timid and small. Maxwell's eyes snapped up to meet Emmerson's and Emmerson felt his heart rate increase rapidly. Emmerson reached over Maxwell's desk, picking up a folded piece of paper with a sticky note on top that read 'For Raquel: give to Rome'. "Is it possible that this is the missing part of the contract? That maybe, you might have just, forgotten to give it to Raquel?" he said slowly, trying to beat around the bush as much as possible.

Maxwell slowly reached over to the slip of paper, unravelling it like he was scared to see what the contents would reveal. He sighed out loud when he realised he had, in fact, forgotten to give Raquel the document, and there was no one to blame but himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating what to do next. He didn't want to believe he was out of options. He wasn't one to give up, especially when it came to the sanctity of his business.

"I need you to go to Rome." He said immediately and Emmerson's jaw dropped.

"I- I'm sorry?" Emmerson quizzed, confused and still slightly afraid of how impulsive Maxwell was being. "With all due respect, can't you just call Rome and ask for an extension on the deadline?"

Maxwell scoffed. "Call Rome? I can't just call a country," Emmerson was about to interject to explain that wasn't exactly what he meant but Maxwell didn't allow it. There was something about the way Maxwell's brain worked… he didn't get where he was today from taking the advice of his assistants. "You will go to Rome and give Powergrid Electrics the remaining part of the contract yourself. I trust you."

"But sir-" Emmerson raised a shaky hand.

"Oh, I see, you're worried about accomodation," Maxwell assumed, chuckling lightly. "I'll get you a five star hotel and give you a spending allowance of three hundred euros a day, how does that sound? No need to fret. Hurry along now."

"Mr Lord," Emmerson deadpanned finally, causing Maxwell to look up at his assistant in bewilderment. Emmerson was still afraid of his boss, of course, but he knew he had to stand his ground. "I can't go to Italy."

There were a few beats of silence. "What?" Maxwell questioned. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a free trip of a lifetime. You have an easy job to do. You can spend the rest of the day souvenir shopping. I don't care. Just get the contract delivered." He ordered.

"No." Emmerson put his foot down.

"No?" Maxwell repeated, raising his eyebrows like he was due an explanation.

"Mr Lord, I didn't want to say anything because it seems… you've had a lot going on today. But my girlfriend, Katherine, she's due our baby. See, we're having a son. I'm not sure if you knew… I mean, you probably didn't know. But, I promised Katie- uh, Katherine, that I'd meet her at the hospital after my shift. I wish I could help you sir, I really do. But I love my girlfriend and I've been waiting nine months to meet our son so if you please-"

The old Maxwell Lord would've burned red with rage, firing poor Emmerson on the spot, right then and there. How dare he question Maxwell. How dare he deny Maxwell. How dare he choose his love life, his family over his job. But right now, Maxwell couldn't help the small smile creep upon his lips. He was overjoyed, just wishing Emmerson had told him of the amazing news before now.

"Congratulations," Maxwell said, his voice quiet but his eyes gleaming. "On the addition of your family. That's really great."

Emmerson stood as still as ever, blinking a few times. He waited for Maxwell to snap and finally lose it. He was waiting to get the sack. But nothing. "Uh, thank you, sir." Emmerson replied hesitantly, like he wasn't sure what to expect from Maxwell.

The following few moments of silence, Maxwell spent thinking about you. He thought about how radiant you glowed this morning and how he wished he didn't have to leave your side. You were the love of his life and quite frankly, since meeting you, he understood the priority of choosing love over wealth. He finally had someone he could hold onto during the dead of night, someone to ramble to about his feelings, someone he could kiss and love and cherish forever.

Maxwell Lord finally loved something more than his business and that was you. Emmerson coughed awkwardly, breaking the silence and Maxwell flicked his wrist up, checking the time on his gold Rolex. It was almost twelve thirty.

"Why are you still here?" Maxwell grinned, swinging his hand to point a finger towards the door. "Go! You have a son to meet!"

"Sir, I don't finish until five o’ clock." Emmerson replied, stiffening up.

"No no no! Go home, go see your girlfriend, please." Maxwell stood up and shook his assistants hand. "I have no doubt you'll be an amazing father," he said genuinely. "And I'll have Y/N send over some flowers and a donation after the birth."

"You- you're really letting me off work early?" Emmerson beamed and Maxwell nodded his head enthusiastically. "Oh how can I ever thank you?"

"I hear Maxwell is a popular choice of name for baby boys right now," the CEO charmed and Emmerson let out a small but genuine laugh. "Now go! Tell Katherine I send my love."

"I will do, thank you sir." Emmerson grinned, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack and merrily running out of the office.

Maxwell sunk into the plushness of his leather chair, still unable to escape the smile that played on his lips. He imagined the possibility of you, the love of his life, carrying his child. He thought about how beautiful you would look, how you'd glow, and how he'd simply give up everything to take care of you. Make sure you had everything you needed during your pregnancy. He imagined building the nursery with you and picking out some books on parenting, studying with you so he could ensure that he'd be the best father ever. He'd never wanted kids. In fact he hated the idea of having little mini Maxwell’s running around and causing fuss and torment, but the idea of you raising them alongside him made his heart flutter. He was certain of the unconditional love you’d have for them. Similar to the unconditional love he had for you.

His eyes darted back to the unsent report on his desk and he sighed. Guess I have to call Rome after all. He thought.

Maxwell was counting the minutes until he could go home and see you. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa with you, the fire on, and watch one of those cheesy Christmas movies you liked so much. He heard the doors to his office open, frustration racing through him as he prepared himself for the next bout of 'things going wrong'. He'd normally yell at someone if they entered his office without knocking but he was so tired. So so tired.

When he saw you, he swore his heart stopped. There you were, his blessing in disguise. His angel. You were wearing your red winter coat and knee high brown boots, and you plopped your purse and a bag on one of the many side tables in his office. You took off your gloves and pulled off your wooly bobble hat, stuffing them lazily in your pocket and offered him a happy smile. He scrambled to his feet, not taking his eyes off you for a second and ran up to you, sweeping you off your feet and spinning you around. You squealed, grabbing onto him for your life and he put you down, pulling you into a tight warm hug.

"You're freezing cold." he grimaced, pulling your hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants in hope they'd warm up.

"It's snowing again." you whispered happily, smiling into his neck. He was delighted, having you in his arms and being able to smell the familiarity of your shampoo and perfume. He knew for sure now, he was going to be okay.

"I can see." he replied, moving one of his hands up to your face and padding out the pearly snowdrops that were balanced in your hair. "I am so glad to see you sweetheart." he hummed, sending vibrations through your body. You felt your heart blossom in your chest at his sentiment.

"I told you I was coming this morning," you giggled, eventually pulling away from him and taking your arms out of his pockets. You cupped his face and ran your fingers through his dark blonde hair, fixing it as best as you could. "I brought us lunch." you told him, fishing into the bag and bringing out boxes of pastries and cakes. "From that bakery we like."

Maxwell gasped and you looked up at him confused. "Baby, I completely forgot you were coming."

"I hate to say Max but you do look a little disheveled," you folded your arms across your chest and checked out your boyfriend's appearance. "What's with the sweats and… where is your tie and suspenders?" Your eyes met his feet on the floor and they widened almost comically. "Max! Where are your socks and shoes?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Long story." he took your hand and pulled you over to the couch, pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around him and he placed a hand on your thigh, pushing under your skirt and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"Tell me everything." you replied and he looked up at you with nothing but adoration in his brown eyes.

"Traffic jam on the way to work because of the snowstorm last night, and the streets were so busy with it being so close to Christmas. We couldn't get parked out front so I had to get out of the car and walk through five inches of snow to get into work. I was already late for my meeting. Soaking wet and uncomfortable," you let him ramble on, watching intently at the way his expression would change as he recalled different events in his day. You began to play with his hair, seeing that he was getting flustered at the memory of it all. "I was late for the meeting, I ended up in a whole different meeting. I didn't know the cleaners in this building even had meetings!"

"The cleaners?" you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. "You sat in on a meeting with the cleaners?" Maxwell nodded sollemnley and you nudged him playfully. "I love that."

"Well, I didn't. They're all lovely women. But this one cleaner, Doris…" he fumbled around with his fingers. "I ended up kissing her." you pulled away quickly, knotting your eyebrows together. "No! No not like that," Maxwell said quickly, pulling you back onto his lap and wrapping his arm around you. "She's like 90, said she used to work for my father and every Christmas he'd give her a kiss. She'd start talking about how she's never had a kiss from someone as handsome as my father in years. So I gave her a polite one, on her hand. And baby, I ran. As fast as I could, I had to get outta there."

You smiled. "Max, you probably made her day. That was really sweet of you."

He brushed off your comment, taking a dramatic exhale and continuing his story. "Finally got to the meeting, spilled coffee over myself and one of my associates. But by the time I had finally settled, the meeting was over. So I went back to my office and changed out of my wet, cold, coffee stained clothes and sat down. Raquel came in. She was planning the Christmas gala but it all sounded so… corporate. Not what Christmas is about at all," he explained and you nodded in agreement. "Anyways I suggested that we change the gala this year so it's family friendly. In the spirit of Christmas."

"Oh Max!" you beamed, snuggling into his chest. He smiled to himself proudly, knowing that he had made you happy.

"You good with that?" he chuckled, running his fingers through your hair.

"Yes!" you squeaked, pushing yourself back up and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "I have so many ideas."

"That's great honey," he laughed. "Because I told Raquel to forget about the gala. I figured you could plan it. You're great at stuff like that, and I know how much it means to you. I want the gala to be perfect for my staff and their families, and I trust you more than anyone else in the world."

"I can't wait," you smiled merrily, already weighing up the different ideas you had in your head. "Was Raquel okay with you taking the party planning duty away from her?"

"I think so," Maxwell replied. "She has a lot on her plate, being my assistant and all. It's a busy time of year and I think she'd appreciate having less to do."

"Well, it really does sound like you've had an eventful morning."

"Oh, I'm not finished," Maxwell grimaced and you braved yourself for the impending chaos. "Rome called and told me that the CEO of Powergrid Electrics only received half of the binding contract. So I was going to send Emmerson to Rome because I needed that contract in the hands of the CEO by midnight tonight. But Emmerson told me he couldn't. His girlfriend is having his baby today. A little boy. So I let him go home early."

"Emmerson's going to be a father?" you gasped and Maxwell nodded. "That's so wonderful! I should send him some flowers."

"I already told Emmerson you would." Maxwell grinned.

"Oh a baby boy too! How lovely. We have to go meet the baby when he's born. Please please please." you whined, fluttering your eyelashes.

"Okay darling." Maxwell pressed a kiss into your cheek.

You stood up and brought the bag over to the couch, taking out the little boxes and handing them to Maxwell. You opened them up and started to eat, as you told him how your morning had gone.

"After you went to work, I cleared up and did the dishes that you had left from breakfast. Max, I was soooo tired from last night," you blushed and his mouth twisted into a proud smile. "So I went back to bed and slept for another hour. Then I got up and took a bubble bath. Oh!" you scrambled around in your purse, taking out a fresh Polaroid and showed him it. It was a photograph of his white long haired cat, Lady, with bubbles balancing on her head. "She kept me company while I was in the bath." you smiled and Maxwell laughed.

"She looks so funny with the bubbles on her head." Maxwell took the Polaroid from your fingers and admired the cat. He was never particularly fond about animals, or having pets, but you loved them. In the first year of your relationship, Maxwell asked what you wanted for your birthday. As always, you told him that you didn't want anything materialistic, that he was all you needed. But you did tell him about an animal charity that you were so passionate about. He remembered leaving you at home and telling you that he was simply 'heading out'. He had planned on visiting the charity and making a donation in your name, as part of your birthday present. But he didn't leave the shelter empty handed.

A white fluffy cat with long whiskers and big blue eyes. Her eyes reminded him of sapphires. She mewled and padded towards him, her tail waving happily as she rubbed her cheek on his leg, circling around him. "Ah, she's a darling," the lady who was showing Maxwell around told him. "Unfortunately, she's been here with us longer than any of the other cats. She's not that good around people. But I must admit, she likes you a lot. In fact, I've never seen her so confident around another person before."

Maxwell dropped to his knees and tickled her head. She began purring erratically, rubbing her face along the edges of the rings on his fingers. "Nobody wants her?" Maxwell asked, not taking his eyes from the happy kitty. He picked her up, ignoring the white cat hair that malted onto his suit. She rubbed her soft face against his cheek and sniffed his cologne.

"No." the lady replied sadly. Maxwell smiled.

"I'll take her."

And that night, Maxwell came home with a new addition to the family. You were overjoyed, but no one was happier than little Lady Lord who had found her fur-ever home.

He placed the Polaroid on one of the side tables, promising you he would find a frame for it. "How was your bath darling?" he cooed, pressing his lips along your jaw.

You giggled, nuzzling your head into his shoulder. "Relaxing, lit some candles, done a little reading. After my bath I got dressed and tidied up the bedroom. I turned on the radio and they were playing Christmas songs. Oh! WHAM have just brought out a new one, it's really good. Hmm, me and Lady played for a little while and she let me brush her hair. Jeeves offered to drive me to the bakery but I really wanted to walk in the snow. Get some fresh air. And now I'm here! With you!"

It was safe to say Maxwell's morning was a lot more chaotic, but he was comforted knowing that you had been relaxed while he was going through all the antics.

"Your morning sounded amazing, darling." he kissed your forehead and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You let his lips brush over your skin, fall down to your nose, and eventually take place on your own lips as he leaned his forehead against yours. You giggled, his hair falling out of place again slightly and tickling you as he kissed you. You pulled him closer, encouraging him to deepen the kiss and laced your fingers in his hair. He pulled away to catch his breath but peppered small yet passionate kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“You’re being so affectionate,” you smiled, eyes sparkling with love.

“What can I say? I like to kiss you.” Maxwell exhorted and leaned in again, pressing another kiss into your lips. This time he swiped his tongue along the plumpness of your bottom lip, begging for entry. You pulled off him and he moaned. “Whaaat?” He pouted playfully and you rolled your eyes, earnestly laughing at how cute your boyfriend was.

“We shouldn’t do this at work,” you giggled.

“Baby we’ve done a lot worse than just kissing on this sofa, if you remember.” Maxwell charmed and you felt your cheeks heat up as you nodded slowly.

"The highlight of my day though, is being here, with you." you promised.

"Yeah," Maxwell hummed. "Me too."

"I'm proud of you." you said out of the blue, putting your sandwich down and wiping your mouth. Maxwell looked at you, confused. "You've had a bad morning. But you acted so selflessly today. Everything from signing autographs in your office to kissing that old maids hand, giving Raquel less work to do and letting Emmerson be with his girlfriend. You… you surprise me everyday Max. And I fall in love with you more and more everyday."

"I remember when we first met… I would've never dreamed of doing any of this." Maxwell admitted sheepishly.

"I know, I remember," you recalled. "I fell in love with the man you were then, but I somehow think I love you even more now."

And with that, Maxwell pulled you into a kiss. The curve of his nose nudged against yours and his hands pulled you into his lap, knocking the boxes of food onto the floor as you straddled him. "I love you so much." he announced.

Maxwell rarely said I love you's. But that was okay because you knew he loved you from his actions. You knew he loved you from the small kisses he'd give you on a morning, and the way he'd pull you into a hug every evening after work. You knew he loved you from the way he'd shelter you from paparazzi and squeeze your hand tight whenever you felt overwhelmed. Actions spoke louder than words. But coming from Maxwell Lord, hearing those three words struck you like a bolt of lightning. They were just words, but they meant everything to you.

He meant everything to you.

Permanent taglist~let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first

#max lord x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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theolsentimes · 3 years ago

Text

Ashley Olsen Spills Her Secrets

The personal-style icon and force behind two thriving fashion lines gives us a peek into her closet, and her life.

Written by Lucy Kaylin (Marie Claire, 2009)

VIEW GALLERY

There's something genius about seeing the chicest girl in New York all dolled up in tacky cowgirl fringe. I'm sitting with Ashley Olsen at a table in her Greenwich Village town house, looking through a scrapbook—compiled by her great-grandmother—that pretty much tells the story of her and Mary-Kate's blistering rise. The pages are filled with gently yellowed clippings from local newspapers chronicling their toddlerhood on the sitcom Full House through their early years as a two-headed pop-culture juggernaut: the Olsen twins on the publicity circuit in genie costumes; in fairy costumes; in terrycloth robes; in penguin suits; in trenchcoats; in mini-mogul drag; in, yes, cowgirl fringe ... "I look back at the things that we did and the clothes that we wore, and I think, Wow, we really were troupers," says Ashley—although, gazing at some hideous flowered overalls she was put in at age 6 or 7, she has to admit, "I remember really loving those." What comes across in the photos is the degree to which the girls' lives were engineered. "It was almost like I was in the army," Ashley says. "School, work, homework, fly to New York, get in at 2 in the morning, do a morning show at 5 a.m., then another one at 7, then a radio interview at 10, you know?" Cutesy, coordinated outfits were just part of the drill. The pressure was intense and the scrutiny even more so — "That's why I look at Britney, and I'm surprised I didn't end up like her."

To see Ashley now, it's difficult to fathom that part of her life. At 23, she is very much the master of her own fate, and an icon of defiant personal style. Today she's wearing beige corduroys made exponentially cooler by the fact that she's ripped them up the side seams from hem to shin—and the fact that she's owned them since she was about 15. (Understand: She never, ever throws out clothes. The genie and penguin costumes? All stashed in storage units in L.A. warehouses.) She's paired the beige cords with a signature piece from her and Mary-Kate's fashion line The Row—a supersoft white T-shirt with an artfully stretched-out neck, the short sleeves of which she likes pushing up over her shoulders. Add black flats without socks, tuck the fine blonde hair up under a floppy skateboarder's cap, and the look—at least on her—is just hip and effortless and right. "I think you're either born with a sense of style or you're not," Ashley says in her small, soft voice, giving her knuckles a loud crack. "Either you care or you don't. And we"—she and Mary-Kate—"love fashion. When we were going to NYU, I think that was the first time we were aware of the power of our personal style. Not the power of it, but the result of it. Between the big sunglasses and the Starbucks cup and the big sweaters, the hobo-chic thing, we were more shocked than anything"—by the endless commentary and tabloid coverage. "I get it; we were fortunate enough to have really nice clothes, and we put them together in this raggedy way. My mom wears glasses this big"—she mimes massive goggles—"from the '70s, and you wonder where we got it from?" She laughs. "The dark eyeliner, the scarf around the head—it's just so interesting and natural." Her family, she says, was "very bohemian." "Mary-Kate and I are very aware of trends and style, but at the end of the day, we don't even think twice about it. It's just, What do I feel like wearing today, and how do I want to put it together?" To some extent, Ashley buys the theory that years of being manhandled and styled bred an intense desire in both girls to dress themselves. Eventually, that meant cutting down and altering designer pieces to suit their petite frames—a habit that persists rather feverishly to this day. "The amount of beautiful things we've ruined—not having the patience for a tailor and cutting everything ourselves … My sister once took an Alaïa dress of mine and just cut the whole thing, and then she was like, 'I cut it too short.'" Ashley has to laugh. "Mary-Kate and I don't think about fashion as these clean, beautiful objects. We just kind of wear it and live in it"—and make it their own. When she bought the Daytona watch that's currently on her wrist, she promptly changed the white face to black and the gold links to a crocodile band. In other words, fashion is a way the otherwise elusive Olsens express themselves—most notably through two clothing lines that are somehow thriving despite the cataclysmic retail climate. Ashley and Mary-Kate collaborate closely on Elizabeth and James (named for their siblings), a line that commingles softness and toughness—for instance, slouchy boyfriend jackets and shirts with a flirty ruffle. The idea is to create "a tug-of-war in something with a masculine spirit and a feminine attitude," says Neiman Marcus Fashion Director Ken Downing. "The girls keep nailing it season after season after season. And they single-handedly brought the legging back into fashion." While Mary-Kate tends to conjure the overriding concepts—playing with movie references from Oliver Twist to Hook for the fall '09 collection—Ashley hones in on zippers and buttons and fit. "Nothing gets by them," says their Elizabeth and James partner, Jane Siskin. The Row, meanwhile, speaks more to their desire for a closetful of what Ashley calls "high-end basics": the perfect blazer, the just-so T-shirt, the cashmere sweater that sort of melts in your hands—with intriguing twists like a seam running up the back. "I just really wanted to make beautiful things," she says. "An educated garment." According to Debi Greenburg, owner of Louis Boston, "Because Ashley's a bit of a type A personality, there's perfection in the way the clothes fit, the way they're cut, that translates on the body beautifully. The Row has become one of my stellar collections here." Ashley leads me through a few rooms of her town house, haphazardly decorated in battered leather chairs with arms worn down to the stuffing; on the walls are a rare Basquiat self-portrait and three works by Keith Haring that she got at a pawnshop for $30 apiece. In the corner is a drum kit from the Wii game Rock Band, Ashley's new obsession (she plays it at least two hours a night). "I swear to you, it's brought out this whole new thing in me," she says. "I can be a very serious person, and I take my job very seriously, but at the end of the day, I need a break." Her boyfriend, The Hangover's Justin Bartha, also helps in that area. He just called from a press junket in Europe; Ashley signed off with, "Keep your phone by the bed" and "I love you." To say the least, it's been a relief for this pillar of self-sufficiency to have someone she can count on, who puts her ambitions in perspective. "It's more important than anything else in the world," Ashley says.

#Ashley Olsen #britney spears #marie claire #articles #Interviews #quotes #Ashley Quotes

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soukokuwu · 4 years ago

Note

"requests are closed??" that cannot stop me because i cant read!! ** URGENT ** power couple comfort needed asap chuuya is the diplomat for the inheritor of a newly departed yokohama media moguls empire who agrees to fold the power of the company to moricorp so long as chuuya agrees to a date yah i need this like stat plz

THE OTHER HALF.

✢ genre. fluff ✢ pairing. chuuya x reader ✢ synopsis. you’re going to inherit your father’s media empire, and mori wants in. his ticket? chuuya. ✢ author notes. an urgent request? you got it! in 2 days ehehe i just hope you like this <3

He stares at the pristine white on the walls of the lavishly decorated office corridors. It suits their reputation. Nothing fits the reigning media mogul of Yokohama like grandeur. He would normally express some sort of distaste for how much of these… beautifications are unnecessary, but Mori had already warned him: it is imperative to get on their good side. Political reasons, he added. As if the mafia doesn’t have enough political influence already.

Although why, of all people, he chose to send NAKAHARA CHUUYA as Port Mafia’s representative to head the meeting, Chuuya himself doesn’t know. A cold-blooded, hot-headed vessel of destruction.

Yes, very plausible, very sensible, he thinks.

Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.

Mori always had his reasons for every decision he made. Some are possibly very fucked up, but even Chuuya admits his manipulation tactics and puzzle-piecing skills rival that of Dazai’s. So he never questions his boss’s decisions. At least, not to his face. He just wonders what is hiding behind this certain choice (of making Chuuya go to the meeting, alone) and how twisted it could be.

Cruising through the halls makes him realise just how much he’d hate it if he was a normal human with a normal, boring desk job. The rooms he passes by, with their glass windows and deceiving transparency, are all full of people either typing away on their keyboards or speaking into phones with some sort of urgency. Yikes. No thanks, he would much rather work with violence and be on the frontlines than man a desk at a mediocre job with less-than-satisfactory pay.

The redhead guesses that they’re going to take him to the boardroom (which incidentally, he thinks, is quite an appropriate name for a meeting room — rigid, stiff, flat — full of smiles that are painted on and the chatter of mindless opinions crafted only to cater to the ones who matter. If that’s an indication of anything to come, Chuuya is already dreading it.) After all, they had scheduled a meeting for discussions with the director on future possibilities of working with the mafia.

Chuuya does admit though, it would be very useful to have the media on their side. Not only digital, but print as well. The possibility to spread propaganda and cover up crimes. This company has it, and Mori is hungry, eager to take over. (Or at least, to establish dominance over them.) Maybe that’s why he chose the gravity manipulator. To make them comply with the threat of crushing them with his brute force should they refuse. It’s harsh. Not that he would mind if it comes to that. There’s a certain satisfaction, a certain kick, he gets out of seeing everyone before him cower in fear.

Because it means he’s in control.

And Chuuya loves being in control. After all, he controls the very things that holds everyone in its grip — gravity.

Ironically, though. What he doesn’t have control over is his own feelings. Mostly unpleasant. A temper so fiery and an impulse so unexpected. Today, though, there is a turn of events. Because as he turns the corner to enter the boardroom, he spots a pair of eyes on him, observing him shrewdly.

No, it isn’t yours. But your father’s.

Wrinkled face wrinkles up even more as they eye him from head to toe, expressing obvious displeasure in the form of tuts and a deepening frown. Chuuya can just tell from how the man wears an expensive tailored suit — probably from a high end luxury brand that Chuuya can’t even pronounce properly — and how his tie is tightened so firmly against his neck that he probably always has a stick up his ass.

But a whiff of something… refreshing skips pass his nostrils and all the hostility from seeing the director disintegrates into — what is this? Chuuya can’t even tell, another irritating reminder he doesn’t understand his own emotions all that well.

And that, that is when he first lays eyes on you.

If you’re wondering, no, it’s not that cinematic moment where you walk in and he’s immediately blinded by the light you bring with you thanks to that invisible halo you carry on your head. Chuuya sees the world through anything but rose-tinted glasses. He is captivated by you though, somehow. Maybe it’s the way you stride in so confidently, with your blazer fitted against your body tightly — not too tight — you don’t want to give off ‘sexy’ vibes, do you? Not in the office. No, you just radiate some show of ‘proper’ and ‘togetherness’ that other ladies must be envious of. Or so it seems to him, at least. Then he wonders again, maybe it’s the way you so nonchalantly brush past him, your shoulder nudging against his, not a care in the world for who he is.

He thinks he’s got his reasoning, a feasible enough reason of why he’s intrigued — you’re young, you’re sexily sophisticated (he just knows you are), and to be a part of this meeting, you must have a sort of… power, so to say.

And then you just have to, don’t you? You just have to take a seat on that chair (in an angle that seems to cater perfectly to Chuuya), cross your legs just enough so your skirt rides up your thigh high enough to leave him wanting to see more, but not enough to be considered as a bold move of seduction. The kicker? That smirk you wear when you realise that he’s staring. He always hated that expression; the one that other people wear out of the satisfaction of their triumph. Especially when it’s against him. But then why does he think he can look at yours forever?

Not even five minutes into the ‘discussion’ and Chuuya already finds out you’re the director’s daughter, the one who would inherit the company very soon. (He fails to properly listen to the reason why because his focus starts to fixate on you, the surrounding all melding into one — the sights, the sounds.) To which you respond with batting your eyelashes at the redhead and wearing an innocent smile yet at the same time being shrouded in an air of… mystery.

The debate on just how much of the empire that Port Mafia would control in the future is not quite a negotiation. If they want to, then they can just force the director’s hand, maybe kidnap his daughter — Chuuya glances briefly toward you before focusing back on your father and the tablet (apparently the company made a sort of presentation that Chuuya can say he frankly doesn’t give a shit about) — but no. Even now, he thinks, he doesn’t want anyone to lay a hand on you. Besides, if your current behaviour is any indication, even if the mafia does come after you, you won’t be scared. You look just like the kind of person who always has something up her sleeve. You must take after your father.

“On that note, I will be leaving the final decision up to my wonderful young lady here.”

That manages to bring Chuuya back to his senses.

What? The old man is leaving such an important decision in his daughter’s hands?

Chuuya breathes in deeply. Stay level-headed. He’s got this, he tries to convince himself. Notwithstanding that he has made it this far only because of the training Kouyou’s given him on the art of appeasing old uncles and kissing their ass so that they give him what he wants.

Guess Mori isn’t as thorough as Chuuya thinks he is.

“Now, you can focus on me.”

Right on cue. As soon as the director leaves.

Look at that, he was right. You are confident. You are smug. You are observant. And annoyingly enough, you are in control. Because to do his job properly, he has to act like he’s wrapped around your finger. (He fails to realise he already is.)

Chuuya clenches his jaw, his brain failing to function in this pivotal moment, failing to filter any kind of acceptable responses. So he stays silent, mind going a thousand miles an hour just trying to form words, sentences, yet drawing a blank. And any normal person in your position would have spoken up by now, but you? You’re reeling in his inexplicability, silently. Observing him as though he’s an animal trapped in a glass cage for all to admire.

You lean back against your chair, the padded back bending backwards to support your weight. Your arms are crossed over your chest and the smirk has not left your face. If anything, it gets wider. Neither of you give in. You both keep your gaze locked on each other, and the silence grows on him. The comfort sneaks up on him. It’s weird. Is he dreaming it? Is he being delusional? Why is that he feels that with you, more is said through your silence than words? If so, being under your carefully appraising eye would be an honour.

Chuuya thinks, no no, he knows, he hears you muttering under your breath. He wants to retort, but words don’t find him. Only silence and stillness.

But it doesn’t last any second longer because you scoff in amusement and grab the paperwork regarding the partnership off the spot your father has left behind. Your eyes don’t leave his cerulean ones though. It’s almost as though you’re hyper-focused on him. Or is it the other way around? Maybe it’s mutual?

You do eventually break the stare though, to turn your back and walk out the door, but not before you stop at the edge, bidding goodbye with a lopsided smile and a “Park Hotel, 8pm, seventieth floor.”

Four hours seemed like a lot of time to prepare.

Seemed.

It isn’t.

Because now, at 7.56pm, Chuuya is still staring nervously at himself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. A flurry of thoughts occupy his state of mind.

Is my tie okay? It’s not lopsided, is it? He thinks about your lopsided smile as he adjusts the black tie set against his red dress shirt. His black coat is replaced by a black fitted blazer. Then he wonders if you’re still in your work outfit.

Damn it, why can’t he get you out of his mind?

You’re a necessary ally, he thinks. That’s why, he convinces himself. Although, not really. If you are just another job, another person the Port Mafia needs to brainwash, then why is he so nervous about this date? His hands freeze in their motions as he questions himself.

Is this what it is? A date?

By 7.59pm he’s up on the seventieth floor, and the moment he steps out of the elevator, an usher tells him to follow. Wow. Having an already established media empire the moment you were born must have been a big bonus for you, hasn’t it? Chuuya imagines you’re spoiled; you’ve lived your whole life with the lavish luxury you currently stand to inherit now. But he gives you due credit. For your father to entrust the dealings of the Port Mafia to you, you must be very capable. Not that he has ever thought otherwise.

In the short hour that he had interacted with you earlier, he knows you’re anything but a bimbo. But you must have thought he was similar to one, huh? What with him being speechless over nothing.

Once he reaches the private room, he’s greeted by you already seated, right leg crossed over your left, fingers flipping through the menu, unfazed by his arrival. The door shuts behind him, and it’s back to this air of oppressed silence. Chuuya slowly glides over to his seat across from you, eating you up from your head down to your little tippy toes. You are less covered up now, your office suit giving way to a remarkably eye-catching black maxi, although he does admit, what catches his eye is that slit that runs up your thigh.

Now, now, you look sexy.

When he settles down, he notices the agreement from this afternoon sitting by the edge of the glass table, all complete save for his and your signatures. The numbers 70 and 30 briefly register in his head. The former, of course, rightfully belonging under you. He furrows his brows. That’s twenty percent lower than what Mori is expecting. How can he negotiate with you, then? What more can he bargain with?

But as he looks up from the document to you, you’re already observing him, wearing a flirty (with a side of smug, as he expects) smile on those lips of yours.

“There’s always a price to pay, Mr. Nakahara.”

Chuuya is slightly baffled. The other workers in your office are boring and own a one-track mind. But evidently you don’t belong in the same group as them.

Is this a game to you?

“Name it.” He does want to know what you’re seeking from him, and he knows he’s not nearly as witty enough to figure it out on his own.

You never give anything away easily though. Chuuya learned that much. Instead of giving answers you lean back on your seat, just as you did earlier, and revert your attention back to the menu.

“So, you are capable of speaking to women after all, huh?”

The rest of the dinner is filled with conversations that don’t pertain to what it should. Instead of discussing the deal, he gets sidetracked, oddly intrigued by what you personally find fascinating. Chuuya remembers that first wave of pleasant surprise wash across your face when he asks about what you like, what you do outside of work. You know, the common exchange. But it must slip his mind that you aren’t used to ‘clients’ taking an interest in you, as a person.

Neither of you realise the abrupt change in the tone of the evening. You both kind of just ease into it.

Chuuya memorises what you tell him; how you actually like what little time you have outside of work; how you talk about books as your escape, the way your favourite author’s name rolls off your tongue so easily even though it’s a foreign name. He notes how your eyes sparkle when he pays you a compliment about how your brain works instead of the usual comments you receive on your appearance. He also loves how you talk just that little bit faster when you’re excited about a topic.

But he also learns how your smile is forced when you talk about your family, or anything remotely related to your work. He notices how you bite your lip when you talk about barely having time to enjoy anything outside of work. And how until now you’ve been a slave to the company, having to learn and grind on knowledge about anything and everything that you need to know to run it. A shut-in with a twist, if he might label it.

Chuuya was wrong then, he realises. Your life has not been one of free rides; easy passes. It didn’t get easier because of who you are. It was the reverse. It got harder because more was expected out of you. Your life at home wasn’t any easier. Turns out your father was, and is still, a tyrant. You’ve never known to enjoy yourself.

“Until tonight.”

Only now does it dawn on Chuuya why you set this whole thing up in the first place. This way you get to have some time to enjoy yourself at a ‘date’ disguised as a business meeting, because then dear daddy won’t get mad at you now, will he? You’ve probably never experienced romance, have you? Given your tight schedules and overbearing parents. Chuuya must be your first.

He gets just slightly giddy thinking of that possibility.

And by the time your plates are cleared and the bill is paid (by your father, apparently, because you grinned and charged it to his credit card; Chuuya thinks it’s acceptable because from what he hears, the director doesn’t seem to be a very good man at all, why not charge it to the man?), he makes his mind up to really help you make full use of your night.

That’s how he finds himself ten minutes later with you standing on the edge of the neighbouring skyscraper, your fingers intertwined tightly with his. Your first exposure to his ability. ‘Holy shit’ were your exact words. Despite how you carry yourself in the office, it’s almost unbelievable how childlike you look now, admiring the sight before you. Losing all your childhood because of who you’re expected to be… Chuuya knows all too well what that feels like. Minus the bond that is family, of course. Although now, he guesses he can call the Port Mafia such.

“Forty.”

Chuuya arches a brow. “Forty?”

You press your lips together to suppress a grin, nodding at him. “Highest I can go for you, Mr. Nakahara.”

“My boss wants a half, though,” Chuuya grimaces in faux sheepishness. Of course Mori would be fine with a forty, but it’s fun having a back-and-forth with you. Or maybe this is his way of convincing himself this is nothing more than continuing a pleasant conversation.

There’s something in your reaction that gets him so curious. It’s how you grin yourself silly and can’t even manage to look him in the eye. Or the way you try to untangle your fingers, only to find Chuuya has gripped them even tighter. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to know what he’s thinking of.

“Fifty is for family only, sorry.”

He waltzes through the narrow corridors and carpeted floors like it’s home. It might as well be, he’s been here about as many times as he’s been to the Port Mafia headquarters in the same duration. It doesn’t look as tacky as it used to. Or is it just because he’s used to it? Or maybe the gradual changes all seem like nothing to him because he visits this place every single day.

Chuuya sighs. No matter, he’s got other things to worry about.

“No, forget about making your own notes. Negotiate. I want exclusivity on this.”

There it is. Your bossy, domineering voice.

He leans by the doorframe. Your subordinates all dub you the ‘boss from hell’. Personally he can’t see why. But then again, you’re an absolute angel to him. (He never gets tired of seeing the shock register on everyone’s faces when they see you be all lovey-dovey with him.)

Feels good. Being the exception.

When the conversation ends, you hang up the phone and turn over, finally noticing your boyfriend by the door. It’s like a switch turns in you; your hostility melts away and those deep downturned lines rotate into a smile. Even now, five years later, you still have a childlike innocence to you; he sees this right now by how you skip towards him like an elated dog seeing its owner is home.

Did he just compare you to a dog…? Out of all the things he likes, why did he — he mentally facepalms himself but shrugs it off. Like he’s said before, he has more pressing matters to think about.

It’s amazing to think how far you both have gotten. From being strictly business to unspoken feelings in a matter of hours, to where you guys are now. Frankly, he didn’t think it was possible for someone like him. He gravitates away and thinks back to the first time he stepped foot in here.

Huh, maybe Mori did know what he was doing after all. That man ended up being your matchmaker. Chuuya inwardly grimaces and shudders and the thought.

But you pull him back to earth.

Your arms snake around his neck and you hook your legs around his waist. Lucky you’re wearing a pantsuit today, because the last time you did that, i.e. yesterday, you were wearing a skirt and it rode up your thigh a little too high. Yeah, Chuuya wasn’t too happy when some of your male coworkers got to see a glimpse of your ass. But he can’t blame you, you were just that excited to see him. Something he finds remarkable given you’ve been together for four years.

“Didn’t think you’d come here this early,” you comment as you get down, your hands still round his neck. “What brings you by, Chuu? Or should I say, future boss of the Port Mafia?”

He gives you a peck on the lips. His nickname falling from your lips just sound so right. You’re right, he usually comes by after you both are done with work. That usually means 8pm onwards. (You both are pretty invested in your companies. Especially now so for Chuuya that he’s been announced a few days ago as the one to take over the mafia in the future.)

“Today I’m here for professional reasons, princess, to offer you a proposal,” Chuuya coos, a gloved thumb grazing over your cheek.

“Hmm?” You look up at him quizzically. “Okay, shoot.”

Chuuya grins at you, his eyes closing and forming into crescents. He opens them slowly as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I think it’s time for that fifty-fifty.”

✢ tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

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