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celestialrry · 4 years ago

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gold rush

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summary: Enemies to lovers, inspired by the lovely Taylor Swift’s Gold Rush!

warnings: mention of alcohol consumption, reader and Harry being bitches, angst, and a good ending bc I can't seem to leave anything on a bad note

If someone asked you to list off everything you hated about Harry Styles, you were positive that you would be talking for a solid 10 minutes. He was the epitome of everything you despised. To be more specific, you despised people who acted “deep”, people who acted humble, people who pretended to be different from the general population, people who acted like they didn’t know millions would drop to their knees with a simple wave or smile, and people who acted perfect. And as far as you knew, that was everything that Harry Styles was.

A famous rockstar and millionaire who comes back to his hometown, which happens to be yours as well, and acts like he wasn’t any different. He pretends to blush when someone would compliment him and ask for a picture, like he hasn't been asked for pictures millions of times before. He waves his black amex card around and buys one fucking coffee with it. You hated him, because everyone loved him.

And of course with your luck, a few years ago when your mom had met his mom at a neighborhood get together, they became best friends, and had made Christmas Eve dinner a tradition between your family and his. That’s where you met him, and that's when your hatred began. You knew who he was and had been a big fan of One Direction (Harry was even your favorite), but after you had had a conversation with him? Let’s say your excitement was diminished.

So here you were, driving through the snow in your rental car to your mom’s house a week before Christmas. Your playlist had changed songs and before you knew it you heard the familiar guitar strums. You couldn't bring yourself to change it, in all honesty you loved Harry’s first album, and most recent album Fine Line. Even though it came out 5 days ago you had it on repeat. As much as you hated Harry Styles, you would always love his music.

After you had arrived at the house you grew up in, said hi to your family and got settled, all you wanted was some coffee. You said your goodbyes and promised to be home soon, and drove through town to the coffeeshop, bundling into your sweater, jacket, and scarf before stepping out into the snow and making your way inside.

The bell rung as you swung open the door and almost immediately you spotted a familiar face, partially covered by a beanie and a scarf. Wonderful, you thought to yourself. You made your way to the counter and ordered a hot coffee and a scone before sitting down at one of the tables on the opposite side of the cafe. Anything to avoid him.

You heard your name phrased like a question and looked up, your eyes following from the Chelsea boots on the tile, to the trousers, then jacket covered sweater, scarf, then his face. Your chest clenched in frustration. “Harry.” You nodded back, making it obvious you wanted nothing to do with him.

He definitely did not get the hint because almost immediately the seat in front of you was taken over by his presence. “I didn’t think the Grinch would be n’town so early.”

Your cheeks burned and you quickly shot back. “And I thought Scrooge was dead by now but I guess I was wrong,” You rolled your eyes. “Also, are you sure I’m the one out of both of us who’s the Grinch, look at your sweater.” You added, eyes trailing down to his light green hairy sweater.

“If we’re basin’ it off looks then yes m’sure you would be the Grinch.” Harry retorted, scoffing.

“Wow Harold! You are just absolutely hilarious, are you sure you went into the right industry?” You raised your brows and gave a fake smile, knowing he could see right through it. Before he could answer, a waitress had brought over your coffee and scone, setting it down on the table.

She looked up at you reciting your order and giving you a smile before she did a double take at the man sitting in front of you. Oh god. “I’m so sorry, but are you Harry Styles?” the girl asked, eyes practically turning into hearts before you.

“Yes, I am, and y’name is?” He asked cheekily, extending a hand for her to shake. She looked like she was about to die as she gently grabbed his hand and shook it, reciting her name like she had attempted to memorize it the night before.

“Well, it’s very nice t’meet you, would y’like a picture?” He asked and you swore you couldn’t roll your eyes back further into your head.

“Oh! Um,” her eyes darted over to you as you sat back in your seat, sipping your coffee. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything...” She trailed off as if she was asking for your permission.

You wanted to say she already had anyways, but there was no reason for you to be upset at this girl. You would act like her too if you didn't know who Harry actually was. “Don’t worry, you aren’t.” You smiled at her, genuinely. Maybe she would drag Harry away long enough so you could eat your food and drink your coffee and scram.

She let out a breath it seemed she’d been holding and pulls out her phone. You purse your lips and sigh before offering to take a photo for them. She thanks you about a billion times while Harry stands up from his seat and wraps his arm gently around her shoulders. You stand up as well to get a few decent photos of the two of them smiling and hand the phone back to her. She tells Harry she’s been a fan for years and loves him as well as his music and message and he thanks her for supporting him. That’s the one think you like about Harry, how he truly is grateful for his fans. Everything else sucked. After they get done speaking she noticed your coffee and scone are done.

“God, I’m so sorry, would you guys like any refills or more pastries? It’s on the house.” She smiles, patting down her apron.

You look over at Harry who had sat down again and look back at the sweet girl in front of you. “No thank you.” She nods while Harry repeats your words and head back behind the counter.

“That was nice of you, back there. Thought the Grinch was too mean t’take photos for people.” He chuckled at you.

“If this is your way of thanking me, you aren't doing a very good job Harold.” You said sharply, pulling your coat off the back of the chair.

“It wasn’t m’way of thanking’ you. Y’need to be brought off y’high horse once in a while.” He shrugged like he wasn't just blatantly rude to you. Sure you both had a witty banter but it always seemed Harry took it too far, and well, that's one of the reasons you hate him.

“Maybe apply that to yourself once in a while.” You huffed, shrugging your jacket on and pulling your scarf back on as well.

He ignored your words and raised a brow. “Leavin’ already?”

“Yeah actually, I came here to relax but that's not working out so well.” You gestured between the two of you. You were going to leave it like that but as you stood up you could see the girl behind the counter waving for you to come over. Brows furrowed in confusion you headed over to her.

“I just wanted to say thank you so much for taking photos for us, and Harry looks really happy with you so, thank you for making him happy.” She said quietly so only you could hear. Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth, about to tell her there was no way in hell you’d ever date Harry but the way she looked at you with adoration caused you to smile and simply say, “Thank you.” Before bidding her a good day.

You dug through your bag as you went to go to the door to leave, looking for your car keys when a body appeared in front of you. You stopped immediately, looking to see that fucking grin and a hand holding your keys. “Lookin’ for these?” He teased, waving them in front. You reached out to grab them and he only pulled them away and you quickly realized how this would go.

“Harry, give me my keys.”

“Magic word?” He asked turning his ear towards you. Instead you blew air in it and grabbed your keys when he was distracted, brushing past him to open the door into the freezing air. The sparks you felt as you passed him was definitely because you were cold, right?

Soon it was Christmas Eve and you don't think you’ve ever been dreading an evening more, other than the past few years on this exact day. It was snowing when you and your mom arrived at the Styles household. You knocked on the door loud so you both could be let in as soon as possible.

“Sweetie, I don't think knocking that hard is really welcoming.”

You pursed your lips and turned around to your mom, knowing this was just how she was and you bit back a snarky comment simply replying, “I’m just really cold.”

After those words left your mouth the door opened behind you and you turned around, face to face with the curly headed man-child. He nodded at you, saying your name before calling out to your mom. She smiled and gave him a quick hug before he ushered her in the house, forgetting about you outside. Already a wonderful start to the evening, you thought, sighing as you walked inside onto the wooden floors.

You heard laughs and exclamations in the dining room, and you made your way there, knowing this house a little too well. Anne called out your name as she saw you step in, rushing forward to give you a kiss on the cheek and a hug. “It’s so nice t’see you, love. You get more gorgeous every year.” You but your lip and smiled at her, “And you get younger each year.” You softly said as she laughed and led you over to Gemma.

“Hi Gems,” You grinned, giving her a hug. She returned it, just as happy to see you. Out of the Styles siblings, she was your favorite, obviously, but the two of you had actually become friends, not just family-friends. “Hey, love. Long time no see.” You laughed as you both pulled away. “Too long.”

Your mom had brought over some pie so she sat it down on the dining table where the rest of the food was. “Well loves, let all sit down!” Anne said, taking her seat at the head of the table. You opted to sit in the chair in front of you, while your mom sat to the right of Anne, so she was diagonally across from you. Gemma then took the seat across from you, next to your mom. Oh no. The only seat Harry could sit in would be the one next to you.

He looked around the table and bit his lip as if that would help the situation but he ended up sighing just loud enough for you to hear it as he plopped into the seat next to you. His hair moved with him, falling perfectly into place on his head. Of course his hair would be perfect like he apparently is.

Everyone quickly jumped into conversations about everyone’s life, and what they’ve been doing, focusing on Gemma for the most part as you all dug in to the food. The conversation then led to Harry’s career and life at the moment.

You zoned in after deciding not to pay attention after he started talking to hear him say, “I don’t think m’different, I just have a different job y’know?”

You scoffed out of reflex and all eyes at the table turned to you. “Yeah, a different job that makes you known to millions of people around the world, that in itself changes a person.” You pointed out, taking a sip of your water afterwards.

Your mom hissed your name scoldingly. “That was unnecessary.” she finished, her eyes glaring at you.

Your eyes grew wide as you realized you forgot you were in front of your family, and the rest of Harry’s family.

“It’s okay, Miss.” Harry spoke up with your mom’s name, looking at her for a moment with a smile before turning to face you. “We can have different opinions but y’don't really know me all that well d’you?” His captivating eyes locked onto yours and you suddenly felt small in front of him. Before you could respond Anne exclaimed, “Time for dessert, yeah?”

As everyone went to put their plates in the sink, you trailed behind feeling unusually guilty, not how you normally felt after similar conversations with Harry. Everyone else had picked up conversation again as they made their way back to the table, but you kept your mouth shut the whole time, only mumbling a thank you to Anne who served you your pie. Luckily no one seemed to notice you had decided to no longer talk, it would only make things worse, you believed. Except Harry.

He was talking the whole night, trying to ignore that comment you made, because well, he knew that you were only judging him on the surface level. It was strange to him though, that the assumptions hurt more coming from you than the hundreds of people who made the same ones at him everyday. He wished he could say he expected more from you, but the two of you had been at odds since the first day you met. He had absolutely no idea why you had been so nice, then 15 minutes later you weren't laughing at his jokes and rolling your eyes. he had become so fed up with it, it was safe to say he hated you. He enjoyed teasing you and pushing your buttons, but the true frustration he felt for you never went away after all these years of sarcastic comments and stolen glares.

So why was his chest clenching as he looked over at you to see you silently eating your pie and looking down at the table cover? Harry was sure that he had never seen you so resigned before, usually you had all the things in the world to say.

He worked up the courage to softly knock his fabric covered knee against yours. You looked up at the contact, head turning slightly to look at him, but he was faced to his mom, immersed in whatever conversation they were having. An accident it seemed, that he touched you. It was the most contact the two of you have had since you met him, and only then did you shake his hand.

Soon enough everyone finished their pie and you quickly stood up and offered to take them to the sink while they headed to the living room to have a glass of wine and play some games. As you walked past Gemma she gently grabbed your arm and you stopped, looking at her. “Are you okay?” She asked, her face etched with concern.

“I’m fine Gems, maybe ate too much.” You laughed it off and she took your answer hesitantly before heading to the living room. You reached the kitchen and set the plates and forks in the sink, pulling up your sweater sleeves and tucking back your hair as you started the faucet. You heard the beginning of some Christmas music and knew there was no chance anyone would come back to check on you with Andy William’s voice serenading them with lyrics of “the most wonderful time of the year”. Bullshit, you thought.

You began to wash the plates with a sponge that was on the edge of the sink, and immersed yourself in the soapy water, placing plates to dry on the rack, and returning to wash the next.

“Y’don't need t’be doing those.”

You practically jumped out of your skin when you hear this voice. You lowered the water flow and turned to look at him approaching you on your left. “I know.” Was all you said, as you continued to wash the second to last dish.

His eyes widened at your response. He was ready to hear, “It’s called being polite, Harold. Maybe you should try it sometime.” Or a snarky comment like that. But no. You just brushed him off.

He was about to open his mouth and tease you a bit more, just to hear the you that he knew but you beat him to it. “I’m sorry, Harry. About what I said earlier, and... everything before that too.” You mumbled, focusing your attention on scrubbing the last dish that was definitely clean already.

“Oh! Um, thank you.” Was all he could muster out, his heart beating a thousand times a second, as his cheeks turned red. This was odd.

You waited a bit, in the silence, for him to say more but he didn’t, You sighed, putting the last dish on the rack and wiping your hands dry on the towel before turning to him fully.

“Really? I just apologized for like, everything, and you can't do the same?” You asked, looking up at him exasperated. “I’m not the only one here who has been an absolute asshole, it goes both ways.”

He furrowed his brows and looked at you, the wheels visibly turning in his head. “M’sorry too. I mean it. It’s fitting how y’apologized first though, because y’know, you started it.”

He really needed to stop talking.

You glared at him incredulously. “I started it? When I met you, you didn’t even bother to look at me, not even halfway through our introduction you left to talk to someone else. It was like that the entire day, sue me for reacting like any normal person would.” You said, you gaze now focused on his chest. You deflated a bit, after admitting that to him. It was terrible, meeting someone you had adored for years, only for them to leave and not even finish listening to your name.

His mouth formed an “o” shape as his frustration dissipated. Harry couldn't even argue with you on that, because he remembered that night. One of his mates had called for him and he sped off, leaving you in the middle of one of your neighbor’s backyards during a little get together.

“I-I’m sorry. I remember that, y’didn’t deserve that at all, I was a proper arse.” He managed to get out, his lips turning into a line at the tension.

“Yeah,” you laughed a bit. “Every year I’d just hate you more and more, because every time I saw you it seems you hated me more than the last.”

“The same f’me too, y’know.”

“What?” You looked up at him.

“I hated y’cause I thought y’hated me.” He pointed out, his lips turning up into a grin.

You laughed, your head falling into your hands. “I think we should’ve had this conversation years ago,” You said, looking up at the man who didn't seem so bad anymore. “Do you wanna start over?” You asked.

“No, let’s treat it as a bump in the road, y’know? Kiss and makeup.” He grinned, looking up to the ceiling.

You followed his gaze to see a little brach of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “That’s an odd place for mistletoe.”

“Doesn't matter, y’have t’follow the rules.” He said cheekily.

He stepped forward as did you, and you brought your hands up to his shoulders. You leaned up and kissed his cheek instead, plush lips against his stubble. You pulled away and smiled at the visible blush on his cheeks.

“You tease.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug, and in that moment, you finally understood why everyone would die to feel his touch.

low-key hated this ending but its fineee. thank you for all the love <3

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #enemies to lovers

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Office Surprise [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Authors note: Credit goes to one of my besties for coming up with this idea— I hope I executed it alright. Also I wrote this all in one sitting so apologies if it’s a bit muddled, I think it should be okay though. Maxwell and the reader have a pre-existing relationship and it’s inferred that they’ve dated for quite a long while.

Rating: 18+ only.

Warnings: SMUT | oral (f receiving), use of toys, unprotected p in v, slight praise k!nk/degradation, a little rough, slight dom/sub dynamic if you squint, choking.

Word count: 5k

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 @pedroepascal

Masterlist

Being the girlfriend of Maxwell Lord certainly wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, but as you swiped his platinum black Amex card at the Victoria Secret cashier, you recognised it had its privileges. What did he expect you to do? Sit at home all day reading interior design magazines and baking desserts? No. You were bored. Maxwell had come home every night and complained about his long hard week at work but you knew it couldn’t be as boring as sitting alone in his enormous DC house. It got so incredibly lonely.

You planned on travelling to the city anyways today; to get some final Christmas presents for your friends. And Maxwell’s office just so happened to be located in the city centre and so you figured it would only be polite to pay him a little visit. After all, he surely couldn’t be too busy to see you. You had his driver drop you off and pick you up from the different shops. You had been dating Maxwell long enough to understand the way his mind worked. If you wanted to visit him during one of his busiest work weeks, you’d have to give him a reason to make you want to stay.

You had visited his office plenty of times before. He’d greet you with the same surprised smile and elation in his eyes, but it wouldn’t be long until he put his head back down and ignored you for his work, humming whenever you tried speaking to him and only ever vaguely listening. As Maxwell’s driver took you to your next store of choice, you let your mind ponder ways you could really grab his full attention.

You wanted to have fun. The more your mind raced, the more you wanted to make your visit unforgettable. And that’s when your idea to visit Victoria Secret came to you. You hadn’t been to the store in a while, smiling pleasantly when you were greeted with a happy employee wearing a santa hat. Pulling down your sunglasses in hope she didn’t recognise you, you offered her a smile. “We have our new Christmas range in stock.” she grinned cheerily.

“Take me to it, please,” you replied and the employee nodded excitedly, guiding you through the aisles.

“A lot of red lingerie sets this year.” She held her arms out, showing you the variety. One pieces, two pieces, full blown costumes. One set in particular caught your eye… a lacy number with a small silk ribbon. It was like nothing you owned before and you knew how much Maxwell liked the colour red on you. You took it from the rack. “An excellent choice!” the store assistant beamed. You were ready to pay and leave but then she opened her mouth again. “We have a new range of toys too!”

Toys? That could be interesting.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of the black limousine, frantically changing out of your clothes and into your newly purchased lingerie. It only took a few minutes for the driver to pull up outside Black Gold Cooperative. You fastened your heels and tied the belt around your knee length crimson coloured coat before stepping out of the car.

You practically yelped as the cold winter air stung your skin. You weren’t sure how great of an idea it was, to visit Maxwell wearing nothing but lingerie and his favourite coat, but it was too late to have any regrets now. With a confident smile, you pulled off your sunglasses and entered the building through the rotating glass doors.

Maxwell’s assistant and receptionist, both intern age blonde girls, greeted you with a snarl. “You- you aren’t supposed to be here!” His assistant pointed an accusing finger at you. “Mr Lord is fully booked up today and you haven’t made an appointment!”

“Give me a break,” you rolled your eyes, storming over to the elevator, your heels clicking against the marble floor. You knew they envied you for being the girlfriend of the richest man in America but you didn’t care enough to give them the time of day.

You entered the elevator and let it take you to the very top floor; where Maxwell’s office was.

"Oh hey, look who it is." Bradley Huntington, acting sales manager of Black Gold Cooperative smiled as you stepped out the elevator. Two men who were standing alongside him turned to face you, their jaw dropping slightly as they drunk in your appearance. You refrained from shooting them an eye roll— the men here had absolutely no shame. They wanted you to know that they were watching you.

"Hi boys." you replied with a faux politeness, your ruby red lips curling into a returning smile. "What are you doing out here, chatting by the coffee machine?" you raised a curious eyebrow. "Maxwell going easy on your workload?" You didn't care, you didn't snoop your nose in your boyfriend's business, but you did enjoy pretending like you had some kind of authority as his partner. It was fun to see these slimy grown men panic at your words.

"On a break," Bradley replied plainly, his smirk only growing as he took a step closer to you, breaking any distance. "I don't see you around here much anyway. Was beginning to wonder if you had gotten sick of that old grump and made a run for it." he chuckled, dropping a hand to his hip and pointing his finger at the double doors behind him that lead into Maxwell Lord's office.

You shot him a sweet little giggle, as if to trick him into thinking his flirtations were working. "Leave Maxie?" you laughed. "That cutie wouldn't have a clue what to do without me!" you exclaimed, the wicked smile not leaving your lips for one second. "Now if you excuse me…" you went to enter Maxwell's office but a comment made by Bradley made you pause in your tracks.

"Sweetheart," he laughed. "You belong on MTV, not in an office building or cooped up in Maxwell's bedroom."

"Isn't he Mr Lord to you?" you shot back with a snarl, the smile slipping from his face only momentarily. You grinned when you saw the panic wash over him, his face turning pale with nerves.

"Uh actually- me and Mr Lord- me and Maxwell, are good friends. We're on first name basis." Bradley fumbled out. You wanted to laugh at his lame attempt of a smooth recovery. You knew that wasn't true at all.

"Good friends huh?" you folded your arms across your chest.

"Mm," Bradley mumbled, stepping closer to you and placing his hand over your coat. "Take your coat off, you must be hot." You felt your heart jump and a sickness bubble up in your stomach. Bradley really was slimy.

"I'm good." you shot back. Bradley shrugged and reached down to the belt that was holding your coat together. He slowly leaned into you and you quickly pushed him off you. Bradley stumbled back into an abundance of chairs, knocking a few over in the process.

"Darling?" You felt your heart rate increase speed when you heard your boyfriend's voice. Your head turned to face Maxwell who was standing by his office door, scowling. You looked back at Bradley who's colour had completely drained out of his face and you beamed.

"Maxie!" you smiled, walking over to your boyfriend and protectively placing a hand under his suit jacket and setting place on his chest. His scowl didn't move from Bradley as he slid an arm around your waist, holding you tight.

"Thought I could hear your voice," Maxwell whispered in your ear causing a frenzy of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to catch up with your friends." you teased. Maxwell lifted a curious eyebrow.

"Is that so?" he quizzed, beginning to feel irritated by the presence of his employees, and even more annoyed by the lilt in your voice that suggested you wanted to play with him. "I hope Bradley wasn't causing any fuss." Maxwell raised his voice and Bradley shook his head furiously.

"N-no sir, not at all." Bradley said quickly, offering the CEO a nervous smile. You bit your lip and gently tugged on Maxwell's tie.

"Baby," you whined out, looking up at him through your fluttering eyelashes. "Can we go into your office?" you asked sweetly. Maxwell finally tore his eyes from an anxious Bradley and smiled down at you.

"Of course darling." he replied, ushering you through the door.

"Bye boys! Behave!" you called, shooting them one last smirk.

"Alright come on now." Maxwell sighed, placing his hand into the small of your back and pushing you into his office.

You padded into his huge office, placing your purse and shopping bags down on one of the chairs. Before Maxwell entered, he made sure to shoot Bradley one final death glare. Maxwell locked the double doors and turned around. He grabbed you by the collar of your red coat and pinned you to the door, pressing his lips against yours passionately. In fact, so passionately, you wondered if his harshness would leave a bruise. He bit down on your lower lip, his hand snapping ahold of your neck causing a small gasp escape your lips. Maxwell pulled away, his breathing heavy against your skin. "What happened?" he gritted out, looking up at you with lust-blown eyes.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him off you, walking away from where he had pinned you against the door. "Nothing, just your sleazy coworkers not knowing when to give up." you rolled your eyes, checking your appearance in the mirror and fixing your lipstick as it had smudged from the kiss.

"Bradley," Maxwell exhaled, his eye contact not breaking from you once. "Did he touch you?"

"Enough to make me uncomfortable? Yes. But I got him off me. I can handle myself, Maxie." you sighed, fixing your hair and turning back to your boyfriend.

"I know you can," Maxwell said lowly, slowly approaching you. You recognised that primal glint lighting up in his eyes and you smiled. "What did he say to you?"

"Said I shouldn't spend all day cooped up at home, or here, in your office. He said I was pretty enough to be on MTV." you beamed proudly and Maxwell grunted, nodding slowly. He placed a hand, cupping your face and rubbed his thumb along the high of your cheekbones.

"He must've been feeling bold, hitting on you like that." Maxwell tutted. You nuzzled your face into his hand, the coolness of his gold rings making you wince only slightly.

"What do you think Maxie?" you asked, your voice as sweet as honey. "Am I pretty enough to be on television?" you let your hands pull off his suit jacket and roam over his white button down shirt, tugging teasingly at his suspenders as you waited for a response.

But Maxwell didn't stay a word. He looked down at you with his lust-blown eyes and ran his thumb over the plumpless of your lower lip. You parted your mouth, taking his finger and sucking on the digit. Maxwell mewled as he watched you intently, admiring the work of your mouth. You pulled your lips away from his finger with a pop and beamed proudly when you saw the slight blush that crossed his face.

"I think you show up at my work uninvited, dressed like that, flirting with my employees…" he scowled, his gaze not lifting from you once. You wanted to fight him for accusing you of flirting with other men, but you knew him. And he knew you. He knew you would always be faithful; he was just playing a game. Another one of Maxwell Lord's twisted games that you had grown accustomed too. He had that look in his eye— the one you were all too familiar with. It was almost predatory. He tsked, shaking his head and letting out a small chuckle. "Look at you, here, in my office, thinking you can call the shots. I'm busy darling, go home."

"Oh," you hummed, biting your lip and twiddling with your hair. "Because if you're too busy... Bradley offered me-" Your lilt was teasing and you could tell it was making him feel defensive. You knew how protective he got over you.

"What?" Maxwell sneered, his hand dropping to the belt that held your coat together.

You gulped, knowing that if he just tugged a little harder on the belt, your little surprise for him would be revealed. "He- uhm, he-"

"C'mon honey, spit it out." Maxwell smirked, loving the jumbled reaction he was getting out of you, although he was unsure why you were suddenly so nervous when you had walked into his office so confidently. His hands didn't leave your belt and you took a deep breath, looking up at him and into his eyes.

"Said that if I ever get bored of you, I know where to find him." You pursed your lips together and shot him a devilish smile.

"Tell me darling," Maxwell hummed, his hand once again reaching up to your face, his finger brushing over your lips. "What urged you to come to my office in the middle of the day when you know I'm swarmed with work?" he narrowed his eyes.

"I got bored." you admitted sheepishly, swaying your hips from side to side.

"So you come to my work… act like a brat and…" Maxwell paused when he saw you pout. "What?"

"I didn't do anything wrong Maxie." you whined. "Was all them. Was all Bradley."

"You have everything at home. Everything you need to keep you occupied." Maxwell glanced over at your shopping bags that were on his chair. "Spending my money?" Maxwell asked and you nodded shyly.

"But I think you'll like it." you told him, biting your lip.

"Show me."

You placed his hands back on the belt of your coat. "See for yourself." you whispered with a smirk.

Taking the hint, Maxwell slowly tugged on your belt that was tying your coat together. Coming loose, your coat opened up, revealing the lace red lingerie set you were doting, and nothing else. Maxwell's gaze fell from your face to your body as he revelled in the gorgeous sight that stood before him. You stood there in silence for a few seconds, as he drunk in every inch of your body.

"You've been wearing that this whole time?" Maxwell swallowed, staring at your tits. Finally he brought himself to look up at your face, taking a deep breath and straightening his posture. "While you were talking to Brad-"

"Max please," you rolled your eyes, shuffling out of the coat and letting it drop to the floor.

"I've never seen it before." Maxwell admitted.

"It's new," you told him, taking a step closer and pulling off his suit jacket, letting it pool on the floor alongside your winter coat. "Got it for you. You like it?" you smiled, twirling around and giving him a little dance. Your heels clicked against the marble floor as you spun around for him. Maxwell didn't say anything, but if the bulge in his tailored pants was anything to go off… you giggled. "Oh Maxie, you do like it."

Maxwell cleared his throat. "Whilst you do look ravishing, I am busy so-"

"But I wasn't finished showing you what I bought." you poured, blinking your doe-like eyes and folding your arms over your chest, the lace grazing your skin.

Maxwell shook his head and walked back over to his desk, sinking into his office chair. He cursed under his breath as he began to palm himself under his desk knowing you wouldn't be able to see. He looked down at the abundance of papers, trying to concentrate, but it wasn't working. Giving in, he looked back over to you.

You were bent over, rummaging through one of your shopping bags in search of something. Your legs were spaced apart so perfectly, Maxwell knew you must've been doing it on purpose— to tease him. His eyes felt heavy as he watched you, his fingers grazing over his throbbing length. He felt so restricted, so confined… but he didn't want to give you the liberty of knowing what you had done to him. When he saw you straighten yourself back up, he looked back down at the stack of papers on his desk.

You picked out a long black box with no markings, and placed it before Maxwell on his desk. Maxwell looked up at you, waiting for an explanation. "What is it?" he asked and you shrugged nonchalantly.

"Open it." you urged with a smile. Maxwell hesitated, his gaze wandering to the locked door, back to you, and then down at the matte box. He carefully undone the ribbon that wrapped it and opened the lid. Rummaging amongst the tissue, his eyes glinted with desire and wicked delight upon finding what you had bought. He couldn't help but smirk. "Well?" you cooed, perching yourself on the corner of your desk.

Maxwell nodded, not saying a word. He took the purple vibrator out of the box and put it down on the desk next to his stationary. "This couldn't have waited until I got home?" he quizzed, his voice breaking slightly. You grinned and shook your head. "I see."

"Am I in trouble?" you pouted and Maxwell's smirk grew. He pushed the papers and the stationary from his desk, clearing it of room.

"Lie down." he demanded and you squealed excitedly. You reached down to your feet to unclip your heels when Maxwell brought his hand to your neck. "No. Keep them on." he ordered sternly. You bit your lip and nodded, obeying his request. His large hand still wrapped around your neck, he carefully pushed you into the table.

The coolness of the expensive oak made you squirm. Maxwell walked around his desk, grabbing your legs and dragging your body further down closer to him. He spread them apart and began to kiss along your thighs. "I do love this colour on you." he mumbled into your skin, his fingers gracing your soaked core through the red lace. You shivered under his touch and you swore you could feel his smirk press into your skin.

"I know." you admitted with a shaky exhale. He wasted no time teasing. He thought it was only fair he got a little payback. The curve of his nose nudged against your clit as he pressed soft kisses into your cunt.

You brought your hands down to your panties in attempt to wriggle them off and free yourself but Maxwell's large ring clad hands stopped you. "Patience." he muttered and you let out a whine as he licked you through the material.

"Please," you begged, your toes curling with pleasure as he kisses around your entrance.

"I thought you bought this lingerie for me, baby," Maxwell chuckled, his warm breath going straight through your core.

"I did." you muttered, your eyes fluttering shut as he continued to kiss and lick.

"So let me enjoy it," he growled, lifting his head up from between your legs and fumbling with the little red bow at the top of your panties. "It's cute." Maxwell smiled and you felt your cheeks heat up. He pulled your legs further down and you wrapped them around his waist as he leaned over your body.

Hovering over you, he pressed a soft kiss into your neck and began to palm at your breast, running his thumb over your hardening nipple as he slid his tongue into your mouth. You brought your hands up to his hair and laced your fingers in his dark blonde locks, tugging on it just the way you knew he liked. You wondered if he was going to even take your bra off; heck— you wondered if he was going to take his own clothes off. He was standing over you in his suit pants and white work shirt, although the tie and the suspenders had been ditched.

You were breathless when Maxwell pulled away from your lips and his hand wrapped around your throat again, squeezing gently. The pressure made you gasp out a soft moan as he brought his kisses down your neck and along your collarbones, down the valley of your breasts and your stomach until his head was positioned back in between your legs.

"You're exquisite." Maxwell sighed, raking in his view. He pressed his middle finger and index finger into your core, feeling how damp your panties already were. "All for me?" he cooed, his brown eyes sparkling with delight. He switched over to his thumb where he began to rub your clit. "Such a good girl." he praised, beginning to tear away your new underwear from your body.

Pretty soon, your red panties were thrown aimlessly on the floor along with Maxwell's suit jacket and your winter coat and Maxwell wasted no time into latching his mouth onto your pussy. You practically screamed at the way his tongue worked within you, lapping up all your arousal like he hadn't had a decent meal in his life. "Hungry?" you joked breathlessly. Not in the mood, Maxwell didn't unattach his lips from you but he did insert two of his fingers without warning. You found yourself arching your back, moaning wantonly as he worked through your core. His groans as he sucked on your clit left vibrations rifle through your body as his fingers pounded inside of you. Obscene wet sounds echoed through his office as a result from his actions.

You dug your heels into his back and felt your legs start to shake uncontrollably as his movements became faster and more intense. His hands grabbed your thighs as he tried to steady you but it was barely any use. Seeing that you were close, he kept up his stamina until your climax ripped through your body, soaking his lips dripping down his chin. When he pulled away, you felt yourself blush at the state he was in. His hair had fallen out of place and his face was glistening with a mixture of his sweat and your juices.

Maxwell unclipped his gold cufflinks, tossing them on the floor and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. Just as you were about to thank him, his hand reached over to the vibrator. "M-Max," you tried to protest as he flicked the switch. It began to buzz erratically and he spent a few moments accustoming himself to the different speeds and pressures. "Max." you wriggled, trying to sit up, but he pushed you back down, hushing you. The least he could do was wait until you had recovered from your first orgasm, but no. He pressed the vibrator to your clit casually and another gasp tore through you. "Max!" you yelled and he chuckled.

"I like this one." he grinned, adjusting the speed and watching you toss and turn on his desk.

"Fuck, Max," you yelped, your fingers curling into a fist as you began to feel that familiar warmth in your stomach signifying that you were close.

"Aw, you going to cum again?" Maxwell chuckled, turning up the speed to the highest setting. "Look at you, all spread out on my desk screaming my name."

Your vision became hazy and your eyes snapped shut as your orgasm hit you leaving you dizzy and panting. Maxwell shut off the vibrator and tossed it to one side. You groaned, holding your face in your hands as you came down your high. Maxwell stared at you, all messed up on his desk, and he couldn't rid himself of his smile.

You looked down to see his damage. "Oh Maxie," you whimpered, reaching your hands out when you saw the bulge stretching out his tailored pants. You sat upright and Maxwell gave you a small kiss on the head. "Let me help you." you whispered, moving your hands to his zipper but he swatted them away. You looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows as he tsked you. "Maxwell Lord denying head?" you scoffed, reaching back out to his pants. Your fingers only slightly brushed over his length but it was enough to make him shudder. He pushed you back into the oak desk for a third time.

"Stay." he commanded, his voice gruff as he ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his locks out of his face. His eyes were practically black as he examined you, pushing apart your legs and running his fingers along your dripping folds.

"Stop- teasing-" you growled, tossing your head back. "You- you've already got two orgasms out of me."

"And I know I can get one more." Maxwell snarled, unzipping his pants and pulling out his rock hard length. He collected the beads of his precum and rubbed it over his throbbing cock, just the gentlest of strokes almost pushing him over the edge.

You were too busy staring at the pretty gold pattern in the ceiling, a feeling of pure blissed out euphoria washed over your spent body, when you felt your boyfriend's cock push between your entrance. "How's this?" Maxwell grunted as he snapped his hips deep inside of you. "Could Bradley do this?"

You curled your hands into a fist as he thrust deep inside of you, repeating his movements hard and fast with no mercy. "Sh- shut upppp." you whined, grabbing onto his biceps as he pushed his body over yours to hit at a deeper angle. He laughed and pressed his hand into your throat once more.

"Ngh- so pretty," he cursed under his breath. You closed your eyes. "Look at me," he hissed, and you obliged as he proceeded to fuck the life out of you. "So good to me." he praised.

"Max," you wailed as his cock pressed into your sweet spot.

"Is that good for you?" he bit his lip, his fingers digging into your skin so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

"Mhmmm," You agreed. "Maxxxxx."

"Yeah baby?" the use of his little names for you only riled you on more and eventually he felt your walls squeeze around his cock as you came undone.

"I want you to cum in me," you begged, your eyes glossy and pleading as your final orgasm washed over you.

"Will you promise to me a good girl?" he asked you and you squirmed under his praise.

"I'm always a good girl," you breathed out. "Always good for you Maxie."

"Yeah," Maxwell moaned, and you felt his cock twitch inside of you. He pressed a sloppy kiss into your neck and pushed deep into you, biting his teeth into the skin of your jaw. With one final hard thrust he was spilling inside of you.

Maxwell steadied himself, his cock softening inside of you until eventually it slipped out. You moaned at the loss of the fullness and he shuddered, quickly tucking himself back into his pants and zipping himself up. It only took a few seconds for him to notice his cum leaking from your pussy. With shaky legs, he padded to the drawer under his desk, unlocking it and taking out some silk handkerchiefs. He opened your legs gently and began to clean you up with the utmost care and affection.

"How do you feel?" he whispered into the shell of your ear, discarding the handkerchief when he was finished. He helped you sit upright and pulled you onto his lap, smoothing out your hair.

"Tired," you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest. He kissed your forehead and wrapped his arms around your practically naked body, his strong arms holding you still and steady.

"I get off in three hours, why don't you take a nap on my sofa and then we can go home together?" Maxwell suggested.

"Mmm," you smiled, closing your eyes. "Or I could just stay here. Like this? But oh- you have that meeting…" you sighed. You went to stand up but Maxwell's grip around you tightened.

"Darling, stay here," you cooed. "I can cancel the meeting. It is my company after all. Besides, I'd rather be here with you."

You felt yourself blush. "You know Maxie, I do love you. So much."

"I know," Maxwell answered, his voice unrecognisably soft. "I love you too." He didn't say those three words often, but you knew that deep down he meant it. He loved you. "Oh, and thanks for the surprise."

#maxwell lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal smut #max lord

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mvrcutios · 5 years ago

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— INTRODUCING:

➺ Alexandre Preston as M𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬

Hi everyone! I’m Olivia, 24 from the pst timezone !! I love romantic foreign films and every incarnation of Skam ever created. Also, tik tok. Way way too much tik tok. This is my interpretation of Mercutio (loml tbh), Alexandre! A pretty boy with charm and brains and you bet your ass he knows it. Portrayed by the beaut that is Maxence Fauvel, i’m genuinely filled to the brim with muse for this boy so, without further ado, time for the main event! (as he prefers to be lbr )

name: alexandre henri preston

age: 21

birthday: July 28th, 1998

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

degree: double major of business & music composition (father currently aware of the 1st)

zodiac: leo.

languages: fluent in french & italian, attempting to swear in russian and japanese.

hobbies: piano, cello, running, sex, parties, reading

vices: whiskey, gin, socialites, card games, fast cars, midnight symphonies, menthol cigarettes

pinterest is here !!

the aesthetic: Dom Pérignon, lipstick stained shirt collars, blue eyes with darkened circles, menthol cigarettes, 2am melodies on a piano down the hall, bruised knuckles, hotel balconies, strobe lights and heavy bass, macarons flaked in gold, lips pressed to cheeks, 3am club invitations, lingering eyes, too bright smiles, bitten bruises soothed with a tongue,shattered mirrors, ripped fingernails, screaming into the silent night, laughter whispered into skin, pills pressed to tongues, platinum amex cards, chewed on pens, eyes growing distant, texts left on read, ink over his heart for his maman, naps under campus oak trees, flasks sipped in a lecture hall, hands on hips, backs, and his own throat.

➺ but what is in a name?

➺ { Alexandre } : The french translation of Alexander. Defender of Man. The irony of a name is not lost on him, nor the man who’d held it. He was named for his maternal grandfather, a man who had sold his soul (and his eldest daughter) for money, power, name, all under the guise of the importance of family. A name meaning man of honor. Certainly a strong name for a boy who’d been born to rule a soiled throne, but content to find ways to sneak sweets from the kitchen, trick a smile from his mother as she stared out the window yet again. But defenders are not born, no.They are made, and from the moment blue eyes opened for the first time he was destined to be just that. Made. Into his father’s visions, his mother’s dreams. And Xandre is no fool. All he wants — no, rather. All he desires from life is simple. Everything.

➺ { Henri } Ruler of households. Once again nothing but irony for a boy who grew up wanting for nothing in life, but knowing the expectations were to be just that. A leader. Who would be the one to tell him that the throne he was set to rest upon was built on the blood and bones of the lesser fortunate? More importantly, who would teach him to care?

➺ { Preston } Meaning priest, settlement, enclosures of God. Carried to England from Normandy after the great conquest. A name befitting to the family who in some circles considered themselves holier than most. Gods among men. Who turned whiskey to gold, words to bank notes, and blood into power. If you were a Preston, people knew it. And what could be better than that?

➺ for he is the devil in every detail

➺ ( + ) He was a boy of pressed shirts and dark windswept waves. Blue eyes that sparkled of mischief and peels of laughter that echoed down marbled halls. He was Alexandre Preston, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the world at his feet. Who when he smiled, his entire face lit from within and led to that hint of the devil sparkling just so from that gaze of his. Who smelled of citrus and whiskey and a bite of mint. Who adored beauty, in life and what it had to offer him. A man who’d grown into his looks and was taught by a wise mother just how to use them, a well placed kiss to a cheek or brush of skin, eyes meeting across a room enough to give them what they desired and more than ever, what he craved. He was tall, dark and oh so handsome, and knew how to get just what he wanted. Born with his father’s intellect and drive for more, padded by his mother’s beauty and ability to wield it for the weapon it could be. It made him anything but a bore, a useless first son too afraid to grasp what was before him. No, Xandre knew his fate. But in the meantime, he lived his life how he chose. If dearest dad was none the wiser, well. What’s the harm?

➺ ( + ) But let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Born on a warm evening in late july, Alexandre Henri was destined to be the only child of Simon Preston and Violette Dupont. A product of two passionate individuals and a loveless marriage, Xandre’s mother was the eldest daughter to a man of debt. The Dupont family had in name what they lacked in capital and with a marriage between Violette and Simon, had everything to gain. Xandre’s birth was a bright burst of fleeting color for a mother who felt caged into the world she’d sold herself to, doting on the little boy and doing what she could to leave him with a part of her, a piece of her own waning soul. Where Simon was boastful, she was wicked, demure. Where he was aggression, she was soft sighs and whispered curses. Two sides of what lead to be a machiavellian son. Destined to rule with a gilded fist and fleeting, passionate heart.

➺ ( + ) He was put into lessons as a boy to dwindle that energy that thrummed with his every step, sports and arts and languages but they were fleeting moments of time, hobbies cast aside once the obsessive grip of his mind released them. But his mother’s love of piano rang true to his blood, picking up the instrument even with some difficulty. It bothered him so, to have something he couldn’t master with minimal effort. It required a honed drive, a passion and ethic to create something magnificent through nothing more than hard work. It fueled him, the boy almost manic with the late hours he spent alone in the sun room, fingers dancing along keys and cursing with every missed note. As he grew, so did the realization that it was not something you could master. The great composers themselves went mad with trying. It was a never ending race, and one he still holds steadfast this very day. It is as much a part of him as anything could be. Alexandre is meant to be a leader, Alexandre blows thousands on parties and card games, Alexandre needs music like air to rattling lungs. His current double major at Ashcroft is a direct result. If he’s to live out this new version of day to day, he’ll do as he pleases. As long as his father remains where he belongs, ignorant as the rest are.

➺ ( + ) if music was a stronghold, most everything else in his world was a passing fancy, aimless ways to spend time and money and have fun in this life he was so destined to lead. High school meant parties and fun, learning the intricacies of the body and passion as girls and boys alike came and went from white rumbled sheets. For his mother had taught him to wield beauty for what it was; a weapon. And oh, did he learn with the best. A university career begun at Oxford (if only to spite his father), where the real fun began, nights spent in club after club until the sun rose again, liquor fueled nights of passion and fun, barred from certain clubs and embraced at others, heavyweight card games and street races with a bottle of dom in hand. Started a gambling ring in his dorm hall until the RA caught wind a year later. (But he eventually joined, so no harm no foul) He was at an all time high, never fearing the inevitable crash to follow. He welcomed it like an old friend, navigated the highs and lows with a long learned finesse. Now in Edinburgh, he chases the residual high with his normal vigor, finding drinking buddies to waste an evening with, occasional bodies to slip into his too high thread count sheets.

➺ ( + ) The very definition of love ‘em and leave ‘em. Xandre doesn’t do true relationships, has never truly given his heart to someone in any form. He doesn’t believe in it, the type of love that makes people do such foolish things. He does foolish things just fine on his own, heart be damned. He can be passionate, charming, attentive lover at the best of times, possessive fool at the worst of times. He loves to feel desired, wanted, needed even. But never aims to be someone’s entire world. That type of need, that type of love does nothing but wound. And every wound he will ever have will be of his own creation. Has had more than a few flings, even reoccurring instances of women or men a few times in a row. But the connections are shallow, surface deep. You don’t need to witness his soul to get into his bed, afterall.

➺ ( + ) It was all a beautiful distraction from the blood that stained every letter of his name. His cousin was allowed to live in blessed ignorance of the family means, but Xandre, he was thrown headfirst into the lion’s den and came out grinning, the truth of it never leaving past blood stained lips. He isn’t resentful of that fact. A part of him feels it was always meant to be this way. If his cousins were the sun, he was the endless night, the whispers of shadows and secrets meant to withstand. For he could take it, surely. Right?

➺ ( + ) while his fate may be anything but up for debate, he is anything but a too willing participant. Being at Oxford meant enough distance to gain a bit of the freedom he craved. The night his father was arrested, Alexandre was doing what was normal, even on a tuesday evening. Partying at a local hotspot four bottles deep in champagne and whiskey, pills pressed to lips in between fevered kisses of a woman who’s name escaped him the next morning. Sweetened black coffee in hand as he watched his phone buzz over and over, the news blaring the headline of what he’d always known would come to fruition. But his father was still kicking, and so the heavy head who bears the crown was not yet his own. So he went about his day, his week, his months. Until, octavia.

➺ ( + ) his cousins were the siblings he’d never had, and for a man who doesn’t truly believe in intricacies of love he loves them with all he has in him. Wolfie the brother he’d craved, the two stirring trouble with every laugh as they raced down the cavernous halls of their homes. Days spent listening to his whispered dreams, his own a hollow echo in response to the passion that thrummed from his cousin’s. The lectures of his poor influence never bothered him, his role had always been rather set after all. The shadow to the sun. Was he ever to be a leader? Possibly. But he was never born of the responsibility and dreams that lingered over his cousin, never expected to amount to anything rather spectacular beyond the built business reputation and blood that soaked the name Preston. He was too impulsive, too passionate to have it beaten from his bones, just always a little too much.

➺ ( + ) And Octavia – she held a special place in his heart. Daddy’s little girl, it was easy to see how she could bat her lashes and smile her smile and let the world fall at her feet. He admired it, respected it even. Game always has to appreciate the game. She and her brother leaving for Ashcroft was a blow he hadn’t anticipated, for they’d always had one another, the two musketeers and the girl who fought to be anything but a shadow. It was an unfamiliar ache, missing them. And with Octavia now gone, that ache has grown tenfold. Morphed into anger for what he knew she was up to, for somehow somewhere, she’d pissed off the wrong people to where even the Preston name couldn’t quite save her soul. But her essence is everywhere, haunting the halls and whispering in ears. It’s all so very dramatic, so very her. He’d pour one out for her if he didn’t think she’d simper about his distaste for wasted wine. Her spirit was a mild comfort, a balm over a roughened wound. a bigger amusement than anything, a middle finger to those who’d ended her bright existence. A Preston knew how to fuck you over, that was made all the more clear with each report of her sightings. And god, did he love her for it.

➺ ( + ) and that at the very crux of it all, is what has brought him to ashcroft. A new scene for parties, new faces, and a remaining cousin who could use a shoulder to lean on. & those all look lovely on paper, but the fine print? Always read it carefully. For the smiles and charm are all Violette without a doubt. But the danger that lingers, the passion and fire that fuel his soul and border on the precipice of mania? Alexandre is Simon Preston’s son, that was never to be denied for long. And someone has wronged them all, taken things they had no right to take. Someone he considered to be a part of his heart. He doesn’t take kindly to such things, and so to Ashcroft he’s come. He is passion, recklessness, a hidden grief fueled by fleeting love wrapped in a shiny veneered package. He’s here to revel, to discover, to maybe even punish. If deemed necessary. Blood will always be blood, and for a man who’s always willing to go a little too far? It is all that remains.

➺ ( + ) as for what has qualified him for such a prestigious society upon his enrollment well, that is a mystery to some and a hard headline to others. His family’s connections? His relation to Wolfie? His letters of transfer from his classical composition professors back in London? As far as Xandre is concerned, it’s nothing more than a certain Oberon Ashcroft seeing he has a role to play, and one he plays rather well. Unassuming at first, a disarming charm soothing the blunt edges of his words. He says what he feels, and what he knows must be said. And due to that, he knows his worth, what he brings to the table. Knows how poorly it would look if he hadn’t been inducted. He brings a good time, a laugh, a chance to rebel against the societal norms and oppressions that leak from every pore of Ashcroft. But he also brings a weighted name, a wicked ability to decipher through the purple prose people can preach, to the truth at the core of it all. And he plays a mean Chopin, what can he say?

➺ ( + ) there is no way to wrap up all that he is, to summarize a man who is nothing short of a dichotomy, a symphony in fractured parts. Perhaps a jekyll and hyde of his own making, two heads of the same beast he wielded within his soul. for there was something to be said of being seen, eyes drawn to your every move, to feel the power of being adored, desired, craved. He is the devil on your shoulder, crooning saccharine words and screaming in triumph in a breadth. A gleam of mania tinging those baby blues when he pushes just so to get his way. He is that very symphony, a concerto who’s pace continues to drive faster and faster, upward and onward until its very PEAK, a cacophony of beauty and agony as notes ring out, clash, COLLIDE. and then, the briefest moment of silence. He has discovered the distractions his body can wield, but also the power to be found in stillness, in silence. At his lowest he craves it, aches to be surrounded by masses just once more to drown out the roaring in his mind, to draw it to ecstasy, to blissful silence. All leading up to the final, ringing note. Before the applause, of course. never deny yourself the applause. That had always been Lesson One.

➺ A LETTER TO OCTAVIA:

Tavia —

Where do I start? You always knew how to make an entrance, tav. should’ve figured your exit would be the same. But…why the fuck wouldn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you tell me the extent of just how bad shit had gotten so quickly? You knew no matter what I said, or how I complained or warned you off to be careful I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to do this alone. I should’ve seen that and come the first time you called. Don’t haunt me for that. And that police chief mentioned a baby, Tav. You never– me of all people would have understood. You were the only one I ever told about Clara, how my dad paid her off. You never judged me for him, you understood. Let me get wasted and cry it out in that shitty suite in London. We could have made a club of it, you and me. Poor little Rich kids with secret kids. Poetic, no? Poetic justice is bullshit in hindsight. And I just really, really miss you.

I’m sure everyone in these letters are telling you the reasons they adored you, how they’ll never forget you, the wild memories they’re sharing with you, that they say they’ll never forget. I don’t need to say all those things. You know I do, and you know I won’t forget. You’re a part of my heart, as battered and shriveled as we liked to joke it is. But apparently death makes us sentimental fools, so here’s this for you, because it’s 4am and the memory won’t leave my mind no matter how many times I close my eyes. That summer we spent, all of us, vacationing in that house on the riviera. Remember? I spent the day running around the grounds with Wolf and we’d laugh and tease like elder brothers do when you’d seek us out, pouting those lips and crocodile tears until we included you in our games. But when the sun set and dinner was long gone, you’d drag me into the tea room with that baby grand in the corner and demanded I play. You always were a determined thing, you brat. But you’d smile that smile and even I couldn’t fight the urge to sit and play your favorites.You sang along and danced and danced and danced until you were breathless with it. Only you could make dancing to britney fuckin’ spears look like an artform you know? You’d call me your co-star, and never let me hate myself for the mistakes, never laughed if I stumbled on a note. You were my biggest supporter that summer, but I was only one of your many adoring fans. That’s how it was supposed to be. That won’t change, I promise.

( A few tears stain the edges of that previous paragraph, angry, bitter droplets that he wipes away and slips the paper further to defend the onslaught of them. He sighs deeply, clears his throat. )

And look at you now, huh? Haunting your friends and your brother with the best of ‘em. Leave it to you to find a way to remain the star of the show even in death. I can see how it’s unravelling them. The ones who look too pale to be innocent, everyone here has a fucking secret. Thanks to you maybe we’ll see them all sooner than later. And what fun that’s gonna be. But do me a favor and haunt some hot freshman for me, will you? Whisper sweet nothings of my beauty in their ears, make it a good one. I’ll owe you one. You know I’m good for it.

I’ll watch over Wolfie. Of course I will. I’ll get him piss drunk at that club you mentioned last time we talked, bring a few lines and a bottle of dom all just for you, gorgeous. I’m here now for him, for you. I’m here for what I should have done from the beginning. If you had to leave him —had to leave us, it won’t be for nothing.

I miss you, cherie. Visit me tonight in my dreams, alright? You can dance for me, I’ll play you a song.

We’ll make it a happy one, for old times sake.

-Xandre

#spectreintro #𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔵𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔦 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫 ╱ 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 .#if you read this whole thing ur a god and i am sorry

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2-fast-2-curious · 6 years ago

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Adore You Like The Roses

Summary: Auston is bad with words but tries to fix that with you

Words: 1450

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: To get the random thirsty Instagram comments all I had to do was scroll through my own message box. Also, I went to see The Maine today and they reminded me that they’re from Phoenix so I decided to rename this after one of their lyrics. Didn’t add very much smut because I’m tired AF.

It had been a long time since Auston had a girlfriend. In fact, he wasn’t even looking for one when he first met you. Everything was casual and great until it wasn’t. The more he got to know you, the harder it was to shake the romantic attraction he had for you. So Auston asked you if you wanted to be exclusive, if you wanted to be his girlfriend. In hindsight, he should’ve taken note of your response. “Oh” followed by seconds of silence as Auston waited on bated breath. “I honestly didn’t know you felt that strongly about me, Auston.” Auston picked up a lot of things naturally: hockey, video games, fashion (although he understood that last one was very subjective). How to ‘boyfriend material’ or ‘couple goals’ with you was not one of them. He was in love with you, he was sure of it, he was just bad at showing his feelings. You had agreed to be his girlfriend and Auston was relieved. Despite what some people wanted to believe, he wasn’t an asshole. At least not on purpose. He treated you well, he made you laugh, he bought you stupidly expensive designer things even though you insisted he didn’t have to. Speak of designer items, you and Stephanie had gone shopping for dresses for a black tie Leafs’ charity event. Auston and Mitch were going to meet the two of you at Holt Renfrew to see your final selection before grabbing dinner. You had texted Auston and Mitch directions to the private shopping suite the store had given you which was really just a very large private dressing room with couches and snacks.

In a corner was a rolling rack full of colourful, floor length dresses. Auston sat down on a couch. “Y/N, Steph, are you guys ready?”

You took a deep breath as you shuffled your sky-high Louboutins out of the dressing area. You knew Auston was getting a custom navy blue suit for the event so you had chosen a dress made of sparkly sapphire blue lace on top of fabric that mimicked the colour of your skin. “So what do you think?” You asked Auston, as you spun around in the dress. You had spent all afternoon stepping in and out of dresses before you had chosen this one, thinking Auston would enjoy the lacey details. Auston knew you looked amazing, he just didn’t know how to put it into words. So he decided to go with something safe. “You look nice, babe.” The smile fell from your face and Auston knew he fucked up. Meanwhile, Mitch was looking lovingly into Stephanie’s eyes while telling how gorgeous she looked in her rose gold sequined dress. You slipped off the shoes and went back into the changing area, trying to swallow back your feelings of disappointment at Auston’s reaction or lack therefore. Stephanie escaped Mitch’s grasp and went to join you. “I wish I knew how to do that.” Auston admitted as he beckoned the sales associate to bring him the card machine so he could pay for your Louboutins. “It’s just that every time, I think of how I want to compliment Y/N, I’m worried it will sound stupid or creepy.” “You feel stupid giving your girlfriend compliments?” Mitch asked, slightly confused at his teammate's aversion. “Well when you say it like that, I sound like an idiot.” Auston admitted, handing his Black Amex to a sales associate. He placed the heel next to his foot, amused at how small your feet were compared to his. Mitch laughed. “Because you’re being an idiot, Mats. It’s a compliment, who cares if you sound creepy or stupid? And if that happens, you just have to remember not to do that next time.” Auston frowned, that seemed like an oversimplification of his problem. He took out his phone, seeing that you had a new post on your Instagram. It was a carousel of mirror selfies of a couple of the dresses you had tried on today. You rarely posted pictures of yourself claiming that no one wanted to see you. Auston wanted to comment something to encourage you, it would at least be a step in the right direction if he wanted to start giving you more compliments. He frowned when he saw some of the comments on your post. your face is cute and your cleavage is sexy 😁 we should chat

So damn cute 😍😍😍

Hey there can I add ur snapchat? Auston wanted to show these random accounts that you were spoken for. But all he had started and erased several different messages and was now staring at the blank comment box. How the hell were faceless accounts on Instagram better at complimenting you than your own boyfriend? Babygirl looks 🔥 I’m the luckiest guy in the world Can’t wait to Auston had spent so much time trying to craft a message, you and Stephanie walked out of the dressing room, back in your street clothes. Your dress would have to stay at the store since it still needed alterations to fit you properly. Things were frosty between you and Auston during dinner as you let Mitch and Stephanie steer the conversation. You were more sad than anything. Auston seemed to care a lot more about his appearance than you did since he was a public figure. You thought that maybe seeing you in that dress would make him want to excited for the event and the opportunity to show you off. You knew Auston wasn't someone who gave compliments easily but did he give them ever? Hell, even the waiter had complimented you more than your own boyfriend had when he replied "Excellent choice" when you told him you wanted the ceviche. You and Auston ordered an Uber to take you home. You shrugged off your jacket and threw it on the coat rack. With all the dress fittings, today had been an exhausting day. “Auston, if you don't like the dress, I can call the store and tell them we don't want it anymore.” Auston followed you as you went to the bathroom to wash your face. "Are you kidding? I love that dress." "You really weren't acting like it. But I guess that's normal for you." You say as you massage your face wash into your skin. "Listen Y/N, I feel really shitty that I don't give you all the compliments that you deserve." Auston sat on the edge of the bathtub as he watched you wipe the soap off your face. "I want to know how much it means to me when I'm wearing my gameday suit and you always make sure to tell me how handsome I look before I leave. Or how you'll Skype me when I'm on the road and just woke up and you'll still tell me how hot you think I am." "Wow, I'm making you really conceited." You reply, not sure where Auston was going to go with this. Auston laughed. "You make me feel really good about myself. I realize that I need to make you feel the same way." Auston lifted you up and placed you on the counter next to the sink. "You look really nice when your face is just washed, it's so soft and it smells so good." He kissed your cheek, his stubble scratching you. He took his phone out and snapped a photo of the two of you in the mirror. Your back was to the camera, his face was in your neck, one hand was holding his phone and the other reached across your back to cup your butt. "Don't we look cute together? I'm going to make this my lock screen." You bit your lip, you had to admit you and Auston looked good together in that photo. You especially liked how his tattooed arm looked against you. You kind of wanted him to send it to you so you could post it. You didn't have a lot of photos of just you and Auston. "You looked really beautiful in the dress you picked. It suits you so well." The smile Auston gave you was so genuine, your heart fluttered. Auston helped you out of your shirt. He watched his hands in the mirror as they lifted your shirt over your head, exposing your bare back to the mirror. Auston took the time to admire your bra. "Pretty." "Aus, your hands are cold." You giggled as your torso shivered when he removed your bra. Auston smirked as he used his extra cold thumbs to play with your nipples. "All the better to touch you with."

“Auston that’s not even how Little Red Ridinghood goes.“ You say as you lean in to kiss your boyfriend’s lips.

Part 2

#auston matthews #Toronto Maple Leafs #hockey writing #nhl players #nhl writing #nhl imagines #hockey players #hockey imagines #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews fanfic

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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(treat me nice) never let me go [branjie] 7/15 - pinkgrapefruit

chapter 7. i’m powerful with a little bit of tender

previous chapters 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

A/N - Hi guys, It’s been forever and I am really sorry but I’ve had some rocky times with my mental health recently and I had to take a break from tumblr and from writing. I really hope I can get you another chapter of this in less than three months but I make no promises. In other news we’re almost half way there now! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this one - it’s an apology <3

ALSO I’VE BEEN DOING ALOT OF READING LATELY AND I’VE REALISED THAT COMMENTING IS SO REWARDING TOO. PLEASE COMMENT. I’VE BEEN ON BOTH SIDES AND IT’S FUCKING LOVELY.

When Brooke shakes Vanessa awake, she is already dressed. Vanessa rolls over gently, Brooke’s hand on her lower back as she looks up into the blonde’s eyes, getting lost for a second in her sleepy haze.

“Wake up, time to shop,” calls Brooke, cheery after a coffee and a protein shake. Vanessa sighs with a small giggle.

“You never sleep, huh,” she grumbles, squinting upwards at the ornate ceiling.

“You’re always grumpy in the morning,” Brooke counters goodnaturedly, although without giving anything away as to whether or not she does sleep. She stands straight and appears to dust off the navy blazer she is wearing before reaching into an inside pocket and pulling out her AmEx card. She hands it to Vanessa as if it was a piece of cardboard to be disposed of or something equally as meaningless. Vanessa takes it carefully. “Now, if you have any trouble using it, call the hotel,” Brooke reminds her, hand already on her briefcase. Before Vanessa can say anything, the blonde leans over and places a chaste kiss on her forehead, smiling slightly to herself as she goes to leave.

“So, more shopping?” Vanessa clarifies, causing Brooke to stop at the bedroom door. She turns around, puzzled at the tone.

“Yes,” she confirms as if it is obvious, “frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t buy more yesterday.”

“It wasn’t fun.”

“No?” Brooke drops the briefcase at the door and sits by Vanessa’s legs on the bed, any plans to leave forgotten.

“They were real mean to me.”

“Mean to you? Well then.” Brooke takes Vanessa’s hand and pulls her up out of the bed, her face like a man on a mission, except more pressed and less forgiving. “We’ll see about that,” she mumbles under her breath, hoping Vanessa won’t hear. She doesn’t see the smile that graces the girl’s lips.

Vanessa is barely dressed when Brooke comes back into the room. She’s got her hair piled in a bun on top of her head and one of Brooke’s shirts is tied at her waist like a crop top, attempting to bring a modicum more class to the hooker skirt on its third day of wear. Despite looking like a self proclaimed ‘mess on legs’, Brooke still watches Vanessa for a second, eyes raking her soft, toned legs and ass lifted by her red stilletos.

The blonde picks up the AmEx card off the table and slots it into the breast pocket of the shirt, mentally appraising Vanessa’s memory before forcing an iced latte into the girls hand and using the other to almost drag her into the main area. They stand facing each other for a second, Vanessa looking up expectantly.

“Don’t fidget.” Brooke starts, tone clipped. “Drink the coffee.”

“Yes, mami.”

“Ness.”

“Sorry.”

By the time they get to the store Vanessa is shaking. It’s in part due to the large coffee she drank in an inhumanely fast time, but mostly the sheer nerves of standing outside a place that managed to make her feel so small. Brooke notices, of course she does, and squeezes her hand comfortingly.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, quietly.

“People are looking at me,” she responds, shifting a little on the spot, hands running along the base of her skirt, nails buried in her palms.

“They’re not looking at you, they’re looking at me.” Brooke’s not wrong. She’s dressed in a white lace bodysuit, tailored navy cigarette trousers and a navy blazer, the outfit accentuating the impossible length of her legs and the gym workouts she does six days a week

“I don’t like stores like these, they’re not nice to people.”

“They’re never nice to people. They’re nice to credit cards,” Brooke counters with a tone that tells Vanessa they are done. She gives her a quick once over, smoothing one side of the shirt. “Quit fidgeting, get rid of the gum,” she commands. When Vanessa spits it out into the nearest street grate, the blonde just sighs.

Brooke leads them both into the store with a confidence Vanessa just doesn’t have. It’s been cultivated through years in a competitive field, and it oozes out of every barely existing pore on the blondes skin. Vanessa trails behind, timid and unsure, but immediately feeling the residual anger burn back up in her heart.

This store is painted in taupes and warm beiges, neutrals that extend as far as the eye can see. It even smells expensive, like if you step in without at least a million dollars you will be kicked right back out onto the street. Vanessa’s eyes get caught on the bright reds and golds and the deep sea blues covering the many racks and rails of the store.

They’re immediately approached by a tall woman in her mid twenties, red hair and green eyes that appear to reflect all the greenery Salifornia is missing. She has more conviction behind her eyes than she should when faced with Brooke, but it doesn’t turn Vanessa off in the way it should.

“Scarlet Envy, floor manager,” the redhead says, hand stuck out in greeting. Brooke shakes it in a business-like fashion, but her frown stays put.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.”

“Ah yes, miss,” Scarlett appeases, acknowledging Vanessa for the first time - even with someone like Brooke she is still overlooked - people still don’t treat her like she has a voice.

“You see this woman?” Brooke gestures to the brunette behind her.

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything in this shop as beautiful as she is?” Scarletts smile falters for a second, her face overcome with confusion as she scans the shop floor.

“Oh, yes.” Brooke’s eyes darken. “Oh, no! No, no, no, I’m saying we have many things as beautiful as she would want them to be. That’s the point I was getting at, and I think we can all agree with that. “ Her face now matches her name and it makes Vanessa chuckle in a way that Brooke definitely banned her from doing earlier that day.

“I think,” the blonde tests, “that we’re going to need more people helping us.” Scarlet nods. “I’ll tell you why. We’re going to be spending an obscene amount of money here. So we’re going to need a lot more help sucking up to us. That’s what we really like. You understand that?” She flashes the edge of her black AmEx card and recognition flashes across Scarlet’s eyes. She nods again, this time with more assertion, and turns on her heels to find the appropriate amount of people to cater to the extortionate amount of money due to be spent.

As Vanessa is fussed and tended to, Scarlet approaches Brooke again, the taller woman with a soft smile and a warm demeanour peeking through her cold front. “Excuse me miss? exactly how obscene an amount of money were you talking about?”

Brooke chuckles softly.

“Just profane or really offensive”

“Really offensive Scarlet.”

“I think I like you.”

At that moment, Brookes phone rings and she sighs. The spell is broken, and she hurries past Vanessa, sliding the card into her hand and kissing her on the cheek. She’s halfway through the conversation before she leaves the store.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes speaking.”

“Oh, Brooke. Where the hell are you?” Brooke runs a hand through her loose blonde strands, stifling a yawn as her eyes scan the street for her car.

“Busy, Mr Charles.”

“The words all over the street. Cain’s gonna raise the offer.” Ru sounds more excited than Brooke has heard in god knows how long, but she’s unconvinced.

“She’s countering? God, she is a tough old bird. Where’s she gonna get the money from?”

“I don’t know. She, uh– I think he’s throwin’ in with the employees.” Her hand moves to her forehead, no longer caring about her makeup. She is tired and clinging onto the happiness of Vanessa - hoping she can get through the day and just get back to her.

“She still needs someone to underwrite the paper. Find out who it is, I’m on my way.”

“Yeah, okay. You got it.”

The line goes dead.

Back with Scarlet, Vanessa smiles to herself. She feels powerful in a store full of men and women who listen to her every whim. In the men’s section, she spots a red tie the colour of her lipstick. She taps the nearest woman and gestures to it. “Get me that tie, would you?” She asks - it doesn’t sound like a request though.

“Farrah, get miss Mateo the tie.”

She finishes up in that shop and orders a taxi to take her home - arms overwhelmed with the sheer number of bags she has. As they are driving down the street however, she spots a shop she has to visit and calls for the driver to pull up. She grabs four or five bags, and hops out, strutting into the store like she owns it.

“Hello.” She calls out as she steps through the door. She drops her bags on the floor dramatically and watches as two women hurry to pick them back up for her, moving them onto a stand ever so carefully. Carson is scurrying around in the back and she calls for him to come down to meet her. “Do you remember me?” She asks.

Vanessa is smirking because she can. She’s dressed like a rich housewife, and she has every intention of acting like one - all prissy and entitled because she can. She can do all of this.

“No, I’m sorry,” replies Carson and he sounds genuine. It’s a wonder what dressing well can do for you, she thinks to herself, dabbing at her forehead with a silk handkerchief.

“I was here yesterday. You wouldn’t wait on me,” she states.

“Oh.” This time his brow furrows and she watches as her remember exactly who she is.

“You work on commission, right?”

“Uh, yes.” Vanessa wishes Brooke could see her now. She imagines the blonde would look so proud as she slowly pulls off her white gloves to reveal chipped red nailpolish. With her now unclothed hand, she reaches into the breast pocket of her cream pantsuit and pulls out the AmEx card. She tries to embody Brooke as she smrks.

“Big mistake. Big. Huge!” She beckons for her bags and they are placed back in her hands. She gives them one last look and then raises an eyebrow, lip quirking. “I have to go shopping now.”

She leaves and she does not look back.

Vanessa stalks through the hotel lobby looking proud, chest out, head high. She has a few bags in each hand with Courtney carrying the rest up to the room and she feels powerful. She could get used to the way people’s eyes are following her for good reasons instead of bad, and yet the grasp of wealth feels scary. It sickens her to know how differently people treat her because of how she dresses.

Nina’s talking to people when Vanessa walks in and she doesn’t notice her at first, but as her clients’ heads turn, hers does too. She sees the short brunette in a cream pantsuit and a small smile grows on her face. She sees Vanessa as kind of her child now and, damn, is she proud.

Vanessa goes out of sight, but Nina’s smile doesn’t change.

Brooke enters her office already done with the day. At her desk sits Ru, her boss, looking unimpressed with her lateness as he slams the phone back onto the desk, shuffling his papers and pointing to the chair opposite him for her to sit in.

“Brooke Lynn,” he says, monotone and with little care.

“Mr Charles.”

His facade seems to drop almost immediately, lighting up like a kid at Christmas as he hands her a sheet of mortgages taken out by Shuga Cain. “You were right about Shuga. She mortgaged everything she owns, right down to her walking stick, to secure a loan from the bank.” Brooke feigns surprise before giving him a raise of the eyebrow that can only be interpreted as ‘I told you so.’ Ru’s face replies with ‘and there’s more’ before he says, “Not just any bank, Visage Banking!”

“Uhuh,” Brooke follows.

“I think it goes without saying that this deal means more to the bank than even to Cain. And we‘ve got an in at the bank…” he trails off, like he wants her to end his thoughts, but she refuses with a stare. “So…..”

“We gotta call the bank.” She finally exhales with a sigh. He looks disapproving and a little curious as to her mood.

“Alright Brooke. What the hell is wrong with you this week?” He breaks, leaning onto her desk like he’s supposed to be interrogating her, but with all the power of a golden retriever. Despite this, Brooke cannot find it within her to withhold much.

“You know what I used to love when I was a little kid, Ru?” She doesn’t wait for a reply. “Building blocks, Kinects.”

Ru sighs and runs a hand over his bald head. “So, I liked Monopoly - I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“In Canada, I help people build things. You don’t build anything, Ru. You destroy it.”

“I make money,” he counters with a stony disposition. “We’ve worked for a year on this deal. It’s what you said you wanted. I’m handing it to you.”

“You’ve worked for it. You want it. You don’t want your hands dirty.” Brooke gets louder as she says it, standing, hands flat on her desk.

“Morse’s jugular is exposed. It’s time for the kill,” Ru finishes, looking angry.

Brooke picks up her briefcase swiftly and has a foot out of the door when Ru calls after her, “Call the bank!” She doesn’t dignify him with a response.

When Brooke comes into the penthouse she is exhausted and frazzled, and cannot wait to relax into the sofa with a large glass of red wine and her Netflix subscription. What she does not expect (although it is not unwelcomed), is to find Vanessa lounged on her favourite armchair nude. The woman’s hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, single curls falling down to frame her face. The only item she has on (it cannot be deemed clothing), is a vintage red tie. It covers nothing, sitting perfectly between her breasts, and Brooke would be lying if she said she wasn’t fixated.

“Nice tie,” she gulps out, a little speechless.

“I bought it for you,” purrs Vanessa, tugging at it gently, teeth imprinting on her lip. She holds her hand out to Brooke and guides her through the archway into the ensuite.

They lay together in a bathtub full of bubbles, Brooke’s head on Vanessa’s chest as she slowly rubs a sponge over her torso, watching the bubbles lather and dissipate as if entranced. There’s something about bathing together that removes any sense of distance, and Brooke feels compelled to open up about things she’s never considered opening up about. She smiles contentedly before she begins to speak.

“My father always wanted me to be a man,” she states plainly, without preamble or caution. Vanessa’s hands stop briefly before a sloshing can be heard and then warm water is back, rolling over Brooke’s chest. “I suppose that’s why he never had a problem with me being gay - thought I’d make a butch lesbian.”

Vanessa chuckles at that and Brooke can feel the vibrations through her own body too. “You ain’t butch, Mary,” she gets out.

“I know,” responds Brooke with a lilt in her voice. “Anyway, back in my early twenties, I competed in Miss Continental. My dad,” she pauses to consider her words, “he was furious.” Vanessa places a warm hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “We fought for weeks, he always wanted me to be something, to follow in his footsteps and make something of myself, and insisted that I couldn’t do so if I won a beauty pageant.”

“Bullshit.”

“Exactly. Anyway, he all but disowned me - called me names I’ll never forget and, god, I was so angry.” She sighs and tries to run a hand through her hair, but it’s wet and knotted, so she settles on running her nails up her thigh. Vanessa notices and drops the sponge in the water, settling them both into a position where she can detangle Brooke’s hair easily. “It took me ten thousand dollars in therapy to say that sentence. I was very angry with him.” She repeats with a smirk as Vanessa giggles behind her. “I say that very well don’t I? I’ll say it again. I was very angry with him.” This turns the woman’s giggles into full fledged laughter as she feels her hair become lighter, until Vanessa’s fingers get back to detangling.

“Hi, I’m Brooke Lynn Hytes and I was very angry with my father.”

“I’d be real mad at the ten thousand dollars, boo, but you do you,” Vanessa chips in and Brooke can hear the smile in her voice, glad they’re both enjoying their bathtub rendezvous.

“I won Miss Continental,” Brooke announces finally, deeming it important to finish the story.

“Damn, babe,” she sounds impressed and it makes Brooke flush under the dimly glowing bathroom lights.

“I won Miss Continental and I used the money to put myself through law school. And then I got a job and opened a firm under RuPaul and the first case of his I took on - I helped buy out the company my father was president of. I helped buy it and then I helped sell it off, piece by piece.”

“What did the therapist say?”

“He said I was cursed.”

“Well, you got even, so that must’a made you happy then.”

“Did I mention my legs are about 31 inches from hip to ankle,” Vanessa asks, suggestively wrapping both her legs around Brooke’s waist and leaning to dot a kiss onto her shoulder. “So, basically, we’re talkin’ about 31 inches of therapy, wrapped around you for the bargain price of…”

“Three thousand dollars,” they finish together, laughing. Brooke turns her head so she can lay a soft kiss on the back of Vanessa’s hand, a ‘thank you for listening’ and a 'thank you for still being here’.

#rpdr fanfiction #pinkgrapefruit #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #scarlet envy #nina west #carson kressley #fluff #lesbian au #pretty woman #gay bathtub scenes #regrettable judgment calls made by shop assistants #grapefruits triumphant return to her favorite fic #concrit welcome #unless you are going to tell me it's been awhile in which case fuck you Mary I know

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 5 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: The Youth of Bacchus is listed publicly as being part of a “private collection”, so AU-fictionally-speaking, who knows, it could theoretically belong to the Shepherds. I’ve been meaning to feature Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata in some kind of story for ages, as I’ve loved it all my life (I listened to this version a lot while I wrote this part). I had to include a little nod to my fellow Sagittarius, Jane Austen, with her famous line, spoken by Darcy to Lizzie in a moment of passionate abandon, from Pride & Prejudice (“you have bewitched me, body and soul”), though the title of my fic came originally from the song Hypnotised by Years & Years, as I’ve mentioned before. I mirrored the “breathing” advice from their mothers on purpose. That moment Kenzie stares at Duncan with tears in her eyes over dinner was my homage to that gif floating around of Mallory looking across the table (I always imagine she’s looking at Michael). I’m learning some fascinating stuff from my research for this fic, including the fact that in order to be issued a Black AmEx (“Centurion Card”) you need a special invitation and are required to pay an initiation fee of $7500 with an annual fee of $2500. Rumor has it (it hasn’t been confirmed on record) that Black Card holders need a net worth of around $16 million to qualify. I also learned that Bordeaux goes well with duck a l’orange, which, as a vegetarian, is a thing I probably would have never known otherwise. The line “Then I must be thy lady, but I know / When thou hast stolen away from fairy land” is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Bouguereau cunnilingus I came up with in my sleep last night and I’m totally in love with it. His painting Evening Mood (which Duncan thinks of when Kenzie is standing there naked in the candlelight) is enshrined at the Museum of Fine Arts, in Cuba. I’m so proud of this part; I worked really hard on it and put a lot of my own emotions into it. I’m proud of what I’ve written here and what I’ve done so far with this story, and that’s a wonderful feeling. If anyone else wants to do visual edits or moodboards for the fic, I’d be so thrilled. The one @nat-de-lioncourt made (here) made me ecstatically happy. I posted some screenshots of the playlist I made for writing the fic on my Twitter, if you’re interested in my music influences/the mood I’m trying to create so far. And as ever, if you’re reading and enjoying, your comments mean everything to me.

Duncan felt as though his spirit was trying to break free from his body. He was leaning against the obsidian counter in his spotless kitchen, his sleek black phone clutched in his hands, tapping it every now and again to check the time, quiet strains of classical music coming from the turntable in the corner of his office; Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He fiddled with the cufflinks of his shirt again; they were rose gold with black onyx stones. He ran his fingers down his Balmain one-button velvet jacket, breathing deep, letting it out at a measured pace, re-adjusting the collar of his black shirt, though it had already been perfectly straight. Annette had taught him to breathe carefully from the time she had begun to bring him to public events with her when he was still in elementary school. “Never let them see your nervousness,” she had insisted, holding his small hand in hers, pushing at his back so he’d stand straight. “These people feed on weakness, and you must appear to be untouchable them. Breathe until your fear fades away. You can’t use it where you’re going.”

Oddly, he often thought it was the best advice his mother had ever given him. You can’t use it where you’re going; as if his destiny was to do something great, no matter his own doubts about himself. She had always said it with absolute conviction. He knew his mother loved him. That was an absolute, unshakeable truth. Maybe she could accept Kenzie, because I think I love her. He brought his hand to his chin in that familiar tick, running his right index and middle fingers over his bottom lip. That thought had come unbidden, like a tide to the shore. God. I think I do. I don’t know her yet, but I think I love her. It’s so strange.

He made himself breathe out again, focusing his attention on the strains of the Sonata’s first movement; it had always made him think of the dead of night, some abandoned moor far from civilization, bathed in the glow of the moon and a universe full of a million stars hovering above, looking down on the tiny rock of humanity with a studied, sympathetic indifference. Wretched humankind, he thought, moving slowly to the study, all alone in an empty cosmos. It was a thought he’d had many times before, but this time, oddly, his resolute conviction in it faltered. Maybe alone. Maybe not. His eyes fell over the painting that stretched, colossal, against the wall facing his desk.

It was Bouguereau's The Youth of Bacchus. His mother had bought it for him for his 18th birthday: yes, the original. The Shepherds had a net worth of over 3 billion, and she had insisted he needed a legitimate piece when he’d moved into his penthouse alone. He’d always loved it; “it reminds me of when you were a boy and I bought you those mythology books you’d read for hours and hours,” Annette had said, her finger stroking his cheek. He’d gone through a period in his adolescence where he was obsessed with Greek and Roman mythology; had practically every book ever published on the subject, most of them still on his study shelves, though Edith Hamilton’s was always his favorite. He had gazed at the bacchanalia depicted in the painting countless times, its naked, dancing figures, feverish in their revelry; sometimes he would come here and sit in the leather chair behind the mahogany desk, just to stare at it until whatever vinyl he’d placed on the turntable wound down to silence. It had always been odd to him that though the painting referred to Bacchus’ youth (he, the god of hedonism), he was depicted as a pot-bellied old man in it, teetering on a donkey. Duncan had long-ago decided that Bouguereau meant it in reference to Bacchus’ spirit, his essence, one of endless mischief and debauchery. He thought back on the many nights he’d indulged in debauchery himself; the women and men he’d taken into his bed, careless to know their names, content with the pleasures of the flesh, rarely feeling the impulse to see them again. When your mother was Annette Shepherd, you could afford to pay off any troublesome, tiresome attentions. Duncan found that though he’d often felt lust, any experience he’d had until last night had not deigned to come close to the wild, somehow almost painful, intoxicating energy he’d felt when Mackenzie Stone was in his arms. It was as if he’d never known what passion truly was until the moment he’d kissed her, her mouth opening to him; hadn’t understood the winding way of the universe at all until she’d been under him, her sweet whisper in his ear, her small hands on his skin, around his length, in his hair. Her smell, her touch, her presence was like waking up for the first time on a cool spring morning after winter, seeing the sunlight course over some distant hill, watching auburn clouds float into the ether as dawn kissed the world. She had reminded him, or perhaps made him realize truly for the first time, that being alive was miraculous indeed; and he wanted the feeling again, the grip of the desire to live. And that was passion, he thought. Passion was her eyes, where he’d seen her soul floating behind them, seeing his, as though they’d been long lost from each other, and now, finally, had found each other again, through time.

Bewitched, body and soul, he thought, and he could not remember what the line was from. God, but that’s how I feel. He’d considered himself a staunch atheist since he was little more than a child, but something about this woman, this wondrous angel so she seemed, made his resolve falter for the first time in memory. Maybe there is something out there, he thought, surprising himself, a shiver falling down his spine under the weight of his velvet jacket, the C-sharp minor of the Sonata boring into his mind. She exists, and she is some kind of miracle, so maybe something is. Fuck. It was as if someone else had entered his body since last night; the better version of himself, desperate to be good enough for her, desperate to hope for a world where she truly existed, and was not some free-falling fantasy of his own invention.

He fiddled with his onyx cufflinks, clearing his throat, moving to where he kept a small bar cart beside the table the record player rested on, an ornate, priceless Tiffany lamp beside it. He poured a finger of bourbon and drank it down, wiping his lips on the back of his hand as the final strokes of the first movement ended. He glanced at his watch (the Cartier again); it was 8:20 PM. It was time to go; time to go to her.

Surprising himself again, he thought out a silent prayer for the first time since he was a boy: if anyone is out there, give me courage.

------

Samuel shut the door behind Duncan as he slid into the backseat of the black BMW. Duncan felt as though he could jump out of his skin at any moment; his resolve was trembling, and the feeling was truly putting him off-guard. Am I actually good enough for this woman? The thought flitted across his mind and he felt utterly shaken by it, as though someone else had invaded his mind. But he knew the thought was his own. He knew he was truly wondering what he’d done to deserve her in his bed, enraptured, the euphoria of her seeping into his senses. He couldn’t believe he was about to see her again. His body felt like it was vibrating, the bourbon he had drunk to calm his nerves giving them an edge instead, an overwhelming intensity.

“Are you alright, Mr. Shepherd?” Samuel was sitting in the driver’s seat again, peering at Duncan over his glasses, a combination of concern and amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Samuel, I need your good thoughts tonight,” Duncan replied, his guard down. “I need all the help I can get. I’m enamoured with this woman. I’m crazy about her.”

“Let your heart be your guide, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down, toward the stretch of asphalt in front of Duncan’s high rise. The car moved forward, streamlined, humming quietly, toward Duncan’s destiny.

----

Duncan had texted Mackenzie again a few hours before; after the conversation during which she’d gazed at her phone in awe, falling into the constellation of Cancer on her bed, unbeknownst to him. He’d asked for her address; it was now programmed into Samuel’s GPS, so he could see the minutes counting down to their arrival. He took another deep breath; let it out in a steady stream, opposing thumb pressing into his palm; his eyes, sapphire-like, gazed out the window, reflecting the glowing lights of a Washington evening. He thought of Kenzie in her little black dress, her ankles wrapped in laces, the crystal floating at her throat, her eyes, gazing at him, full of hidden emotion. Her voice rising in his shower; baby, I want you to come. He closed his eyes and his head, crowned in curls, fell back on the leather seat. God, her fingers in mine, her hard little nipples and sweet clit in my mouth and the feeling of her body clenching around mine, how was that real, how is it still all so real and yet like a dream, the smell of vetiver and her skin, her moans, her hair glowing in the light over the bed--

“Mr. Shepherd, we’re here.”

His eyes snapped open, an involuntary fear rising in them. They’d pulled up to an apartment complex, relatively modern, with glass doors leading to an entryway and the doors of the inner apartments visible within.

Kenzie.

“Here I go.”

Samuel nodded, the wry smile playing around his mouth again.

“Mr. Shepherd.”

For the breadth of a heartbeat, Duncan paused, then he pushed the door of the BMW open and stepped onto the sidewalk. Apartment 1R was Mackenzie’s; she’d texted even her apartment number to him. She was trusting him with it, and he understood this innately. He straightened his Balmain jacket (already straight), rubbed the finger into his palm again, ran that nervous, constant hand against his bottom lip, and walked to the glass door, pulling it open. The second door was locked; he saw a neat row of buzzers beside it, each with a tile clearly printed with apartment numbers underneath. 1R. Stone. He breathed in again, long and low, and pressed the buzzer.

He held the breath as the moment hung there, unmoving.

Then a buzzing sound emanated from the foyer where he stood; he pulled the second door open.

Inside, there were four apartments in a long row, and a corner where the hallway turned towards more apartments along the next wall. He walked (wearing black Saint Laurent Wyatt boots tonight, the buckles hidden beneath the hem of his tailored slacks) to the end, where the corner began; 1R. A gold crescent moon ornament, hung from a small nail and a gold-painted, braided length of rope, shimmered in the hallway light against the door. There was a one-sided peephole facing him; he stared at it for a moment; he breathed again, and then he knocked.

An aching pause again; and then she opened the door.

Mackenzie stood there, her chestnut waves falling down over her shoulders and her back (moons along her head, he thought, stunned, moonlight in her hair), and she met his gaze, her hazel eyes aglow with silent fire, though her expression was full of apprehension she clearly had not been able to conceal. He went to speak, but his breath seemed caught in his lungs; he looked at her and his heart was struck with a quiver of aching need. Her mouth was darkly colored; her eyelids were dark, black kohl around her eyes; tonight she was like the hidden face of the moon, and he was immediately beguiled, under her spell.

She was wearing a dress that seemed to be cut out of the air itself; its neckline plunged down through the space between her breasts, coming together beneath them in a deep V, the skin there luminous in the light (I want to kiss that skin now); it was black like the dress she’d been wearing the night before, but it had long sleeves that came down to past her wrists, pointing towards her knuckles. It had been tailored to her small waist, tailored so it hugged against the rise of her chest and the elegant inclines of her arms, and then it fell from her hips, in waves of more silken velvet an inch above her knee, waves he wanted to kneel into, bury himself inside. Knee-high heeled boots stretched along her slender legs (the legs whose ankles I kissed, their redness building an ache in me, he thought), their toes coming to points, but the stretch of skin between where the boots began and her skirt ended was entrancing to him; he wanted to press his mouth there and move it up between her legs again; he ached at the thought. Around her neck was a velvet choker (my hands there my lips on her mouth), and hanging from it was a black inverted moon, its crescent points hanging down towards her shoulder blades. The sight of it sent a cool chill along the back of his neck; it seemed an omen, occult and knowing, a feminine eye that knew him and could see all of his secrets. He resigned himself to this; I would tell her anything. And he knew it was true.

“Kenzie,” he said breathlessly, overwhelmed. She was real. He hadn’t dreamt her; not last night, not this morning, when her light scattered along the hall as she ran away from him. And she was beautiful beyond all words to him; her realness, her weight, her beauty, within and without, shining like a darkened star in the twilight.

“God, you look beautiful.”

“So do you,” a nervous smile spread over her little mouth, and he thought of honey, roses, wine, the sweetness of your soul, Kenzie--and he moved forward, his lips capturing hers, his hands burying themselves in her cascade of hair, and he felt lost for a moment, lost in the tangibility of touching her again, full of relief at her reality. “You’re real,” he whispered into her mouth; he couldn’t stop. “You’re real, and I didn’t dream you.” He breathed in her smell; her perfume was the same. Vetiver, geranium, roses. He wanted to drink it like nectar.

“I know. I was afraid of the same thing. That I’d imagined you.” Her little face was turned up to him, and her darkly-shadowed eyes glistened with moisture. He was filled with a terrible fear that she would begin to cry; he felt a twinge around his heart, a wrenching horror at the idea of her sadness.

“I’m here.” He pressed his forehead into hers for a moment, his fingers trailing through her hair, his eyes closing, overwhelmed. “We’re both here. Everything was real. Everything is real. This is real.”

Her little hands went around his wrists for a moment as he held her, twining her fingers through his on either side of her face, clutching him to her, and he felt a burst of energy, as if her sweetness, her care, her nature of goodness, seeped through her into him, bathing him in warmth, and then she stepped away, out of his grasp. “Take me to dinner, Duncan Shepherd. I’m fucking starving.” She smiled again, like honey, he thought, and he smiled back at her (he watched her face blush towards him at his smile and his heart clenched again), and then he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her through the door, his fingers pressing into her, the warmth of hand spreading into him like the glow of home after a long, cold walk in the dark.

-----

Duncan grasped Mackenzie’s little hand as she slid into the backseat of the BMW, her eyes meeting Samuel’s through his rearview mirror as they always did Duncan’s. Duncan could see the smile in Samuel’s eyes; he was delighted. Duncan slid in beside her and pulled the door shut, anxious to be near her; Kenzie looked so unbelievably beautiful, he felt dazed, blinded, disoriented once again, wistful for them to be alone together.

“Samuel--this is Mackenzie Stone.”

Duncan watched the clouded patina that immediately came into Samuel’s usually clear brown eyes. “Stone. You wouldn’t be Madeline Stone’s daughter now, would you?”

Kenzie put her chin up, meeting Samuel’s gaze through the mirror, bringing her hands together in her lap over her little purse (it was different than the clutch she’d had at the party; this one had a strap to go over her shoulder, and a gold buckle shaped like a crescent moon, this one facing in a waxing direction). Duncan felt a sort of fierce pride wash over him as he gazed at her lovely, shadowed face, the blush of her cheek and the incline of her neck. She’s brave; she’s honest. She’s so easy to fall in love with.

“I am.”

Samuel didn’t miss a beat, letting his concern slide away. Duncan silently thanked him. “Delighted to finally meet you, Miss Stone. Duncan has said only the best of you.”

“He doesn’t know me that well yet,” she laughed a little, glancing at Duncan, and he was full suddenly to the brim with the desire to hold her, kiss her again, melt into her. Samuel chuckled with her, his very white teeth flashing, his eyes dancing behind his square glasses. He liked her very much; Duncan could tell. How could you not, Duncan thought. Look at her.

“I can’t wait to know you more,” he said to her, Samuel’s watchful eye be damned. He reached to her lap and grasped her hand, looking at her carefully. He wanted her to see how sincerely he meant what he was saying. “I want to know you more than anything.” Kenzie looked at him, her hazel eyes taking on that strange dark hue again, and then she looked down at his hands, as if she felt overwhelmed by his gaze. Samuel’s attention seemed to strategically slide away from them; Duncan didn’t even need to ask him, the partition between the front and back seats rolled up languidly, almost absent-mindedly, and the car moved forward. By the time it arrived in front of Le Diplomate, Duncan and Kenzie were breathless, eyes glittering, breath hitching from the wild locking of their mouths, and Duncan’s lips were smeared with her dark lipstick. She put her delicate thumb up to his mouth as the car stopped, to wipe it away; Duncan captured the finger in his mouth, and sucked at it for a moment, lost in the ecstasy of her touch, the taste of her.

“Duncan,” she whispered, the longing in her voice inconcealable. “My lipstick is all over you.”

“Good. I want it there.”

She smiled at him, and he couldn’t hold back the moan; “Kenzie, baby,” he tried to kiss her again, his mouth hovering over hers, but she pulled away, the smile turning mischievous, and he knew she was watching the yearning in his gaze and his body with satisfaction; she quickly wiped the stain from his mouth before he could bite her finger again, and pulled her hand away.

“Later,” she said, their eyes meeting, and the core of his body tingled, as if touched by a live wire. “Later, I belong to you.” A chill coursed down his spine. He wanted to press his mouth between her legs and make her scream again. He wanted to press his face into the hollow of her neck, buried inside her. But patience was a virtue. He owed her his patience.

The partition went down, languidly; “Samuel, I’ll text you when we need the car. Thank you,” Duncan said. Samuel replied with the smile still dancing on his features, his bright eyes on Mackenzie. “Certainly, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Thank you, Samuel,” Kenzie said shyly, smiling back at him sweetly.

“It is truly a pleasure, Miss Stone,” Samuel replied, and she grinned.

Duncan helped her from the backseat, his large hand grasping her small fingers with fervent attention. “I like him very much,” she said to him quietly, smoothing her dress nervously; his other hand came around and felt at her waist, moving up and down for a moment, lost in the soft feeling of her, steadying her. “He likes you too,” he replied, bringing his face close to her again, breathing in her intoxicating scent. “Samuel’s worked for my family since before I was born, and I trust him with my life. I know when he likes or dislikes someone right away. He thought you were lovely. And you are. You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met.”

He couldn’t stop himself; the words tumbled out of him, fervently.

“God, Duncan,” she said, her hair shimmering in the lamps outside the entrance, her breath sweet against his face, her eyes glowing, hypnotizing him in their ethereal embrace. “How are you so wonderful?”

“Kenzie, it’s for you. It’s all for you. Anything you want, I want to give it to you.”

She laughed. “Right now, I want dinner. And a glass of wine. That would be nice.”

“So much dinner and so many glasses of wine are in store for you, Madame.” He pulled away, grasping her little hand tightly, the eyes of DC society be damned for now. He’d reserved a private room, but he didn’t care who saw them on their way to it (and he noticed several unfamiliar but attentive eyes follow them through the dining hall--clearly they recognized him); he felt an encroaching abandon, as though nothing and no one could tear him away from her now; let everyone see her, let everyone see them together, and he would do whatever it took to protect her, to sway his immovable mother to good graces when the time came. But first, this evening. First, Kenzie. Angel.

He saw Kenzie’s hesitant face as the waiter helped her into her seat; she saw the exhaustive wine menu and an overwhelmed look came into her eyes at its massive length.

“May I order the wine?” He asked her, his eyes on her, gentle.

“Yes, please.” He wanted to soothe the worry from her; he wanted her to feel comfortable to let her guard down, to be herself with him. Wine menus could get fucked if they made her doubt herself. Anything and anyone could get fucked, as far as he was concerned, if they looked at her the wrong way.

“Château Trotte Vieille Bordeaux, please,” he murmured to the waiter after he perused its exhaustive length for a short minute; he’d looked over this particular menu many times before. He watched Mackenzie’s wide, beautiful eyes glance down at the menu, searching for the wine he’d chosen; they widened further and he knew she’d noticed the price tag. The waiter (a tall young man with a thin face, a long nose and close-cropped hair) nodded, eyeing Mackenzie very briefly with badly-veiled interest; Duncan could see that the waiter recognized him as well, and was clearly curious about the beauty sitting with him in a private room. A less observant person would have perhaps missed the look, but Duncan was almost preternatural in his ability to read others; a useful talent he’d learned from watching his mother and listening to her through years of gains on political stages. He wondered how much a future reporter would pay the man to give them information about Duncan Shepherd’s date at Le Diplomate on a recent Sunday in May, the details of Mackenzie’s appearance, the coy Instagram shots that could potentially materialize of them later. He could see the headlines on the gossip websites now. Duncan Shepherd Spotted Arriving and Leaving with Political Enemy’s Daughter From Intimate Dinner At Posh French Restaurant.

I don’t care, he thought, staring into Kenzie’s eyes, which met his with a mixture of hesitance and open avidity, and that crushing feeling around his heart recurred. He reached out and took her hand. I just don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this woman mine.

“$245. I saw that. Oh my god,” Kenzie breathed, holding his fingers tightly. “That’s the money I spend on groceries in a month.” Nervousness had seeped into her eyes as she stared at him, her mouth open in a kind of stunned realization.

“Kenzie. It’s nothing. My mother spends that much every week on cold-pressed juice.”

“Duncan.”

“You’ll love it. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect with the duck a l’orange, which is, by the way, better here than the duck I’ve had in Paris.”

“Duncan.”

“Kenzie.”

“I feel strange.”

She was biting her lip, and her eyes looked frightened. They pierced his heart; he ached to soothe her again, ached to calm her.

“Mackenzie, listen to me. Please don’t. This is my life. I understand that it may be strange to you, but I will do whatever I can to make you feel more comfortable, more at ease. Anything. Don’t be afraid, Kenzie. I want you here. I want you to be here with me right now, and no one else. Mackenzie Stone, I don’t care about anything else right now except being here with you.”

He watched her face, her eyes growing shiny with the tears hiding behind them, and her little mouth trembled ever-so-slightly, a strange smile falling over her features. She sniffed a little, and a single tear fell from her eye, dropping down onto the immaculate white tablecloth, spreading into a damp orb. He grasped her hand desperately, his thumb rubbing against her wrist. “Baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

She breathed, silently, her overwhelmed expression clinging to the certainty in his blue eyes; he watched her throat and the rise of her collarbones, wanting to press his lips against her there; he watched the whiteness of the skin between the plunging neckline of her extraordinarily beautiful dress. And then her expression seemed to clear from what she saw in his face; she nodded a little, the smile trembling still but steadying for him. “Okay, baby,” she whispered. And he squeezed her hand, his smile widening to her, nodding back.

----

The duck tasted even more wonderful tonight; it was simultaneously the best meal he’d ever had and the one he felt he’d remember the least, somehow; he could only think of and focus on her eyes and her hair and her throat and her gold headband adorned with moons and the tiny movements of her hands and fingers as she ate her bread or stabbed a forkful of spinach or a morsel of perfectly roasted duck or drank the (absolutely exquisite) vintage Bordeaux from her wine glass, catching the dim, romantic evening candlelight from their table in its reflection. He somehow felt he’d never seen another person so clearly and entirely before this night; she was a revelation, so real and so beautiful and her eyes were full of emotion and so open to him, it absolutely took his breath away. He watched her ease into the meal and into his words as they talked; she told him about her father, far away in LaLa land, writing about film, forgetting to send her birthday cards, about her best friend Claire (“shares her name with the president, oddly enough”), and the love she shared with her mother. And there we can agree, he’d said, and told her about his mother, too. “I know how she can seem,” he said, looking away, referring to Annette’s sharp television interviews and her well-chronicled contentions with the press, “but I love her deeply, and she loves me. That’s an unshakeable truth, and it gives me comfort in life.” Kenzie had nodded, understanding. “I feel the same way about my mother,” she had agreed. “She’s there for me when no one else is. She’s given me so much advice that has helped me survive; she’s been a guiding light to me. I admire her strength and fearlessness so much.” Throughout the meal and as they talked, they continued to reach for each other’s hands every now and then; Duncan pressing his thumb gently into circles in her palm, his hands trailing down the expanse of her slender fingers. She’d grasp his fingers one by one, caressing the shape of his knuckles, making him shiver. At one point as he gazed at her left hand in his between staring into her eyes (god, her eyes, I love them so much, like stars), he wondered what it would look like with a ring from him adorning it. He blushed at the imagining; and then he wondered, quietly, what kind of ring she would love. A moonstone, he thought immediately, somehow sure right away, as though she’d told him herself. A moonstone, because she’s like the face of the moon to me, penetrating my spirit, exquisite and divine. He kept the thought to himself, tucking it away to look at later, as she told him about her work as a journalist, how much it made her hope for and want to fight for a kinder, better world. His eyes clouded with her sincerity; he was shaken with a moment of doubt regarding the work he did for his mother, and he knew it was dark work, cloudy work, and not for the first time, he felt deeply conflicted, perhaps now more than he ever had, especially hearing her sincerity. “I feel as though I can’t say no to her, my mother is the only person who has always been there for me,” he murmured. The sympathy shone out from Mackenzie’s eyes, and he knew she did not judge him harshly; knew she understood his confusion.

“I’ve seen and felt how wonderful you are,” she said. “I feel it now. We can always work to be better, be kinder, be gentler. I think it’s something you do every day, little by little, work at like a sculptor chipping away at a stone. Eventually it becomes something extraordinary. But that’s from hundreds of days of tiny work. For me, working on a story is like that. A tiny chipping away to find the essence of truth in something. I think that’s what life is, really. Hundreds and hundreds of days of little work.”

“I want to try to do that with you, Kenzie. Work together like that, a little bit at a time, for hundreds of days.”

Her eyes settled into his. He watched her breathe out, slowly, setting her fork down, the velvet choker at her throat, its moon charm catching the light.

He said it before he lost his nerve. “Mackenzie. Would you...be with me? Would you be mine?”

“Duncan. Oh, my god. I…” Mackenzie trailed off, staring at him. Her shock seemed to extend, and she was quiet. Her eyes had taken on that greenish hue that startled him deeply again. Her soul, deep in thought, full of tangled emotion.

He bit his lip, his eyes darkening, and he looked down for a moment, grasped his wine glass, drank deeply. He set it down, slowly, carefully.

“I know...this all seems so sudden, so fast. But I feel something for you that I’ve never felt for anyone. I meant everything I said to you today. You’ve brought an ache into my heart. I want you. Not just in my bed. I want you in my life. I want you, Kenzie. All of you.”

The moment hovered, quieted. They regarded each other. He felt her eyes rove over him as soft, pulsing music played in the background of the room; down from his dark hair, thrown back, to his eyes, meeting hers with hope and desire, his lips (which would kiss you every day, kiss you always, Kenzie), the fine sheen of ever-present stubble on his cheeks, the bob of his throat, the high collar of his dark shirt, the fall of his velvet blazer over his tall frame, down his arm and to his wrists, his silver Cartier watch shining against the candlelight, down his long hands, one resting against his thigh, the other hovering an inch away from hers on the table, index finger stretched. Light seemed to cascade behind her head, and he was reminded of the way she’d looked last night, like there was a halo around her head, golden and iridescent. It was as if he could see the outline of her soul, and it shook him to the core, again, trembling. He was bare under her gaze; he felt like she was looking into the essence of him, weighing him, deciding his fate. He waited. He had decided what he wanted, and had spoken it to her, and so at least he had had the courage to be honest. At least, he said to himself, I was brave in the sight of her wonder.

She lifted her head a little, and the light danced off her headband adorned with moons. She looked like a queen to him in that moment; like a Waterhouse priestess, throwing gold dust and magick into the night, and he was struck by her lovely, coiled energy, her power over him. She smiled at him, and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. It was blinding, overwhelming, filling him with her brightness, the beauty that shined out of her spirit.

“Yes,” she said, her voice steady, smooth, like honey. “Yes, I will, Duncan. Yes.”

He grinned, grabbed onto her hand, leaned toward her, his joy immediate.

“On one condition.”

He stopped. “Anything, Mackenzie. Anything.”

“Be mine, too, Duncan Shepherd. Will you be mine?” A little laugh flitted through her words. He could see the joy in her eyes, and it moved him deeply.

He breathed a sigh of relief; it felt like a weight was lifting off his heart, like wings were beating inside his ribcage.

“Kenzie, yes. Yes, a hundred times, yes. I’m yours.”

-----

They were anxious to be alone together, then; Duncan ached for her, and she whispered “let’s go”, draining her wine glass, the flash of her white throat setting his nerves on edge; Duncan had hurriedly passed his Black AmEx to the waiter, who brought it back to him with a swiftness that seemed almost supernatural. The evening seemed to be pushing them toward their private rendezvous; Duncan no longer wanted anyone else to be near them. He wanted her to himself, this divine goddess who had said she would be his; he still couldn’t grasp that she had accepted him, still felt terrified she’d disappear. He wondered if that feeling would ever fade, or if he’d always feel that fear, that ache for her, already dreading the moment she would leave.

Duncan had texted Samuel and as they practically ran from the entrance of the brightly-lit facade of the buzzing brasserie, their hands clasped together tightly, not noticing the eyes of some of the diners following them this time, not caring, he was struck with relief to see the BMW quietly humming on the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the lamps along the sidewalk. He opened the door for Mackenzie, catching her in his arms for a moment, pressing his lips into the soft space between her ear and her jaw, achingly. She leaned into him, her little body folding into his arms, sucking the air from his lungs, intoxicating. Angel baby. His own. She flitted away from him, disappearing into the backseat, and he followed her eagerly; Then I must be thy lady; but I know / When thou hast stolen away from a fairy land...the line hovered in his subconscious. She was like Titania, queen of the fae, scattering gold, her laugh making flowers burst into bloom, and as he pressed into her in the backseat, the flowers bloomed in his mind and his senses as he kissed her and her little mouth opened against him, her hair tangled in his fingers.

-----

When they’d finally arrived back at his penthouse, she hushed him when he tried to press into her again, impatient for her, his arms around her back, under her shoulder blades, trying to be delicate, afraid he might break her apart with his urgency. “I want a little bit more wine, baby, get me some?” The way she said baby, into his mouth, caused heat to pool in the bottom of his stomach. “Kenzie, baby...” he groaned into her softly, he couldn’t stop. Last night felt like it had happened a hundred days ago--he was starving for her again. He shook his head a little, dizzy, loathe to let go of her.

She grabbed the sides of his velvet jacket with her little fingers; “get it for me baby, I want it,” and he loved the pout on her lips, loved it like he loved her eyelashes, her glowing cheeks, her sweet smell, her insistence. “Kiss me first,” he begged, and he knew he was begging, and he didn’t care, he was lost in her. She pressed her open mouth into his bottom lip, sucking it carefully, slowly, and he pressed his hands into her breasts, trying to hold back the rough desire he felt, the skin between held in her plunging neckline, feeling her hot skin there. “There,” she breathed, releasing him. “Now, baby, give me what I want.”

“Mhmm,” he murmured, his head swimming, letting go of her, aching. He looked back as he moved through his vast living room with its lush carpet and low leather couch, trailing his finger absently along its back, watching her watch him (with eyes ringed in gold) move into his study, where he kept an opulently stacked wine rack beside the standing bar. He pulled a Chablis Grand Cru from the middle rack of the temperature-controlled glass case (a bottle worth an absurd amount of money--at least a grand--but his head swam and he couldn’t care at all, money meant nothing to him right now next to her) and as he turned, he saw that she had followed him, boots cast aside somewhere, on soft, bare feet, into his study behind him, hair shimmering, the gold of her glimmering. She pouted. “I wanted to scare you,” she whispered, eyes glowing.

“You look like an angel,” he replied, the bottle dangling carelessly from his fingers. She smiled, turning, looking at him over her shoulder, the dress falling in the light, beautiful beyond words to him. She turned her face towards the wall that faced his desk (her hair in waves of gold); and she gasped, her eyes falling over the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus. She paused for a moment, staring, and then took two hesitant, soft steps toward it, clearly in awe. He came up behind her, setting the bottle to the side of his polished mahogany desk, folding his arms around her waist, nuzzling his mouth into her neck.

“Is this real?” she whispered, leaning into him.

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing under her ear, kissing the incline of her neck falling into her shoulders. “It’s real. It’s called The Youth of Bacchus. My mother gave it to me when I was 18.”

“God. Duncan. It’s so beautiful. It’s beautiful beyond words.”

“No,” he whispered into her ear, kissing it, capturing the lobe in his lips, “you are, Kenzie, you are, only you…”

He turned her face to him, kissing her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, her scent crashing into him, and his arms turned her so he could grasp her hips, and he lifted her, light as air, onto the edge of his desk, her little elegant feet suspended several feet in the air, dangling over its edge. She pressed her hands back onto its smooth surface, and he leaned into her, tasting her, hands running over her in ardent waves, whispering into her, “angel, beloved, baby” and he moved his head down, pushing up the velvet folds of her flowing dress, cut to her body like it was part of her, finding her panties (wet against her for him again, god, he loved it so much), these ones made of soft lace, and his hands pulled them off her, hurried, impatient, and he buried his mouth on her clit, sucking with urgency, and she threw her head back, “oh my god, Duncan, fuck, babyyy,” and he saw her eyes floating back and forth between him and the gigantic painting against the wall of his study, caught up in its beauty, caught up in him, and her eyes clouded with green and gold, as he worked his mouth against her, her hand finding the back of his head, holding him flush to her sweetness, and as she came, crying out with a sound that threatened to overwhelm him in the crashing wave of his desire, he saw a tear fall from her eyes, catching the low, soft light, and he thought about god again, thought that maybe there was something in the universe that had brought her to him, into his arms, and he was full of joy.

----

He led her into the bathroom, the joy still dancing in his heart, inside his blue eyes. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said, and she giggled, clutching his hand, feeling carefully along the doorway with the other one, bare feet padding onto the cold, seamless stone tiles. She stopped; he pressed the fingers of his right hand, hot with his want, along the white skin between her breasts where the dress fell down into the void of her, against her neck, thumb trailing over her bottom lip.

“Okay, baby, open them.”

She opened her eyes wide and gasped again; all along the edges of his claw-foot tub there were roses, so many roses, dozens and dozens of roses, their stems stripped of their thorns and woven together in a tapestry, all the deep carmine red of her lips last night when she’d kissed him under the night sky for the first time; handfuls of petals floated over the surface of the water, steaming into the air, and the bath itself was surrounded by white pillar candles, illuminating the otherwise-dark bathroom with a soft, melting glow. He watched her delighted face with relief; “do you like it?” he asked, unable to keep the hopeful, wistful edge from his voice.

“Oh, Duncan, I love it. I love it so much. It’s wondrous. It’s divine.”

You are, you are, you are, he thought, his mind repeating it over and over, the only prayer he ever wanted to recite. Kenzie, Kenzie, Kenzie.

He watched her, aching, in the candlelight. She gazed at him, her face aglow. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Undress me.”

He leaned into her, desperately; his hands found the zipper at her back, pulling it down with soft urgency as she ran her fingers along his neck and his chest and against the rise of his crotch, pressing carefully and insistently. He moaned, shivering, pushing the heaven-soft sleeves down her arms, feeling her skin with his fingers, relishing the way her breasts, nipples hard, emerged from the cupped embrace of her plunging bodice, his mouth on her neck again. Her dress fell to the ground in a soft heap; she stood before him and he thought of another Bouguereau painting, its beauty flashing in his mind yet paling to her before him in the flesh, one called Evening Mood, the white-skinned nymph of twilight hovering over soft waves, her head softly turned in ecstasy, a crescent moon hanging behind her bowing head.

“You look like the moon,” he said, wonderingly, as her hands pulled at his jacket and pushed it away and her demanding fingers undid his shirt and unbuckled his belt, pulling the zipper of his pants down, pulling out his hard, aching length, her mouth open, her face looking up to him, her eyes impatient, her moon headband and black choker, hugging her neck like a lover (him, her lover) the only things she now wore. He loved that she was wearing her adorning jewelry again, like last night, as they were about to fuck; he loved the artistry of her, unpretentious, unstudied, gold and soft and starry and his, his own, for she’d accepted him, and she was his now, and he was hers, and that was all he knew and all he wanted to know. Her hands drifted over the length of his cock, languid but concentrated, and he pulled away from her touch, leading her to the steaming bathtub, the roses making way for them as he pulled her down into it with him, pulling her on top of him again, loving the feeling of her body hovering above him that way. She reached down into the hot, almost scalding water, its heat causing goosebumps to rise on both of them; gripped the length of his cock again, fingers grazing his sensitive head, her face hovering over his, her mouth almost kissing his, but not quite, her breath cascading into him and she moaned as she stroked him and he moaned into her in return, lost in her, his impossibly blue eyes falling into the night of her, “Mackenzie, baby, that feels so fucking good, you’re as beautiful as an angel, oh god, Kenzie, I love you--”, and the roses clung to the sides of her white skin, the steam that rose off the water enshrining her, and her mouth finally clashed into his, stifling his ardent admission, and he thought again that he could die and be content in the death, content because his last moments had belonged to her.

“Come for me this time, baby love, come for me, okay?” She murmured these sweet words into him, and he nodded, his brow furrowed, completely lost in her touch and her voice; she stopped the firm stroke of her hand around his hardness, and moving her hips, eased down onto him until he was buried in her, gasping, and she moved again, grinding down on him, causing him to stutter “fu-fu-uu-ckk” into her neck, against the softness of her chin, into her skin, and she said “I love you too, I’m yours baby, all yours, come for me,” and he couldn’t stop it, his release was so deep and so consuming that his moan bled into a wild cry that he tried to stifle between the space of her breasts where her dress had plunged, showing her heart to him under the shadow of her delicate bones, and he couldn’t believe that he could have ever felt so good, clutching her little body against him, her soul held in his hands this way. She was his, she had said yes, she was his, this angel, an angel, she loved him and heaven had fallen to earth, and he was holding it, her, she was heaven, heaven in his hands, heaven on his lips, heaven, heaven, heaven...

#millory #body and soul #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd au #millory au #cody fern #billie lourd #collie #cody x billie #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #duncan shepherd x mallory #ahs apocalypse #house of cards #collie au #michael x mallory #my fic #body and soul millory au

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glovedwondervishous · 6 years ago

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Phe Leaves Caldwell

Phe:

~I had finished working in the clinic, so I made my way back to my room. I began striping down with the sound of my door clicking shut. I let out a rather loud sigh and made my way to the shower. The warm spray ran down my face, and I just stood there for what seemed like hours. Many things ran through my mind. They ranged from whisperings of the newest demons on the streets to the lack of safe houses for the race that was dying out. My race. I was one of the seasoned Chosens; I had been around for quite some time now. Having been mated in the past, I wasn't supposed even to feed the fighting males much less the Brotherhood. My blood hadn't changed, but I was seen as tainted. Tears started mixing with the water of my shower. I spoke to myself in a quiet voice, "I am done. I will no longer be a food source." That is how the last Brother made me feel. He was selfish and unrelenting. It is wrong to feel that way of them but he by far was the worst one….

There was a message from Fritz letting me know he would send dinner to my room when I was ready. I was exhausted and mentally drained. I didn't want to disappoint Fritz, so I played around with the tray and took a few bites. Pushing the food away, I got the bright Idea to leave this town — nothing to keep me here. With the absence of the Scribe Virgin now would be the right time to do so. I would need help, though. I had to plan this out if I wanted it to go without a hitch. Vishous was the only one I knew that could help me and possibly make a way of my safe travels. I just had to convince him.~ @GlovedWonder

Sat at the four computers or as everyone else called them my four 'toys' a glass of Grey Goose in my gloved hand, I was making sure everything was well at the places I had wired to the network. Everything was in order, I put the glass to my lips when my phone began to ring. Cursing I put the glass down and picked up my phone. ID showed it was Phe calling, now that peaked my curiosity, I wondered what she wanted.

Answering the call to her "Yeah Phe what can I do for you?" She explained that she wanted to leave to Caldwell "Does Phury know about this?" There was silence "Thought not. Look if I were to help you with new ID and a social security number there's one thing I will have to do and that is put a GPS chip in your phone" She began to sound confused as she kept saying she had a phone "I don't mean the one you're using now. I'd give you a new phone if you truly want to do this. And for why for the GPS? Phury will kick my ass if he knew I'd let one of the chosen out into the big bad world without any of us knowing where you are"

I had to admit Phe had put up a resistance in having a new phone with a GPS chip in it but like I'd explained to her it's if we ever need to get her location in a second. She finally agreed to this. After I ended the call I rolled up a cigarette and lit it with my gold lighter, exhaling the smoke I began to work on the new ID for Phe, for both the human and vampire world.

Phe:

~I settled with the thought of having all the new documents. But a unique and different ID? No one would know me where I had planned on going. We would just see how this meeting went. After all a GPS, not like they wouldn’t be keeping tabs. Besides, I could always purchase another phone when I got to where I was going. I spent enough time in the library, and read a lot and looked at the world one page at a time. Florida was the place for me. Miami to be exact, pictures showed such a vibrate nightlife. I surely could pick up a job in no time. I would have to secure a place to live beforehand. The smiled that was plastered upon my face turned to worry as I thought about Qhuinn. How was he going to take this? I would be sure and see him before I left. Memories of our friendship flooded my thoughts, and my smile reappeared and happy tears fell over my cheeks. He would be the one person that I would miss. I was ready to leave this place as soon as possible, so with that, I made arrangements to have my things all packed up. All I needed was the funds Vishous would set up, and I could secure a place to stay. With my hair piled on top of my head, I grabbed the phone I had and headed down the hall that that would take me underground and connect me to the mansion. I wanted to be gone before the end of the week….before I would change my mind.~ @GlovedWonder

Finishing the passport for Phe, the final touches were uncanny. I was impressed with my handy work when there was a knock on the door from the tunnels. Unlocking and opening the door with my mind, I didn't need to turn round to know who was there "Hello Phe, everything has been done" I opened a draw at the computer desk and took out a brand new phone. Taking the back off I inserted a GPS chip into it, putting the back back on I held it up "Here's the phone I promised you and don't think about buying a burner phone. I heard your thoughts from earlier. Tell me what's got you wanting to leave the safety of the mansion and Caldwell?" I didn't turn around and I didn't go to Phe. If she wanted the documents and the phone she will have to come to me. I could wait all night and all day till she came closer, if she was that desperate for these then she would have to retrieve them. "You better hurry up before you change your mind, yeah I did hear that too. In fact I don't think there's anything I didn't hear, you practically screamed your thoughts out"

Phe:

~I listened as V went on his speech. I would have to remember to keep my thoughts silent. He held up the phone and documents I needed. But in true Brotherhood fashion, he wasn't going to meet me halfway. If I wanted them, I would have to approach him. Shrugging, I proceeded to walk farther into the room until I was right in front of him. Of course, I had to crank my neck up to look him in the eye. Not giving it a thought I took the items he held and turned on my heel walking a few steps away to provide adequate space between us. I answered his question the only way I knew how to. "I am tired of being the Brotherhoods buffet. It is that simple." I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I looked through the documents. Happy with what I have seen, I did the Chosen bend at the waist and said, "Thank You. I appreciate your help." I was ready to bolt and never look at the walls of the mansion or anything in Caldwell again. Then I realized, the credit card wasn't in the packet he handed me. I cursed under my breath and turned to face him again.~ @GlovedWonder

A smirk crept across my face once Phe had taken the documents and the phone. Once she was across the room realizing there was no credit card "Looking for this?" I held up the credit card, a black Amex credit card "You want it you come and get it. As for you not wanting to be buffet have I ever asked for your vein?" Raising my brow while I waited for her to come back across the pit. She came gingerly like a prey coming closer to a predator, with a shaking hand she took the credit card from my fingers, grabbing Phe's wrist "You never answered my question Phe" I waited for her to reply, I looked at her with concern "If you find yourself in trouble in the big wide world all you have to do is call and we be there for you. Like I said I'm not doing this for you I'm doing this for Phury" I let go of Phe's wrist and she couldn't wait to get enough space between us. "What has got you so scared of males or is it just me?" I gave her a dark smirk, her thoughts spinning around her head about Florida, especially Miami. "You will need blackout curtains if you want to go there, to much sun for my kind of liking, feel me?"

Phe:

~ My hand on the door handle I turned my head and spoke to Vishous, “blackout curtains and call if I need help. Got it.” I had the door open and one foot out. I stopped and turned one last time. “Thanks, even though you didn’t do it for me.” With that, I made my way through the underground tunnels. I came up under the staircase and to the kitchen where I heard Fritz hard at work cooking up something. “Fritz,” I said in a very soft voice, “are all the arrangements taken care of?” He turned to me with a bag of food, handing it to me. I smiled at his saddened eyes. I stepped in and gave him a hug. It took about 20 seconds before he just hugged me back. “Thank you for everything,” I kissed him on the cheek, and he said. “Miss Pheona, everything you need and your plane tickets are on your bed. I will drive you to the airport at sundown to catch the redeye flight to Miami.” My heart was pounding so hard. I was excited and yet nervous all in the same. This was going to be a great adventure. But first I had one more phone call, and that was to my best friend. @DefectedTrainee. ~ @GlovedWonder

Walking out of the pit after the conversation I had with Phury. Walking up the tunnels till I came to the door that lead into the main mansion. Punching in the code the door opened and I stepped through it, emerging from beneath the grand staircase. Phe was coming out from the kitchen, I stepped out of from the shadows "I've just had an interesting conversation with Phury. He didn't know you was leaving Phe, but he insists that you either call him or text him every day. One missed call and he and the Brotherhood will come look for you so you better keep that phone on you at all times, feel me?" That was the wrong thing to say and I could've kicked myself for saying it. Bringing my gloved hand up I rub the back of my neck. "That's all I've got to say. Stay safe Phe" With that I disappear back through the door under the grand staircase.

Phe:

I stopped in my tracks with my bag of food when I saw V standing there. I heard him out. I had no intentions of ever saying anything to the Primale. I had been living my own life for quite some time and only helped out when a crisis would hit. The only loose end I had to take care of was with my best friend. They were with me through thick and thin. I had lost all faith with most of the Brotherhood the Sv and even the other Chosens. I was grateful that this Brother helped me out. But it was time to make my own way now, and it doesn't involve Caldwell or the Black Dagger Brotherhood.

#PheLeavesCaldwell

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steamishot · 3 years ago

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spring cleaning

today is cesar chavez day and the start of a three day weekend for me. G and S are coming to visit next week so i thought it’d be a good time to clean up my apartment. we accumulated a lot of junk that i didn’t even know of lol. i spent the day throwing crap out, rearranging our limited storage areas, and wiping down surfaces. it feels a bit better in here, i hid a lot of the crap away!

matt and i had discussed moving closer to his new workplace in the fall, but we might just choose to stay here. we locked in this price at the covid rate and now the going rate is $1k more. the pros: doorman/safety, dishwasher, in unit washer dryer, newish building and appliances, location (close to a lot of subways and easy access to JFK), in building gym, cost/rent control, penthouse lounge, easy access to trash chute, great maintenance, secured packages. the cons: small space, north facing windows, studio/no separation. the pros heavily outweighs the cons, and it reminds me to work with what we have. matt may also become a PRN employee at his current hospital to work extra shifts, so it would be convenient to live here.

i will look into buying a nice quality couch (third time replacing it), and mounting the TV on to the wall to possibly save space. i’d also like to get rid of the furniture we don’t necessarily need and continually find ways to make the apartment feel bigger, but it’ll take some thinking.

one thing i feel more adult-ish about is my credit card game. matt’s obsession with credit card churning and deal hacking has rolled over to me. this past year, i opened up an amex plat and venture capital one card. these two cards give me quite some benefits, like priority pass, clear, global entry, etc. i’m also now gold elite status for mariott even though i’ve never stayed at one before, due to my credit card. i helped G & S book a room at the sheraton next to my apartment and i’m excited to use my gold elite status to ask for a free room upgrade and late check out lol.

the last time matt and i flew to la and back was the first time i utilized my global entry perk. clear helps me cut the line and global entry allows me not to take my shoes off. i felt like a boss because the whole TSA experience has improved drastically with these benefits. i specifically remember the time we flew back, it took us like less than 5 minutes to get through TSA. and at the time, i felt a little proud of myself. like, this is what 30 is lol.

BS update: i passed my taxation class. the two subsequent classes were very easy and i passed those too. now i’m at a 78% completion rate of the degree and have 9 remaining classes with include three intermediate accounting and one auditing classes... so wishing myself luck.

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 11

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - references to verbal abuse and a neglectful mother.

Author’s note: After an accidental one month hiatus, I’m back! I’m nervous about posting this because I haven’t updated December Magic since I saw WW84. As you may have noticed, I have rebranded this fic and the name is now called ‘Sugar and Spice’! There is a slight time jump in this chapter, and it’s just a short one as I ween back into it, but I realised I was struggling so much continuing this fic after seeing WW84 because it just didn’t feel like the Max Lord we ended up with was anything like the Max Lord in this fic. This chapter is my attempt to make amends and draw a link between Sugar and Spice and WW84.

While I’m here I want to give a shout out to my new on-going Max Lord series ‘I Believe In Love’, which you can read here. I Believe In Love is like my baby and I am so so proud of it thus far. Anyways, enjoy chapter 11 of December Magic!

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER ELEVEN - NEXT

He hadn’t come home for Christmas. He hadn’t come home for two months. It was fine at first. He called you as soon as he reached London, just like he promised. He expressed to you how busy he was with work commitments and how difficult it was for him to cope with the timezones. The distance between the UK and USA was devastating. Your hour long phone calls gradually became more spread out and only lasted a few minutes, and honestly? It broke your heart. There you were; living in Lord Manor, and Maxwell had kept his word: “you want for nothing”. You had everything. His weighty black AMEX card, a house staff such as a butler and a chef and your own personal driver to take you wherever you wished to go. Any material possessions you wished for… they were yours. You weren’t even working for the privilege or the money. Max was far away and yet, he made sure you still had a home and a life, and he made sure that you were safe.

But there was still an extreme void in your heart. You were missing Maxwell. You’d try calling him but there was always a dead line. Not even Raquel would answer. You felt like you were drifting apart and your whole body ached with dread as you wondered if Max had forgotten about you. You’d kept in contact with Maxwell’s three assistants at Black Gold and they had no information on the work commitments that Max was supposedly seeing too. The romance you had shared during December may have been a whirlwind, but you knew him better than any other person on the planet and you felt like he was deliberately avoiding you.

There was something not right.

***

“Kitty!” Maxwell cried, his cheeks burning red and his eyes flicking with bewilderment as the child was thrust into his arms. A ghost from his past. Kitty was an ex lover of Maxwell’s, and honestly one of many. He hadn’t thought about her in years.

“I’ve brought him up for the past six years, he’s your problem now!” Kitty spat, an evil smirk crossing her lips. “I see you on the television with all your fame and fortune, if you don’t want him then the least you can do is pay a nanny to watch him. I have nothing Max. A shitty little apartment in the east of London. I’m working for a modelling internship but it’s hard to find luck when I’ve got a six year old kid dragging my heels behind.”

“Dragging your heels?” Maxwell repeated, furiosity burning his lungs. “He’s your son for Christ sake! How can you say that? Right in front of him!”

Maxwell turned back to the child who was standing as still as ever in the centre of the hotel room, nervously looking at his feet. Everytime Kitty raised her voice, the boy winced, and it crushed Max. This situation was all too familiar to him.

“He’s your son too!” Kitty glared, her face just as cold as her heart. “I want nothing to do with him. Goodbye.” Kitty said, her voice venomous, before leaving the hotel room and slamming the door behind her.

Maxwell’s knees felt weak and wobbly and he stumbled to his bed, sinking down with an exasperated sigh. Max’s hands cradled his own face and he blinked away unshed tears before sitting back up and looking at the six year old boy. The boy was silent, and his dark eyes matched the sadness of his father’s. How could this have happened?

Maxwell Lord had a son.

Max didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say? He remembered doing work in London back in 1977; it was the start of his big break, and his bachelor persona hadn’t changed much since then. When Kitty found out Maxwell was back in London, she used it as her one final chance to track him down. Turns out, a big name CEO such as Max Lord was hard to get a hold of, especially when he lived on the other side of the world. Kitty never had pure intentions. Of course the pregnancy was unplanned and the sad reality was, Alistair was unwanted by his mother. Kitty was an aspiring model, fueled by ambition and goal, much like Maxwell. She didn’t have a single maternal instinct in her. Only there was a significant difference between Alistair’s parents. Whilst Kitty cared so little about her son, Maxwell knew that from this day forward, Alistair would be his top priority. He would never let his job intervene with his son. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes his own parents did.

Maxwell never thought about children, or considered bringing any into the world. He told himself he’d never want to be a father. He had such a terrible upbringing himself and his mother was wicked, he’d be too afraid. He’d never want to hurt or disappoint a potential child of his the way his own parents had hurt and disappointed him. But when he looked into his son’s eyes he felt nothing but determination. He’d been an absent father and that was not okay. Max just wished he’d known about his son before now. But it’s not like he could turn back time. Max knew he had to make amends and he knew he had to do it now.

Maxwell opened his arms and held Alistair’s hands, bringing him close and holding him tight against his chest. “My son,” he whispered, trying to refrain from crying. “I love you so much. I know you don’t know me, but you will, and I will spend the rest of my life making you proud. You are my everything.”

“You saved me daddy,” Alistair whimpered, tears spilling and dampening his father’s pinstripe shirt. “Thank you.”

***

You waited every day for Maxwell to return, but you never expected him. You were laying on the living room sofa, a blanket wrapped around you, half asleep as the muse from the television drowned out your thoughts. When you heard the lock on the front door click open, you thought you were dreaming. There was no way. No way. Footsteps. Hell, there was more chance of an intruder than it was Max. You rubbed your eyes and cautiously rose to your feet.

Your heart sank when he entered the room. It was him. He was home. Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t hide the excited grin that painted your lips. “Oh my god Max!” you squealed, running up to him. He looked tired, but he was smiling too. You were inclined to run into his arms, but your focus on his face left you without realizing the small sleeping child he was carrying in his arms.

You blinked in confusion, your gaze flicking between Maxwell and the boy. “This is Alistair, my son.” Maxwell informed you, his voice hoarse and low. At the mention of his name Alistair stirred in his sleep and Maxwell immediately, on instinct, shushed him.

“You-what?” You were speechless. You knew something was wrong the second Max had distanced himself. The second the phone calls had stopped and he hadn’t come home. You knew something was wrong when his assistants said his work schedule was clear. But never in a million years did you expect your sugar daddy to come home with a son.

“I didn’t know,” Max whispered in avoidance to wake up Alistair. “It’s a long story but I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’m sorry I didn’t come home for Christmas like I promised. I’m so sorry baby. I’ll make up for it.”

You couldn’t even gather words. You swallowed the hard lump in your throat and contemplated everything. You sighed. You believed Max - how could you not? Of course, you were very interested in learning all about his secret son but you supposed that didn’t matter too much right now. All that mattered is that Max was home, and safe. You smiled and rested your hand on Alistair’s forehead, brushing his straight black hair out of his face. Alistair smiled sleepily under your touch. Max’s cheeks grew warm with admiration as you comforted his son. It meant a lot to him that you took a liking to Alistair and that you accepted the fact Alistair was in his life now, and nothing would change that.

After all, Max Lord was still hopelessly devoted and in love with you.

“Come on,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to cup Maxwell’s face. You brushed your thumb over the height of his cheekbone and Max found himself subconsciously leaning into your touch. “Let’s take him to bed and go to bed ourselves. We clearly have a lot to catch up on.”

Max nodded his head in affirmation and you followed him upstairs. He took Alistair to a guest bedroom and gently tucked him under the blankets, pressing a caring kiss into his son’s forehead before turning back to you. As you watched his gentle actions, it was like you were witnessing a whole new side to Maxwell. And it was beautiful.

Sugar and Spice taglist: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130 @autumnleaves1991-blog @justanotherblonde23 @softly-sad @laaadygisbooornex3 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @drinkingwhileblogging @kesskirata @honestlystop

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat

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sippin-on-red-wine · 7 years ago

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High Tide | Chapter 7: Please

Title: High Tide, Chapter 7 | Please Author: @sippin-on-red-wine Rating: NO SMUTS IN THIS CHAPTER SORRRYYYYY Characters: Ed Sheeran x Kendra (original female character) Word Count: 3,225 Author’s Note: Sorry in advance again?

I refused to cry, blinking back the hot tears as the taxi pulled away from the curb. I knew I shouldn't, but I looked back at Ed, standing there on the sidewalk, looking broken.

I'm the one that should look broken.

“Where to, miss?”

Shit. I don't know, Mr. Taxi Driver, can't you tell I've just been burned by my international superstar boyfriend and I'm in a country that's not my own and I have nowhere and no one to run to?

“Do you have any hotel recommendations?”

“Sure, plenty. Are you looking for something reasonable, or ritzy?”

“Ritzy, please.”

“Right away then, miss.”

My brain kicked into logistical-detail mode.

Okay, first step, check into a hotel. I have literally nothing with me apart from my little purse which thankfully has my wallet. No fucking way am I going back to Ed’s just to get a suitcase of clothing. I'll just buy some things to tide me over….. tide me over til when? Should I fly home?

The thought of leaving London like this made me shudder. The last few days had been crazy wonderful. How did it all fall to pieces so quickly? Stop.

My phone was vibrating in my little purse. I flipped it over to check -- Lauren was calling. I hit ignore. She called again - ignore. After rejecting her third call, I felt a bit guilty, she probably was worried. I tapped out a quick response:

*Lo, I'm OK, I just need some space. Please.

My phone immediately started buzzing again, and I just got pissed and turned the damn thing off.

I pushed all the worries and questions down, focusing on getting a room somewhere and checking in.

The driver pulled up to a large high-rise building and I handed him a bank note from my purse before spilling out in front of the hotel's main entrance.

I approached the reception desk, suddenly very aware that my dress was probably too tight and short for a place like this.

“Hello, how may I assist you?” The man was young, and dressed in a black suit.

“Do you have any rooms available tonight, please?”

“Sure ma’am. Will one bed suffice?”

I nodded my head. He went to work, clicking and typing in the hotel’s computer system.

“Ahh, we've got a lovely King-sized room with a view of the city. Would you like to reserve it?”

“Yes, please.” City view sounds nice. I mean, I'm in London for the first time, may as well wallow in my self pity in style -- “Wait. Do you have anything larger….. like a suite?”

It turns out, he did. Several options, actually. He pulled out a brochure that included a few photos and highlighted the amenities of each. Oh, and the price per night, which made my eyes bulge out of my head a bit.

I handed over my AmEx card, silently glossing over the dollar figure he had given me for the week’s stay. It didn't matter, really, but it was much more than I was used to paying. Fuck it.

And so he handed me a key card, and I walked unsteadily in my heels over to the Elevator, where they had an actual attendant stationed. He was dressed in a full bell-hop type uniform, an older gentleman with kind eyes.

“Hello, what floor, please?” He asked, ushering me into the lift.

“Penthouse, please.”

I handed him the special key I had gotten at reception, the attendant inserted it in the wall panel and I watched as the “P” button lit up, and we were on our way.

“My name is Thomas, I'm happy to assist you with any needs you may have during your stay.”

His laugh lines were deep-set in his face. I found myself picturing him at home, smiling and adoring his family, maybe bouncing a grandchild on his lap.

I felt my eyes welling up again. Lock it up, K.

“Is there anything I can help you with, miss?”

“Um… actually, yes? Maybe? I wasn't really anticipating my stay, and so I don't have any of my things… is there, by chance, someone who could run out and pick up a few necessities for me?”

“Oh, yes, miss. We've got a concierge service who can handle just about any request you could throw their way. Just give the front desk a ring and they will be happy to assist.”

I sighed a breath of relief. I desperately wanted some leggings and a soft t-shirt, and hadn't been looking forward to going out shopping, bright and early tomorrow morning, dressed in my club clothes.

“Thomas, thank you so much.”

The elevator Ping!'d and Thomas turned the key once more before removing and returning it to me.

“My pleasure, miss. Please do not hesitate to ask, should you be needing anything else. Have a lovely evening.”

I walked out of the elevator into the foyer of my new suite. It was… stunning. Opulent. Beautiful. I was at a loss for words.

It was a large and sprawling suite, with a full kitchen, living room, a balcony, and at least two bedrooms. There was a beautiful wrought iron spiral staircase over in the corner of the lounge area. I kicked off my stupid shoes and dropped my purse on the dining room table, below an ornate glass chandelier. My toes sunk into the cream colored carpeting as I wandered around the suite, peeking in doors. The master bedroom was grand, all done up in beiges and golds and rich accent colors. There was a desk in the master, with a phone that I used to ring the concierge as Thomas had suggested.

I requested a pair of black leggings, a black tee shirt, white sneakers, and a long trench-style lined coat, as well as a toothbrush and a charger cable for my cell phone. The nice lady on the phone assured me they could get all that to me very soon, and that the charges would just be added to my room. I thanked her and almost said goodbye before deciding to order three bottles of champagne, too.

I sighed as I placed the phone back into it's little receiver cradle. Now what.

I strode over to the En Suite, finding a rather plush bathrobe hung on the wall for the taking. I shucked out of my ensemble and slipped into the rich navy blue robe, feeling a bit more at ease. I washed the makeup from my face, wishing I had a hair tie handy. Should make a list of things to pick up tomorrow.

Or maybe you should just go home tomorrow.

The elevator rung out, alerting me that someone was arriving. The doors opened and a younger-looking girl stepped out with a shiny silver cart, with a large ice bucket holding the booze I had requested. I thanked her and she was gone just as quickly as she had came.

Need alcohol. I cut the foil and popped the cork on one of the bottles, plucking one of the flutes from the tray, the second glass staying put.

I crept over to the large brocade sofa and plunked down right in the center reaching for the television remote. It was official, I was out of things to do. Which is precisely when my brain thought it would be a good idea to re-live the past couple of hours.

My eyes were hot and stinging with tears, but I pushed them back. I am not going to cry. I am fine. I am a grown ass woman. I'll be okay.

But goddamnit, why? I had found my station in life, content with being alone as long as that meant I would never be deceived by a loved one. And then, him.

I should have known. He had only recently broken up with her when he turned up next door. I thought back to the day that I had driven his friends to the airport, going over to Ed's the next afternoon to find him drinking and chain-smoking himself into oblivion. He was broken. And it wasn't your job to fix him so why did you even try?

Just then, I remembered that I had turned my phone off. I was sure there were texts or voicemails waiting for me, and so I gulped down the rest of my champagne and retrieved my cell from my little purse, powering it on.

The messages came in one after the next after the next. A whole slew of texts and missed calls from Lauren popped up:

- Missed Call

*Kendra, where are you??

- Missed Call - Missed Call - Missed Call

*Please answer

- Missed Call Voice Message (1:03) - Missed Call

*Ed is having a fit, Kenn, please, just hear him out

- Missed Call - Voice Message (1:16)

*Okay, I get it. Will you please call me tomorrow? I'm worried about you xx

I clicked on the first voice message, setting it to speakerphone. It was Lauren, rambling about what a “fucking idiot” Ed was and how “bloody worried” she was and offering her guest bed up for me and “PLEASE pick up, Kendra.” It was loud in the background, like she was still at the club, or standing right outside of it, the bass thumping through the phone.

The next voicemail had less chaos going on in the background. “Kendra -- please,” Lauren's voice was pleading on the other end. And then, the sound of Ed’s voice “Lauren, let me --” garble garble garble.

“Kenny, I fucked up, I’m so--”

His voice rang out through the speaker like a shot straight to my heart. I quickly ended the message, not wanting to hear him anymore. Hearing that silly nickname that was just for him and no one else, it was.. unbearable.

Just then my phone rang yet again - a number I didn’t have stored this time. I turned off the t.v., shut off my cell, and went and climbed in the huge bed, feeling utterly alone, and waited for sleep to take me.

Ed…….

I watched her, in the back of the cab, drive away. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. Every nerve, every CELL in my being told me to run after her, to scream, to fight, to not take ‘No’ for an answer. But I was just… stuck. Frozen. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

I kept my eyes trained on the taillights of that cab until it was impossible to see anymore. I heard my name, over and over again, but it sounded distant - like I was underwater and they were shouting from up on the diving board.

Lauren. It was Lauren. She was shaking my shoulders, trying to get me to snap to it. “Ed! Come ON, we have to get you back inside! Paps…”

Whothefuckcares--

But she gave me one good yank and I followed her back inside the club, all the blood rushing back to my head.

“Christ, Ed, why didn’t you tell her Poppy was going to be here?”

“Call her.” It wasn't a question.

“What?”

“Call her!” I was practically shouting. I winced, realizing how I sounded. “Please, Lauren. Call her. I don't know where she's gone.”

Lauren pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts, til she found her name. She set it to speaker, we could barely hear over all the commotion in the club but when it went to voicemail, I wasn't surprised that she didn't answer.

Lauren tapped away furiously at her phone screen, texting her.

“Jesus fuck, Ed, what happened?”

“I fucked up, Lauren. Can you please ring her again?”

Lauren called her three more times. I kept willing her to pick up on the other end, but she didn't.

“She texted--” Lauren threw her phone to me and I quickly scrambled to open the message.

*Lo, I'm OK, I just need some space. Please.

The tears were back, hot and spilling out from my eyelids despite my valiant effort to keep them in. I clicked into the text, bringing up her Contact info and with it, a silly picture of her and Lauren from the day Kendra had taken us out whale watching. It had been the very end of Summer, then. Her skin was tanned, her face sprinkled with freckles. She was wearing a white linen top, and my aviators -- I offered them to her when her shades had fallen and been stepped on. That had been one of the best days I had had in weeks, months maybe.

Seeing her face in the photo, silly, with her tongue sticking out and a peace symbol thrown up next to her head -- it absolutely gutted me.

What have you done?

I clicked the little telephone icon, ringing her again. Straight to voicemail this time.

My stomach was hot and sour as I raced to type out a message to her: Please answer.

“Ed, she said she's okay. Why don't I take you home, c’mon, there's nothing you can do from here.” I couldn't meet her eyes, but I nodded and handed the phone back to her.

Lauren grabbed me by the hand and dragged me back through the club, toward the back exit where Kendra and I had come in. She pushed the doors open and the cool night air flooded my lungs.

I felt numb. My mind racing, where is she? Will she come back? Is she safe?

I thought back to the night when she had told me about her past, how she had just up & left everything, not even saying goodbye. Will she do that again?

I braced myself on the stone exterior wall of the club, both hands out as I retched onto the ground between my feet.

“Christ, Ed.” Lauren was there, patting my back as I emptied the contents of my stomach, which was mostly booze.

A few moments passed while I collected myself, and Lauren pulled me into the car that was waiting there for me.

The ride home felt like an eternity. Lauren sat in silence beside me, her hand resting lightly on my knee. The lamplights blurred together, the whir of London at night dulled by the knot in my chest.

“Ed,” she spoke softly. “You gotta clue me in here, what the hell happened?”

“I… she didn't know Poppy was going to be there.”

“And?” She pushed.

“I was stupid, I wanted to look… good, in front of her.”

“Okay, well that seems pretty normal?”

“I… didn't tell her that Poppy would likely be at the party. And I… kind of, got a little handsy with Kendra after I noticed she had gotten there. And her fucking dress, I pushed that dress on her even though she didn't seem comfortable in it, it just looked so goddamn good on her and…”

“Oh, Ed.”

“I came out of the bathroom and I just saw her from the back, stalking down the stairs like a bat out of hell. Did Poppy say something to her? Did you see?”

“No, no, I don't think so. I had just gotten there and your lovely Ex was staring daggers at Kendra, and I, um, mentioned her…. She was definitely taken aback.”

“She's going to hate me.”

“Ed, I'm sure it will be OK.”

“You didn't hear the things she said to me outside. I used her, Lauren, I'm fucking selfish and childish and I fucked it up.”

“Hey. Take a breath. We’ll get her, alright?”

“Will you call her again?”

She granted my request, though we both knew it was hopeless at this point. Her voicemail message rang out of the speaker phone as Lauren inhaled, mentally preparing some new desperate plea designed to get Kendra to pick up the phone.

Kendra -- please,” She started, but I just couldn't listen to her ask, no, beg, on my behalf again.

“Lauren, let me --” I reached out for the phone, pulling it up to my face. “Kenny, I fucked up, I’m so sorry. I don't deserve it but please, please, just call me. I can't.. I didn't..” I struggled for the right words. “This is real, US, everything - it's all real, it's not… you must think… fuck, just, PLEASE, answer? I need to know you're okay.”

Kendra……

I woke the next day, feeling surprised that I had slept so soundly. I wouldn't say well.

I hadn't had any actual dreams, per se, but I just had this haunting feeling like I had re-lived the previous night over and over, unable to wake, stuck in that reality.

I yawned and stretched out in the massive bed, safe under the cover of the fluffy white comforter.

But the safety of the comforter couldn't protect against my own thoughts.

Alright, Kendra. Time to get up and figure out what you're doing.

I threw the covers back and got up out of bed, re-tying the knot in my robe. That reminds me….

I walked out into the main living space of my Penthouse Fucking Suite and saw a neat little stack of packages near the door. It felt a little… odd, picturing a young concierge clerk running out to the shops and choosing the things from my list. But I was more than appreciative to not have to get back in my dress and heels.

I grabbed up the boxes and bags, setting them on the chic metal & glass dining table, extracting all the things I had asked for. I unraveled the cord of the cell phone charger and plugged my phone in to charge up. I pulled the tags off of the few basic clothing items, then dressed myself in the tight black leggings and v-neck tee.

I powered up my cellphone and watched another slew of missed calls register on the screen, the last one had been a little past 4AM, from the number I didn't have saved in my contacts.

And a single text from that same number.

*K, you deserve so much better than me. But I can't let you go. Please x

And suddenly, those tears I had been battling all broke loose, rushing fast and hot down the front of my cheeks.

Did I overreact? Okay, so he wanted to make his ex jealous, I'd be lying if I said I'd never tried especially hard to look good in front of an Ex.

I shrugged off the bathrobe and tugged on the tight black leggings. They were the size I asked for, but European sizes must be a bit less… generous, because man those suckers were tight. I struggled to pull them up over my ass… which only reminded me of Ed being grabby the night before. He was very affectionate, but this had been different. And now that I knew his Ex had been sat there, ten feet away and facing right toward us, all you could see was the smug smile on his face which I had, at the time, interpreted to be happiness or horniness or tipsiness. But now I knew, it wasn’t any of those. It was Look What I Got.

The tears dried up and I buckled down on my resolve. Be honest with yourself. This, plus him wanting to sell his gorgeous fucking house, because it reminds him of her?

He's not over her.

It was time to go home.

Thank you for reading !!!!!!! And not killing me !!!!!!!!!

#ed sheeran #ed sheeran fanfic #ed sheeran smut #ed sheeran fanfiction #original fanfiction #original writing #teddy sheeran

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