#wide leg pantsuit

[addictedbespoken]

Women White Custom Made 2Pc Pantsuit

Suit up and look sharp in Addicted Bespoken's take on power dressing. The power suit is back. update your wardrobe from our 'White Custom Made 2Pc Pantsuit' collection and make people adore you by wondering to have a same outfit.

Features:

Regular Fit

Single Breasted Blazer

Notch Lapel

Personalized Closure

Building And Peacock Embroidered

High Waist Wide Leg Trousers

Wrinkle resistant

Care:

Dry Clean Only

EXPLORE OUR STORE ADDICTED BESPOKEN

[addictedbespoke]

Women Bespoke White Cotton 2Pc Suit Set Custom Made Shawl Lapel Hook Closure Blazer With Wide Leg Pant Bridesmaid Wedding Prom Outfit

A women's pant suit is a must have essential in any apparel wardrobe. A great choice for a sophisticated look! This 2piece suit is a top selection for any offices lad or wedding party event.

Features;

Slim-Fit

Shawl Lapel

Hook Closure

Long Sleeves

Functional Cuff

Lightweight, Soft and Breathable

Care:

Machine wash in cold water on a gentle cycle.

Dry on low heat or hang to dry for best result.

[linopls]

kinktober day twenty-seven

sexting felix x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, mentions of unprotected sex

1.1k words

routine company meetings were a wide known snooze-fest. it felt like a competition for who could talk the longest and about the most boring aspects of the company. you never understood why you had to be here. you were just a marketing student intern who was helping run stray kids’ social media accounts, it's not like the finances made any sense to you.

unlike your contract had stated, you started to form a liking to one of the members: felix. the two of you quickly became acquainted when you both had to explain a tiktok trend to your supervisor that felix wanted to post. your supervisor never ended up understanding it but felix thanked you for your attempted support by buying you lunch that afternoon.

eventually it became lunch every time felix was in the building. the two of you would rant to each other about working for different sides of the company and all the struggles you faced. it was just two friends hanging out until the day he called you pretty.

it came out so casually. you weren’t dressed any different but he said your hair looked pretty. it took you back for a second before you smiled and said thank you. that day he payed like usual, he insisted every time, but then suggested you guys got lunch somewhere other than the cafeteria, or maybe dinner.

it never became official, and it never could, until the company removed its employee dating restrictions. you two went on dates like boyfriend and girlfriend, texted like boyfriend and girlfriend, and had amazing sex like boyfriend and girlfriend. he was incredible in bed, he claimed he didn’t have that much experience, but he was brilliant.

he even drove you crazy even when his dick wasn’t inside of you. when you were at dinner, all it took was one glance in your direction and if there weren’t so many people in the restaurant, you would let him take you right there. he had such a way with words as well, and he used that to his advantage. 

you see your phone screen light up on the table in front of you. the way the conference room was set up was four rows of tables set in a U-shape. you and your team always sat in the last row to the far left and the stray kids members say in the last row on the far right. this meant when you did not want to pay attention to the current speaker you could look at felix across the room.

you look at the contact photo and name and see that felix sent you a message. you slowly grab your phone and open the message. 

felix: you look good in red ❤️

you’re wearing a red pantsuit today, his favorite color. you smile and look up to him, he’s already looking at you and smiling. he looks back down to his phone and types for a second before looking back up to you. your phone lights up again.

felix: you looked really good in that red dress last night

you blush and try to discreetly cover your face with one of your hands. felix had taken you out to dinner the night prior and you wore a new dress, a similar shade of red to the pantsuit you wore today. when he first picked you up he stared at you, mouth agape. before telling you red was his favorite color.

felix: you also looked really good in the red matching set you wore in bed

his reaction when you slid your dress down your legs to reveal your matching red bra and panty set was a sight you’ll never get out of your head. his eyes glossed over with lust and a very obvious tent formed in his pants.

you: never knew you had such a sexual attraction for the color red… 😏

you look up to see felix subtly roll his eyes before beginning to type a response. you watch changbin look over his shoulder and giggle and felix pulls his phone to his chest. you thank god for your privacy screen protector and the fact you’re sat on the end and the person next to you is also so uninterested in the meeting that they are online shopping.

felix: just for you, in red specifically

felix: i think it's your color~

you: thank you baby🤭

you: i think i’ll wear another red set tonight ;)

you glance up from your phone to his felix’s reaction. his mouth forms a thin line before he bites down on his lips slightly.

felix: yeah?

felix: do you have a picture?

you: horny bastard. 🖕

felix: just want a spoiler 🥺

you: you’ll have to wait and see~~

felix rolls his eyes and sets his phone face down on the table and focuses back on the speaker. you begin to aimlessly scroll through your socials. before long another text from felix pops up and you eagerly click on it.

felix: i want to bend you over one of these tables and fuck you so badly

you: i’m doing great thanks for asking 😐

felix: i don’t even care who watches

felix: i just want you to cum on my cock over and over again

you: lix…

felix: you look so good from behind

felix: and i love that i can see your face in the mirror in my room

felix: the way tears stream down your face when i make you cum for a third or fourth time 😖

you: you’re so good at what you do

you: i’m already soaked just thinking about it 🫣

you adjust yourself awkwardly in your chair. feeling your panties sticking to your folds as felix stares you down from across the room.

felix: i just want to stuff you full of my cum

felix: over and over again

felix: go to the bathroom 😏

you notice he has his legs crossed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

felix: wanna fill you with my cum and watch you sit through this meeting knowing who you belong to

you: it's too obvious if we leave within a couple minutes of each other :( 

you: we’ll get a break soon and i’ll meet you in the bathroom on the floor above 😚

felix: my dick is throbbing thinking about being buried in your sweet pussy

you: we won’t need to waste any time, i’m already dripping for you

“alright everyone,” the speaker claps his hands together. “let’s take a lunch break and come back in an hour?”

as everyone begins to gather their things and leave the room, you quickly throw everything in your bag and streamline to the door. felix is holding the door waiting for you.

“come on, ms. l/n,” felix smiles. “lunch shall we?”

felix probably has mad sexting game

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[floraltypes]

Childish Love

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader 

summary - the four constant thoughts aaron has of you

so you know - a bit of sunshine!reader, maybe ooc hotch, and also inspiration from jades hotch five nosebleeds fic @/luveline

He thinks you’re too sweet. 

Rough hands flip through pages upon pages of information, mostly redacted, with a wallet-sized photo of you at the top right corner. Your eyes beam with excitement and your mouth threatens to conform into a smile while glaring at the camera. He takes notice of the shine of the pendant lying across your neck. Something he imagines holds much importance due to its appearance in the photo. 

There is much information regarding undercover work you’d performed in the past, working alongside inter pool and having expanse knowledge about hunting down criminals. Yet the photo glaring back at him on the papers seems like you’re just too kind for this field. 

“Agent Hotchner, sir,” a curt knock is placed on the wooden door, nameplate hung to indicate who the office within belongs to. 

You take a tentative step inside, hands holding onto two steaming cups, labeled from a local coffee shop. A black pantsuit covers the skin of your legs with a button-up to top it. His eyes can’t help but glance over your figure, taking in the same pendant and glittering smile that you send his way. 

He can tell your nerves by the short breaths, eyes wandering around his figure and not to his eyes until he steps up himself. His form seems much larger than it did sitting behind the desk. 

“Agent,” he speaks your name, trying it out on his tongue. For an odd reason it seems fitting for some soft woman of your nation, a tiny part of him admires that. A tiny part of him admires your sweet demeanor despite the many horrors you’ve undoubtedly witnessed on the job. 

“I’m pleased to finally meet you,” now your rushing over, lightly placing the two on the desk (not before your eyes scan for a coaster) and allowing your hand to be enveloped by his own. 

For a moment the heat of his warm palm reassured your cold fingers all due to forgetting your gloves in a nervous rush to make it to the job on time. You can feel the calloused fingers brush against your smoother ones, his hand faltering to pull itself away. He catches on soon enough to the lingering touch and hastily picks up the file and seats himself back down. 

“You have an impressive resume,” a quick comment, now that same hand offering for you to take a seat across as he flips through. “Family in the job?”

“No, just me,” you beam. Suddenly you gape, hands rushing to the cups and trying to push one across the busy desk toward his frame. “This is for you, sir. I had worked with Agent Prentiss for some time, she told me how you enjoyed your coffee.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, wrapping the cup in his hand. “But this was not necessary.”

“I bought everyone a coffee, even Penelope,” you’re quick to add, changing his original thoughts. 

He brings the cup towards his lips, leaning his head back slightly and taking an anxious sip of a familiar drink. Though what he is matched with is nothing like he imagined, tooth-aching sugar is what fills his mouth - and what he is forced to swallow - in return. 

You mirror his movements, taking a sip of your own but not hiding your expression to the distaste of the bitterness very well. A light cough leaves your lips and Hotchner can feel a part of himself racing for a glass of water to appease you. He catches himself. 

You’re too sweet, just like your coffee order. 

“I think I gave you the wrong one,” you hand your head, cheeks feeling the heat as your hands rush to take his cup. The lightly painted fingers glide against his bony, larger ones, clutching the cup in your grasp. Carefully removing the top and exchanging the lids, you give him the correct cups. “Might be odd to have a kiss our first meet,” you laugh. 

“A kiss?” Hotchner feels a blush of his own overtaking his cheeks, his eyes are wide, and now instead of admiring the change of features that overtook you, he is conscious of his own. 

“Oh! The silly kids' thing, an indirect kiss since my lips were there and then your - oh never mind,” you sigh, mumbling incoherently to yourself as he just watches it all ensue. 

Hotchner can’t help but laugh, his laugh becomes so loud it easily takes over the office. It mimics the smile placed on his lips in the photo of him tickling his son to the ground. It was a somber time then, sadness filling the air, yet his still happy son couldn’t help but make the man grateful and just laugh. It seemed as though in recent times you would be doing the same. Make his life filled with more laughter. Make his life brighter… Maybe he was getting too ahead of himself. 

He thinks you’re too daring. 

“He ran down this way,” you puff, picking up speed to follow the comfortably dressed man down the darkened alleyway. Resting heavily at your side is the trusty firearm you have gained much  experience with using in recent years. The shoes lining your feet are not the most comfortable, not to mention running has never been a hobby, but there is adrenaline rushing through to push you forward and faster. 

Sliding around the corner he disappears from your sight, you keep up the rushed pace, following only a few inches behind as he keeps making his way. You know that your partner, Derek, has probably moved around to find a different entryway to cut him off. As your feet merely point in the direction he was running you hear the scream resonate, pulling yourself back to the corner to hide your body.

Slowly, your head peaks itself out a bit, watching the man with bloodied fingers move the knife around rapidly and then place it onto a young girl's neck. You glance down at the gun hanging in your pocket and knife tucked in your pants then move to approach him. 

“Put the knife down,” you direct, tears forming in the shaken girls' eyes as the man just smirks back over towards you. 

“Where’d that partner go, agent?”

“That holds no matter, why don’t you let the girl carry on her way?” “Really? You couldn’t do that for me, just let me finish my business one last time.”

You and Derek had luckily arrived on the scene before more blood could have been spilled. There were many locations up for looking and you two happened to arrive at the exact one he was tying another girl up in. She had kicked him a few times, causing him to clutch his stomach, and when his eyes reached Derek’s slow stance he ran. You ran after him in response and now you were here, trying to stop him from killing another. 

“She doesn’t seem like your type,” you step a foot forward, eyes squinting and peering over at the girl. You see her eyes widen at your words, and you almost want to wince at what you are to say next. “You could do better, she is so docile, no fun when they don’t put up a fight, right?”

“Now you are understanding, she was a bit easy, probably a slut.”

“Let her go, you know that I will put up a fight,” you want to vomit at your change of tone, the way your free hand taps at your lips. Many questions wandered through your head if this could be the best approach, and how this would look, but it was too late to begin questioning as his arm was already removed and the girl was running. 

“Alright,” he flings the knife to the side, now tumbling towards your frame with fury. Your hands stand on guard, taking the first punch he throws to hit you square in the nose. Though you soon show him your power with an uppercut punch to his jaw. He clutches onto his face before you push kick his knees and deliver another blow square between his eyes. The man's balance falters, and he falls on the unarmed knee and tries to reach for your foot. You gain balance on the grabbed foot, swinging yourself around and using your other to kick the side of his face, the man falling over. Your handcuffs soon are placed around him, yelling and sirens coming closer as you watch co-workers gather around. 

“Damn, someone got a beating,” Derek huffs, hands on his knees as he runs right beside you. “Told Hotch about the girl and you, alone, didn’t like that.”

“It was alright,” you hum, facing Derek. “I have much training in hand-to-hand combat. No need to worry,” you place a smile onto your lips, trying to make it convincing, and soon taste iron on your bottom lip. “Did you see the girl running south of here, pretty shaken?”

“She is alright, but you’re bleeding.”

“Agent-” Hotch yells your name, jumping out from the car as the other agents follow behind. The police take the unsub away and you see your boss impatiently gesture you over to the medic vehicle. 

“I am all good,” you laugh it off, brushing the flowing blood with your sleeve before walking up to your boss. 

“What you did was irresponsible. You didn’t call for backup, not informing your fellow agents of where the suspect was heading, and instead took on a dangerous and armed man all on your own. If it weren't for Derek informing us -” he pauses his rant, a large thumb dragging itself across the skin above your upper lip. He pulls it away with red staining his fingers. “You are hurt.”

“It’s a bloody nose, common, nothing painful.”

“Why would you risk yourself like that?”

“We had to get the unsub, I was the most likely to catch him at that moment.” “There are protocols in place for this very reason. So you don’t have to make decisions to risk yourself, like now.” 

“My mother would say that there are good reasons to break them sometimes. I am truly alright, Hotch, I have been against much more dangerous men.” 

He stopped himself from letting more lectures fall from his lips, just peering back down at his bloody finger. Those same fingers quickly traveled back up to your nose, pinching off the holes so no more blood could fall down. You instinctively reach for his hands, the beginning of bruised knuckles clutching around his with a wince. 

“Seems like it hurts,” he mumbled, looking back at the ambulance that was taking care of the woman who ran back. 

“Maybe it is broken, but probably not, sprained if anything.”

Hotch wanted to say more about your riskiness. He was getting irrational, he had seen your resume, he had seen you fight and negotiate alongside the others, and he knew you were capable, but why did you have to be so daring? Why did you have to willingly take this on? Why was his heart racing unlike it ever has when fellow agents have been in these positions? 

He thinks you are too kind.

Another late night at the office lands Hotchner hunching over the desk, papers a flew, and hand rapidly moving the pent to check off reports. His light is one of the last ones shining and it has been a while since he last peered over at the clock. 

“Looks like daddy is busy,” a young woman tsk, standing at the opening of the elevator with a young boy clutching onto her hand. He has golden hair and his lips move to a frown at the words leaving her lips. 

You pick your head up from your desk, which is covered by papers of your own. After an especially long night, you agreed to take on a couple of files so Emily could get out quicker and head over to her date. When the area was empty you could plop in one earbud connected to your iPod and enjoy the serenity while covering nauseating cases. 

She is blonde as well, you begin to speculate her relation to Hotchner, easily recognizing the little boy to be the son pictured in so many of the photos he likes to share. Yet, you also remember the new vein in his forehead that seemed to appear as he gathered some other assignments to look over from your fellow agents. He was one of the most present in the office, spending much time to do the best job he could, you admired that greatly. 

“Hi,” you end up speaking before honestly thinking through your decision. “I am a co-worker of your dad's,” you walk towards the two with a hand extended, tearing the earbud from your ear you introduce yourself to the woman who tells you she is Jack’s aunt. 

“I am pretty sure Aaron has mentioned you before,” she tiredly grins. “Well, great meeting you, we will just head up there to your dad so auntie can head to bed,” she is looking down at Jack who looks a bit sleepy himself. “I think Aaron forgot that I couldn’t keep Jack overnight today.”

“Yeah, he is always keeping himself busy,” you look back over towards him, sleeves rolled to his elbows and forehead in his open palm. 

“I just want to see daddy,” Jack sputters, rubbing tiredly at his eyes while the small backpack hands loosely in his grip. 

“He wants to see you too, but it's my fault, really,” you’re mumbling and this quickly piques her interest in your words. 

“Why?” Jack softly questions, looking sweetly up at you.  

“I begged your dad to be able and play with you. I know it is late but I have some pencils at my desk, maybe a few colored markers, and want to draw with you. I’ve heard all about your talents and, well, I really want to see them myself,” you lean down towards him, cupping your hand and whispering into his ear. “I can’t find anyone who can draw me Spiderman,” and with a fake sigh, you rest on your knees sadly. 

“I can! I love Spiderman!” he jumps with joy, dropping the bag to the floor, and touches your shoulders with his small hands. “I’ll draw it for you.”

You change your once sad expression to one of excitement, placing your hand on top of one of his. “Thank you so much! We better tell auntie bye so we can get drawing.”

Jack eagerly kisses his aunt on the cheek and she gratefully looks your way, leaving with a content grin on her features. Jack reaches for your hand, you accept it and pick up his discarded bag, leading him to your desk. With gentle hands underneath his armpits you lift him onto the spiny chairs, but not before casting your work all to the side, covered up. Jack opens up his backpack to take out a journal and markers of his own, he offers some to you. 

Kneeling beside him you draw a different figure, playing some light music through your iPod in the background. Soon enough Jack is chatting your ear off while drawing spider webs, talking about his friends at school and what he has recently learned. He explains what his bedroom looks like and a new toy he wants. Eventually, he is finished with the piece of artwork, addressing it to you at the bottom with a tiny, crooked heart by your name.  

“I love it,” you beam, holding it up higher in the air to admire it. “You are so talented, sweetie.”

He just shines with your compliments but despite his happiness, a yawn exits his mouth and his hands travel back up to his eyes. You take off the sweater that was once covering your shoulders, wrapping the young boy up in its comfortable sleeves and placing him back on the chair for him to undoubtedly close his eyes and begin to drift. 

By the time Hotch has shut off the lights to his office, briefcase tight in his grip with the leather coat slung across his shoulder he notices a soft light emitting from your desk. He takes careful steps down the stairs and walks over to recognize the boy snoozing in the chair, and you, who sits on the ground filling paperwork. 

“I am so sorry, did she leave you here with hi-” he begins to ramble, briefcase dropping at his side and hands extending to get a hold of his boy. 

“Shh,” you carefully place a finger over your lips, indicating to your boss that he should lower his voice. “It was my choice, I wanted to spend time with the infamous Jack.”

He grins. His lips upturn for the first time in a while at your pure kindness towards his son. You took over taking care of him so he could peacefully finish his work all while not making him feel guilty about forgetting his son. 

 “He looks kind of comfortable,” Aaron comments, trying to hide his spreading grin while looking over at his son sweetly resting away. 

“Surprisingly, these chairs could never put me asleep,” he laughs at your comment, causing Jack to stir in his sleep while you try to muffle your giggle. Hotchner leans down, lowering himself to sit beside you on the ground. 

You turn towards him, faces only a few inches apart and your knees even closer to touching. It seems as if you can feel the heat of his breath from this distance, you can notice the softness of his lips and bobbing adam's apple. He recognizes your chewed bottom lip and darkened lashes with small clumps of mascara at the tips. Though these small things just make him want to notice more of your secret features. You are thinking the same. 

“I really like Batman,” you admit, well sputter in admission. It comes out jumbled and your eyes are trying not to stare at his own, or his lips, and you nervously spit out nonsense. 

“What?” he is back to being serious, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I told Jack I wanted him to make me a Spiderman drawing, but I am a bigger Batman fan. I lied,” you whisper softer now. 

“Me too.”

“Really? But Jack is such a big fan of Marvel comics, I figured you were too.”

“It must have been his classmates, I always read about Batman and Joker growing up.”

“Oh, me too! The DC villains and Gotham are just so interesting. I still occasionally read them now.”

“That’s cute,” he slips, pink gathering at his cheeks when recognizes his confession. You can feel your ears heating and your hand itching closer to his. “The sweater that you gave him, it looks … cute,” it sounds a little as if he is questioning himself. 

“Very comfortable too,” you’re quick to add, his hands moved a bit closer to your own this time. 

Your eyes wander down to how your hands are nearly touching, how your finger keeps tapping and getting closer and closer. “Is your hand alright?”

“Oh yeah!” you choke, shaking your head and then turning it into a nod. “Of course.”

His hand finally takes yours in his, palms lying across each other and his fingers fold over to apply pressure to the holding. “You’re shaking a bit.”

He can’t say that it is only you, it feels as if his own heart is shaking. 

He thinks you’re too beautiful. 

The new scenery is very different from the other bar they tend to regulate more often. As a team constantly involved in traumatic events together, they try not to make it the only thing they experience together. Hence why Penelope has dragged the BAU team to a new, flashy club to let loose and have fun. 

She has been loose for a while now. Penelope, predictably, has a low tolerance, and after two drinks she is yelling and dancing with a random guy on the floor. Not before of course trying to gather any romantic secrets she can from her co-workers. It is not very successful. 

Though if anything the woman is determined, she is determined to get everyone to have as great of a time as she is. That is the reason that most of your group is out on the dance floor at the moment, just jumping around and giggling at an old song. Derek and Penelope are actually breaking out dance moves and Reid stands on the dance floor near JJ just lightly nodding his head, more in the corner of the dance floor. Meanwhile, you and Emily are swaying a bit more together near the dancing duo, admiring their moves and laughing to yourselves. 

“Interesting group we got now,” Rossi comments, taking a large sip of his beer while chatting over in a booth with Hotchner. “Fits with the interesting new party spot, though at this age I prefer the setting of that old bar we were going to.”

“I agree,” Hotch nods his head, eyes on where you stand swaying with flared jeans and a shirt revealing more than it normally would. He always likes to see the way you dress outside of work-mandated fashion, get a look at what your figure looks like in tight-fitting clothes or ones that express your style more. He knows it shouldn’t be something he looks forward to, but it is. 

Another thing Aaron knows is that he should be trying to minimize his growing crush on a co-worker, one he is the boss of at that, but he is still letting that get bigger too. 

“Your eyes are lingering,” Rossi laughs, his shoulder bumping with Hotchs’. “Might want to reel them back in this way before she finally notices along with the rest of us.”

“Rest of us?” “We are all profilers, Aaron, we noticed the change in your demeanor with her new presence. Especially me, if anyone.”

“That’s a lie,” Aaron is quick to deny, searching for his discarded bottle amongst the table of half-filled glasses. 

“Let yourself find love,” he whispers, eyes now searching for you in the crowd. “No matter who that is, everyone deserves to find a love that will last.”

“I had Haley, once.”

“Once,” Rossi repeats. “There is a keyword in that statement. I think, in the end, you shared a different type of love for her, not that same that is developing between you and that agent.”

“Getting a bit sentimental there, Dave. Too many drinks?” “No,” he laughs, a good old-hearted laugh, if you were all in your normal bar it would easily be the loudest in the room. “I just see how much you work, how much you secretly care, and I hope for my friend to find someone. That isn’t too sentimental for you now, is it?”

“No, no you’re alright, Dave.”

“It is pretty clear she’s got a little school-girl crush on you too,” Aaron nearly spits out the overly expensive liquor at Dave’s confession. “The subtle glances, little touches, it is like you two are kids again.”

“I wouldn’t say it is that obvious.”

“When you begin to fall in love, a characteristic most pick up on is nativity, that is what-”

“Are you guys going to dance already?” Penelope barges over, cocktail spilling at her abruptness. “Reid is even out there, Doctor who hates crowds, and you two old-timers are sitting here like you are, well, old-timers!”  

“Rossi, last dinner night at your house, we did see some of those moves,” JJ walks over, winking at the man who puts his hands up. 

“Fine, fine, I will show you all how it is done,” this earns a laugh from the group, JJ and Penelope wandering off into the crowd with their new guest. 

“What about you?” Hotch looks over at your form reaching for a random drink to take a sip of. “Are you going to join us?”

“I am no dancer,” Hotch laughs, remembering many past times when he has tried and failed horribly. 

“Me either, but there comes a moment where everyone must perform,” you pretend to do a little curtsy, courtesy of the drinks flowing through you, and laugh when standing back up. “It is just us, no one to impress.”

Aaron Hotchner would greatly disagree with that statement. 

“Just one,” he gives in, standing up and following your giddy form into the crowd. It takes a moment, but soon enough he recognizes the song and awkwardly sways to the beat. You are much more fluent with the moving of your body compared to him and his stiffness. 

The way the bright light shines onto your expression, he admires your pure enjoyment of the moment. If there were such a thing as a mental photo, he was taking one, he was snapping this photo so as to never forget the moment. Hotchner never envisioned himself as a romantic, sappy man, but the way you helped him believe in the hope of fun how could he not think much and just let his hands wander to your waist? 

It stopped your upbeat movements, the heat of his palms bleeding through the thin shirt, the same fabric uplifting so you could feel his rough fingers on your skin. You felt more conscious of the eyes and thoughts of people surrounding you but even more inquisitive about what the man holding onto you was envisioning. 

“Aaron,” the whisper of his name was breathless, he is not even sure he heard it in this loud crowd. 

You quickly step away from his grasp and rush out of the crowd, rummaging through the groups of young and old in hopes of catching the fresh, cold air. Pushing through the doors you lean against the building taking a deep breath in, feeling it down in your lungs. He is fast behind your trail, eyes scattering and brows furrowing when he catches your anxious figure. 

“What happened? I am sorry I should not have touched you-”

“You’re just trying to dance, but my mind leads me to think it is more,” you begin to sputter, hands on your forehead, posture bent. “I am going to have to transfer divisions, I’ve never been this irresponsible.”

“What’s going on?” he sounds very concerned and is even more hesitant now to reach for your shoulder as a way of comfort. 

“Aaron, I don’t think we can work together anymore, my feelings just keep expanding.”

“Your feelings?” he repeats and the words of his fellow friend from only moments before begin to swirl around quicker than his nerves after touching your waist. 

“It is highly unprofessional-”

Aaron gently pulls your hands away from your face, eyes looking into yours and he drops one hand to move his own to your cheek. “I think it’s okay.”

Hotchner has never envisioned himself as a romantic man, but when he lent down and placed his lips onto your own he imagined it was a very similar moment to romance movies. He clutched onto your cheek, rubbing his thumb against the expanse while his lips worked dutifully against your own. 

Your hands began to wander up his arms, pulling yourself closer to his chest. He pulled away, “Don’t we have to sign something before we do all this?” he laughed again at your words, something that you so commonly did to him. 

“As someone special to me once said, there are good reasons to break rules.”

(Criminal minds masterlist)

[pennyserenade]

the devil hath power

part two: the game

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: m (mature, 18+) tags/warnings: talk of suicide, talk of death, talk of sex work, classism, a little bit of power play, power imbalance, food mention, alcohol mention, tigris snow cameo <3 word count: 3.6k+ summary: Coriolanus and his 'friend' begin to play a game neither of them are prepared to lose. a/n: the link to part one of this story can be found here (tumblr) or here (ao3). part three of this will follow very quickly after this one - maybe a day or two later - i promise. i've written a good chunk of it, as i intended to post this all one part, but it became much too lengthy. also, if you want to be tagged in the next part of this - or other stories like it - you can sign up to my taglist here or follow my updates blog @belovedinfidels and turn on the post notifications. thank you a ton for all your support and love. it's been lots of fun interacting with you all and writing for this fandom.

part one | part three

The money for what had conspired between her and Coriolanus came quickly, as he had promised it would. In the early hours of the next day a nondescript envelope, along with a sizable clothing bag, was delivered to her door by a nameless Avox. The amount was far more than she would’ve charged him, and yet not enough (as it always seemed to be).

However, it was the contents of the clothing bag that surprised her most of all. When she opened it she found a finely made pantsuit, feminine in its cut but masculine in its style, with wide shoulders and flared pant legs, but a more tapered, closely fitted waist. The fabric was not inexpensive either; it was a costly wool in a light burgundy shade, not unlike the color he had worn when he’d approached her in the club. She ran her fingers beneath the peaked lapels, admiring the work of what must’ve been his in-house tailor.

Though she enjoyed this gift—it was far more expensive than anything she’d purchased for herself in years—she did not feel particularly warm nor grateful towards its giver. She took the suit and hung it in the closet of the main bedroom, where she kept all her finest items, and did not think about it again until the next week.

To say Coriolanus filled her thoughts during this time would be a lie; he slipped in occasionally as she conducted business, but did not remain for more than a moment. Young men, with their heads full of ambition and tongues thick with Capital accents, brought her back to moments in that darkened bedroom, watching Coriolanus’ pupils blow wide, his lips twitching, his voice lower. The earnest clatter of teeth provided by Monday’s man reminded her of Coriolanus’ bruising intensity. The cool touch of Thursday’s regular brought her back to Coriolanus’ fingers beneath her chin. Saturday’s newcomer had blue eyes, which were infinitely kinder and much more open than Coriolanus’, but still filled her with a wave of repulsion. But it was nothing, harmless meanderings to make the time pass.

The only time she truly allowed him to invade her truly invade her thoughts was the following Sunday. The same Avox that had delivered the suit and the money returned with another envelope. Whereas the previous one had been free of design, of name, of anything that could mark it back to Coriolanus, this one bore all the signs of him, from the golden rose seal to the loopy script that read out his name.

The Avox stood at her door, staring down at the envelope in her hands with some urgency. She got the hint, opening it up without her usual regard for its design. Quickly her eyes scanned over the contents. She frowned softly; he was inviting her to a soirée at his apartment, asking if she would so kindly RSVP or decline and then send it back immediately. The date was not far away—only two short days. This, the invitation implored, was why the RVSP - or the decline - was so urgently needed.

Of course, she checked yes. How could she not? The previous envelope was evidence enough that Coriolanus followed through more than enough in terms of money, and wasn’t that all that mattered? When she handed Avox the invitation, the woman handed her another envelope. This time she did not stick around to watch her open it.

When the Avox left she sat down at her kitchen table, putting the envelope in front of her. Somehow she knew that whatever was inside its folds would impact her life in a way so few things had, and she was not yet prepared for it. Her eyes trailed over the details of the room, focused on the dampened quiet, the emptiness that lay in the elongated dining table with no guests to fill it.

As a child she had loved this room, perhaps more than any other, for it was a basin of social activity. Her mother had been a lively host and her father a jovial one at the head of the table. Wine had flown freely and their plates had been filled with food they had not known to appreciate but in retrospect. There had been nights when the guests got so drunk and so merry, and they found her innocence and her childishness compelling, cooing as she weaved her little body through their legs beneath the table. In the next room there used to be a grand piano on which she would sit with her mother after dinner concluded, and listen to her sing to the guests. Her father, a typically stoic man, would slouch against the piano and look at her mother and herself with a fondness she would never forget. How beautiful love feels when it's all gone, dried up except for the aching ghost of it rattling in the bones of a once beautiful home.

The truth of it was that her parents were dead and this home was all she had. When Coriolanus called it a museum, he wasn’t too far off. Not much had changed since her mother had died. So much had been taken before, as the Dark Days reached their peak and the hunger became unbearable. Everyone who had been beautiful and lively at those dinner parties became hollow, and thin, including her parents. It was her father who died first, but when he went it was as if her mother had died, too – it only took a little longer. Seconds, days, weeks, a total of two years until it was truly over.

It was a frightening thing to witness as a child, the destruction of something as sure and sturdy as one’s mother. She had not been told of the gruesome demise of her father, only that it had been attributed to the war. It was only later that she would find out that he had died by his own hand, that he had left what little funds they had with her mother, found an empty home, and did away with himself. His death had affected her but none so much as her mother’s had. She had to become a spectator of her mother’s failing health, watched as the rot of it filled their home, and sat idly beside her bed as it consumed her completely. Death was not delicate, not kind, not to her parents.

A better woman would’ve left this home behind as soon as she’d gotten enough funds to free herself from it, but she could not seem to. Somehow living in it felt like the greatest vengeance - or revenge, depending on the day - for her parents. Everything she did was to better this home, to restore it to the beauty she had witnessed in her once-grand childhood. That’s why the envelope was so daunting; she knew that whatever Coriolanus wrote her, even if it was inconsequential, would somehow tie to this dream. He was money and money was everything, the single stepping stone to life.

She took her time when it came to opening it, first finding a gold letter opener in the haunts of her father’s old office. The envelope was not thin but it was easy to open with the knife; she cut smoothly beneath the seal and peeled back the lip, running her fingers over the rose details that sat on the outside. She could see through the back of the folded paper that it was a letter, handwritten.

Everything is about winning, the letter began, but you know that, don’t you? I think you can see that I am not a man of unfulfilled promises now and you’re taking a step in the right direction – as any smart girl would. On the night of the party, I will send a car for you – the weather’s been rather cool for a walk – and it will take you to my apartment. Whether you choose to wear the clothing I sent is up to you, but I will say to you that the designer of the suit will be there, and she is very eager to meet you. Don’t fret too awfully much about keeping up with your appearances; it will be a small gathering, full of like-minded individuals such as yourself. They may ask what you do for a living and you may divulge the truth to them if you wish. I think I am no more ashamed of you than you are of me – what a thrilling dynamic we have.

Until then, Coriolanus Snow.

The letter remained open on the table until the night of the party. It was a reminder that she was a player in a game of her own making, but that she needed to tread carefully, lest it slip through her fingers.

She knew she could not afford to lose this; it meant far too much now that this kind of money had entered the equation.

— Even Coriolanus’ building gave the air of being self-important, large and foreboding.

Before she stepped out of the driver’s car and onto the sidewalk before the opulent apartment, she first took a wary glance upwards. The sky was a flurry of white, but even through the thicket of snow she could see the bright lights of the apartments shining ominously above her.

Her mind had been churning over the possible outcomes of this party all day. She had poured over his letter and dissected it until the individual words meant nothing and everything all at once. What she kept coming back to was the line about her occupation—how it meant very little to him whether she told the guests she was a prostitute or not. If she knew Coriolanus’ type the way she thought she did, she knew that her occupation would be of some worry to his acquaintances. Had he written that to throw her off? To make her embarrass herself the way she had him? If so, he’d have to work harder than that. She wrapped her black coat more tightly around herself and mounted the stone steps. Exhaling a deep sigh, she braced herself for whatever could come of this night.

The doorman greeted her with a curt nod as he opened the door for her. The lobby was an enormous space, full of stone columns and large potted trees. She admired the high ceilings and beautiful hanging chandeliers before another man, dressed smartly in a tuxedo and red bow tie, escorted her in the direction of the stairs. She wanted to request a walk up the large staircase but thought better of it. Now was no time to gawk over the fine housing of one of her clients. Because that’s what Coriolanus was: a client.

The elevator ride up did little to prepare her for what would come. What greeted her first was the warm sound of music and laughter. Not rich, honeyed laughter but real laughter, laughter that belonged to a time she had not been familiar with in far too long. It was feminine, rich, and pleasant. This, more than the intricate design of the apartment itself, excited her.

Before she knew it Coriolanus was standing in front of her. While another tuxedo-ed man took her coat, he walked up to her. “Welcome,” he greeted, his grin proud and wide. His eyes scanned over her and he was evidently pleased. “You wore the outfit.”

He acted as if she had said the correct answer.

Her smile was warm, and performative to a degree. “I’d be a fool not to,” she cooed.

He was pleased with her, showing it in the way he extended an elbow for her to take. She wrapped her hand around his bicep and he walked them through the long corridor, closer to the sounds of chatter. “Is there anything I should know?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of,” he answered.

When they walked into the main room, everyone’s eyes turned in their direction. Coriolanus took to the attention, wearing a cordial grin. One of the women sitting on the multitude of cream chairs hopped up, eyes widening in excitement. “Oh Coryo!” she gushed, pushing through the small crowd to get to them.

She was a stunning woman, lithe, tall, her hair as fair as Coriolanus’ and cascading in loose curls down her shoulders. She reached her hand out in greeting. “I’m Tigris. Coriolanus told me wanted me to make an outfit for someone but he didn’t tell me how beautiful the model would be,” she gushed.

Her cheeks tinted, unused to be fawned over with such earnestness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she responded, smiling warmly. “Thank you for the outfit, it’s truly stunning.”

Coriolanus patted the hand she had on his bicep and beamed. He was showing her off like a prize, flaunting her. If she didn’t so much like the company of Tigris, she might ask him what he was getting at. But she did like Tigris, quite a lot even though this was their first meeting. Unlike Coriolanus, she was…kind. Nothing disingenuous, not so far as she could see. There was no air of haughtiness to her, no ulterior motive. She reminded her of her mother, in a way.

“I wanted her to be a surprise, Tigris. I knew you’d think she was lovely,” Coriolanus said softly. Tigris looked at him gratefully, cupping his cheek with a gloved hand affectionately.

“You’re sweet, Coryo,” she said. “Why don’t you go introduce her to the rest of the party, maybe feed her–” she looked down. “Sorry, I don’t mean to talk like you’re not here. There’s food in the kitchen and more drinks on the counter if you’re interested. I’m certain everyone else will be very excited to meet you. It’s not often Coriolanus brings someone to my parties.”

They both watched as Tigris returned into the mix of individuals. All of them were stunning, model good-looking—even the ones with more exotic appearances. Their bright hair colors and lavish makeup only accentuated their beauty. They were, to put it simply, ethereal. Not at all like the people she would expect Coriolanus to consort with.

“She’s my cousin,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

“And what does she think I am to you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “A friend, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t make her curious?”

Coriolanus laughed. “No. Tigris stopped asking me questions long ago and it’s best that way. Now come.” He pointed to another open space across the room. “If I don’t get you something to eat she’ll be angry with me.”

“Is this all you wanted me here for?” she asked once they were secluded from the rest of the party. “To make your cousin happy?”

He handed her a plate and smiled his typical confounding grin. “If it was?” he taunted, tossing a berry in his mouth.

“I’d say I wasn’t an escort,” she responded.

This response made his grin stretch. “Of course you’re not,” he assured.

He followed her down the line of food, watching as she selected bits of fruits, meats, the fanciful little hor devours. Something about Coriolanus made her feel more transparent—like he knew the game she’d been playing and was waiting for her to acknowledge how clever he was for catching on. But of course he knew the game. Wasn’t he the one who sought her out?

“It’s no lie that I’m hungry, Coriolanus,” she finally submitted. Her admission made him hum delightedly around a grape.

“So eat,” he encouraged, taking a step forward. He raised a grape to her lips. When she didn’t take it from his fingers, he smirked. “Not a fan?” he teased, plopping it in his mouth. “Well, no worries. There's a lot of food here. And—“ he lowered his voice, “you can have as much as you like for as long as you like. That’s the nice thing about working with me: you don’t go hungry.”

Her eyes turned into slits. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she snapped.

He nodded, his carefully styled coif of hair bouncing. “You are, but there’s still more for you to decide. When we walk back out there, Tigris’ friends will grow interested even if she doesn’t. They’ve never seen you and you’re objectively good-looking—of course they’re going to want to know where I found you.”

She took a sip of the wine, not understanding where he was headed. This didn’t seem to bother him. He continued with a crooked grin. “When they ask you what you are, you're more than welcome to be honest. The future is what you make it.”

He took his own sip, his eyes full of meaning. She hated him. He was thrilled at her undoing, thrilled at the fact that he could control her in even the subtlest ways.

“And if I say I’m a whore?” she challenged.

He wetted his lips, setting the glass on the counter behind him. “Then a whore you shall be.”

“And if I tell them I’m your whore?”

He regarded her with an uneasy calm. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his unblinking gaze.

“Then my whore you’ll be,” he answered.

The finality of it sent her into a reflective quiet.

—

As Coriolanus predicted, Tigris’ friends were inquisitive.

After he’d let her eat in quiet, he’d guided her back out to the party where everyone was positioned in a circle. The room was made that way, adapting the Snowflake design of the house itself, each of the chairs orbiting one lone glass table in the middle. It was clever, helping facilitate conversation, but intimidating for whoever had the floor.

“Coriolanus, what does your little dove do? You’ve both spoken so little tonight and I think it’s safe to say we’re all dying to know,” one of them, who she thought was named Otho, said.

Tigris smiled ruefully. “I’m sure she speaks for herself, Otho.”

She smiled, having remembered the name correctly. It wasn’t until a second later that she realized they’d all turned their attention to her expectantly—including Coriolanus. They shared a glance before she eased back in the chair. He was nervous, perhaps just as much as she was.

“I don’t do much,” she evaded, bringing the glass of wine up to her lips.

Otho pressed on. “Oh, and how does one as young as yourself get on with doing nothing? Don’t tell me you’ve got one of those adoring Capital husbands. I mean, you’re pretty enough, but it’s just terribly unfair. I hate meeting them.”

It was a welcome lie. She didn’t look at Coriolanus as she eased her way into it. “I’m sorry to say I do,” she responded. They all leaned forward in their chairs, interested, so she continued. “He’s off in District 2 at the moment. I got one of the patriotic ones; he signed up to be a Peacekeeper not too shortly after our wedding.”

“Was he poor?” one inquired. Tigris poked them with her finger, shaking her head in disappointment.

“It’s quite alright, I don’t mind saying he wasn’t. He thought it was the right thing to do, being fit and young as he was—as he is.”

“Coriolanus was a Peacekeeper,” another one said. She didn’t remember their name either. “Is that how you met him?”

Coriolanus took hold of the conversation. “No. We go back a little farther than that,” he answered. Everyone’s eyes shifted to him.

“Do you?” Tigris asked. She seemed hurt by the idea of not knowing this. It struck her that Coriolanus and Tigris were rather close, like siblings, friends, maybe.

“As children we studied together.” Coriolanus shrugged his shoulders flippantly. Tigris nodded, but looked away.

“That’s true,” she added. She was hitting her stride. It was easy to perform, to be others, almost simpler than to be oneself most days. Coriolanus underestimated how much practice she’d had at that. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d known all along. It was hard to tell with him. “When Coriolanus and I were children I had such a massive crush on him. He was beautiful.”

She looked over at him. He wore a tight grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t you remember how I used to fawn over you?” Her fingers grazed his wrist, and she laughed. He did too. To an outsider, they made quite the jovial pair.

“I can’t say I do, but I’m flattered.” He took another sip of his drink, looking back out to their audience.

“Well, never mind that you don’t remember. I do.” She looked back at them, too. Even Tigris, who seemed wounded by what she didn’t know, stared longingly for more as she plunged into the story. She did remember Coriolanus as a little boy. It was easy enough to supply this information.

“Coriolanus was one of the more considerate boys in our grade. At that time boys made up terrible sing-songy rhymes about how girls were ugly and stinky or what have you, but not Coriolanus. Not that I heard at least.”

Everyone laughed and she looked wistfully at him. He did not look back. Instead, his eyes were captivated by the liquid in his cup. She didn’t let it bother her or take away from her story. “I remember on my sixth birthday I invited him and insisted he sit beside me. He got me a doll. I remember it very clearly. It looked a little bit like me and I thought it was very thoughtful.”

Tigris smiled softly. “That sounds like my Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus rose from his seat. He held up his glass, now empty. “I’m going for a refill,” he informed.

Everyone looked to Tigris as if searching for answers. She guided them towards another topic, smiling brightly as if unbothered. But it was in her eyes, the hurt, the confusion. After a little everyone seemed to forget the absence of him, though. Everyone almost seemed to blossom during it.

She was beginning to suspect that perhaps she’d bit off more than she could chew as she watched them all chattering away like that. Who was this man, she wondered, And why did he hold this much power even over people he seemed to love?

[s-i-n-i-s-i-n]

Carmen Sandiego

Outfit Ranking. Season 1

Here is Part 2

Here is my very own ranking for Carmen Sandiego outfits in season 1.

I feel it is necessary to mention that she is so fucking hot and wicked-awesome that she looks amazing in everything. She would look beautiful in a potato sack.

Warning: this is a long post that may contain my bad resolution images and poorly made gifs.

13. Gray Vile Uniform.

It is weird that having Countess Cleo on the very faculty, the students' uniforms are so ugly. 0/10 Ugly crap. Even the cleaners look better.

12. Dark Vile Uniform.

It is an upgrade. Still not very stylish. Kinda neutral, but at least black and green get along fine enough. But it is a uniform... her personality doesn't shine through this one.

11. Overalls.

She still hasn't grown into her own style but at least I believe it is a personal choice. And green is so not her color.

10. Lab Coat.

She looks so sexy with glasses. She looks classy and smart. But at the end of the day, it is just a lab coat. We know she can rock anything she puts on, but there is no much effort in this, since it is a disguise, a quite simple one at that. Still, baby you look great!

9. The jammies!

So cozy. We get a glimpse at her everyday life. Still very practical and very red. She seems to wear her make up to bed and leave her clothes on the floor.

We are not only seeing a superthief here, but a beautiful woman that just woke up... literally.

8. Diver suit.

Red, red all over. Completely in character. It is obvious the effort in making this piece useful efficient and stylish all in one. Probably one of Ivy's best works.

7. Duchess disguise.

How did Devineaux didn't recognize that beautiful gray eye! Black suits her just fine. Mysterious and fancy. Shows her figure well and the pantsuit compliments her nice strong legs. Looks good with straight hair (that's the only straight thing that suits her).

You can see here she likes chokers. They are part of most of her outfits.

6. Denim shorts.

Wow talking about nice strong legs! Girl you're just showing off. Don't blame you, keep it up. Sporty look here appropriate for the weather. How can she make a short and a t-shirt look so good is beyond me.

With a matching hoodie when it gets cold.

5. Bikini.

Sadly we could not get a good look at this piece. She was on a bad mood at that particular time and didn't want to get off the chair. Too much sun, she said I've had enough tropical beach to last me a lifetime, she said.

Despite how awesome she probably looks in this swimsuit, I think it does not deserve to be in the top 3.

We know she likes wide hats :)

4. Auction Dress.

Hot hot hot hot! Oh boy it's burning baby! No words for this. My brain just melted when I saw her in this dress for the first time. Red and gold combine so well.

The gloves! so elegant!!!

Did you see her back?! asdjkwashgdfhf!!!! Also I told you she likes chokers.

Bonus! We get a closer look at her shoes! And so does Devineaux :)

Now the next is the Top 3. I believe the next ones really look good on her. Not only because she looks pretty but also because it shows her personality. She feels so confident and comfortable wearing them that she puts them on regularly. Therefore it may not be a surprise they are the top 3.

But before that, the 3 honorable mentions.

Honorable mention # 1.

A cute dress for a cute girl.

Honorable mention #2.

Olé!

Honorable mention #3.

Black sheep.

3. Mumbai outfit.

She wears this the first time in Mumbai. Where she meets Jules. Perfect for hot weather. Nice and casual. Little red belt and unavoidable chocker. Love it. I don't know what else to tell you. Simply fabulous.

She is just so unbelievably cool.

2. The RED COAT.

This is the most recognizable of all. The signature. The trademark. This one is what earns her the nick names. La femme rouge! The crimson ghost! Fedora the explorah!

The agility, the sneakiness, the skillfulness!

This coat represents the path she chose. This is the person she has become. Where the world is in danger of loosing its history she's made her mission to preserve it.

Iconic. Just iconic.

So resourceful! She makes me weak in the knees.

NUMBER 1.

Red Hoodie.

Where the Red Coat dresses the thief, the Red Hoodie warms up the woman. This is Carmen, the girl in her comfy everyday clothes. If she had had a normal life, this is what she would wear.

You know that shirt that you barely take off? The one pair of pants that you wear so often it gets holes at the knees? This is it for Carmen.

This is what she feels most comfortable wearing on a daily basis. It is my opinion that this is the more genuine expression of Carmen Sandiego when it comes to clothes. And for that I give this outfit the first place.

Gorgeous!

Thank you for coming!

Here is Part 2

[chaotic-on-main]

Who Could Leave Me? | ModernAU One-Shot

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ angst, death, funeral, depression, if you squint really hard there's comfort? but mainly all hurt, alcohol mentions

☾ Author's note ➼ I'm actively going through my abandonment triggers and what better way to explore my emotions than to write about it. Betrayal, being left behind. They're the same thing to my ill brain. Anyways, I'm so sorry for the hurt I'm about to spring on y'all but I hope you'll forgive me. Now, back to my summer commissions and UW!

☾ Word Count ➼ ~2.5k

☾ Songs I listened to while writing:

Betrayal was nothing new to you. Being left behind was just the same. But when you’re left behind and betrayed at the same time, that’s a whole new feeling. Especially when it came from someone you trusted.

But it wasn’t your fault, was it?

Your name floats by in a whisper, a voice you know all too well.

You wake up with a start and a pounding headache. The autumnal sunrise filters through your sheer curtains in light blue hues, illuminating the room enough to see the outlines of the mess around you. You’re on your stomach, face half buried in a pillow with your arm splayed out on the other side of the bed. Your fingers curl up in the empty space.

Oh, yeah.

Maybe if you go back to sleep, you’ll wake up and everything will make sense again, you tell yourself.

What a stupid thought, you tell yourself.

Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the dark ceiling. It didn’t matter how much you tried to slow time down, today came anyway. You weren’t ready. So, you stay in bed until the blue turns into oranges and finally yellows.

What time was it anyways? Then again, why did it matter? You didn’t care.

“Love?” You hear whispered from the other side of your door. It’s Hange, a mutual friend you met a while back. They stayed over last night no doubt to make sure you didn’t drink yourself into oblivion. It didn’t work, but you vaguely remember them checking in on you every hour, so you imagine that was enough for them.

They knock softly against the wood.

“I’m going to step out to get some preparations ready. I’ll be back in a couple hours to pick you up. Try to be ready by then, okay?” You turn your head at their voice and spot their shadow in the slit of the door. After a minute of silence from you, the shadow slips away. The sound of the front door closing reverberates through the house and then it’s silent again.

The hours that proceeded were spent in a catatonic state. Your wide eyes stayed glued to the ceiling, not a single thought floating by. You suppose that wasn’t a bad thing. You’re not sure how long it had been, but another soft knock echoes through your room eventually.

“You’re still in bed, aren’t you?” It’s Hange again. They sound tired. “I’m coming in.”

You roll on your side so you’re facing your friend as they step into your room with a squeak of the door. An onyx pantsuit drapes over Hange’s tall frame, their rectangular spectacles glinting off the only source of light in the room – the afternoon sun.

 “I knew you’d have trouble getting up.” They make their way over to you. Grabbing your blankets, they pull it all the back so that you’re exposed to the chill in the room. It makes you groan in displeasure, but you let it happen anyways.

They pull you out of bed with a ‘hup!’ and lead you into the connected bathroom, you follow with shuffling feet. Despite the sun being out and being under baggy long sleeves, the air is still cold so goosebumps pop up everywhere along your arms and legs.

They release your arm, leaving you in the middle of the bathroom as they zoom around you. The bath faucet is on in mere seconds and as the tub fills, they grab a few towels from the linen closet.

It’s weird because you watch all of this happening but for some reason, none of it is comprehending in your brain. It’s all a blur as they strip you down, lead you to the bath, and help you in. Before you know it, you’re half sunken and leaning all the way back, only your nose and up sits above the steamy water.

“You know, Levi had to help me with this in college, too.” Hange whispers behind you as they massage shampoo into your hair. It smells like roses. You hum back softly, not really sure how to respond.

Levi’s name doesn’t hurt you as much as you thought it would, but you’re not certain if that’s a good or bad thing. Everything feels numb, even the hot water that felt like it should be stinging against your skin.

“It kind of feels like the passing of torches, you know?” They chuckle quietly at the nostalgia.

The rest of the bath passes by. Rinsing off when asked, getting out when told, holding still when Hange dried you gently with a towel. Staying when Hange tells you to wait as they go grab the clothes that they had set out for you to wear today. You were a robot awaiting orders and nothing else.

Hange adorns your body with a simple long sleeve black dress. It goes down to your knees and the rest is covered by fleece leggings and warm socks. Eventually, they drag you out to the bedroom and sit you down while they lace up your boots. This is all done in silence, though you don’t miss the looks Hange gives you.

They’re the same looks that everyone has given you since the incident. Like you’re fragile and ready to break at any time. Though, you guess you can’t fault them for that. Your actions the last few weeks haven’t told otherwise.

“Hey,” Hange whispers down to you, and you shift your gaze up to their light brown eyes, full of sadness. “Did you…?” They hold out a ring to you.

It’s simple. Silver, studded with a handful of diamonds. You can’t see it, but engraved on the inside is the word ‘yours’ in Levi’s neat handwriting. A wedding band.

You reach out hesitantly, hand shaking as you take it as if you were afraid it might crumble on contact. With those same shaky fingers, you slip it on your left ring finger. It had been a bit since you last wore it, but like a bike you find familiarity with it again. Only this time, it feels heavier than ever.

“Are you ready to go?” Hange holds their hand out to you with a small smile.

.

It starts raining as soon as you both leave the house, heavy clouds eclipsing the sun for the rest of the day. Perfect for a funeral.

Outside of the warm tent, gentle but cold raindrops splash on the trees above and trickle down to the white plastic and onto the muddy ground. With the overcast of stormy clouds, the day is cold. It’s almost fitting, like a movie you’ve seen a million times. And you were the main character. It would make you laugh if you weren’t so drained.

As they call your name to wrap the service up with a eulogy, you feel your heartbeat quicken. You had requested to have it last as it was a job put on you and you wanted to push it off as much as possible. But your pulse racing isn’t from nerves, it’s from anger. Sadness. Frustration. Like a fissure in a dam, realization comes to you.

You can’t do this. How could he do this to you?

Your feet are running before you know it. Out the tent and up the hill into the enclosure of the forest that lines the cemetery. You don’t stop until you feel someone grabbing your wrist tightly and holding you back. It’s a strong grip from a warm hand.

“Le-?” You turn around and almost slip on the leaf littered floor.

Standing in front of you is a man about a foot taller, blond undercut and misty blue eyes that stare hard at you. Erwin Smith, Levi’s closest friend – Levi would always deny being called best friends, something you always teased him with.

“You can’t keep hiding and running from the truth.” He says gently. Downturned eyes and a frown to match, he gives you the same look everyone else is giving.

“Stop looking at me like that.” These are the first words you’ve said aloud in a few weeks. Your voice comes out scratchy and it hurts.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just going to break down at a drop of a hat.”

“Maybe you need to. Have you even cried yet?”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“Maybe you should.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You haven’t seen him in about a month, but he was always a good confidant so to say that your high walls weren’t about to crumble down would be a lie. That fissure is growing with every second he stares at you.

“Erwin, why are you here?”

“I’m here to celebrate the life of my friend, same as everyone else. We’re all upset, too. We need you just as much as you need us.” His grip tightens on you. The rain is coming down harder and you start feeling the cold seep through your clothes and into your bones. You notice Erwin’s usual combed back hair is now in his face, dripping water into his eyes.  

There’s silence as you try to figure out what to say. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Your eulogy sits half finished on your dresser because you had no idea what to say.

What was even appropriate for others to hear? What would be selfish and what wouldn’t be? You suppose it’s all considerably selfish. The one who could call you out on your shit effectively isn’t here.

A low roll of thunder rumbles from above as you face off with him.

“There’s nothing to celebrate.” You mumble.

“You don’t me-“

“He’s not here, Erwin! He left me!” You feel your voice rising with every syllable. He opens his mouth to say something else but now that you’ve found your voice, you can’t stop the word vomit.

“He chose to go back into that building because of who he is. And I hate him for it! How could he do that to me?? Didn’t he think about me?” A sob racks in your chest, and it takes a moment to catch your breath so as to not choke. The water streaming down your face turns warm and you can practically taste the salt of your more-than-late tears as you continue on.

“What it would mean for him leaving me? Nothing feels right anymore, nothing feels like home because he was my home. He promised he’d be around for as long as I wanted him. But I still want him!” Erwin pulls you into his chest and holds you close as you start sobbing harder. They rip out of your throat just like the words you shout, voice becoming hoarse with every line. You don’t fight his vice grip. But you don’t stop either.

“I said I would always follow his lead. But why did he have to go somewhere where I can’t follow. He left me behind. He said he never would and he did it anyway. I hate him so much. I hate him for making me love him and then leaving me like this. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” You trail off, losing yourself in the cries of your pain. Everything hurts as you shake - the only thing holding you together is Erwin’s tight embrace.

The rain pours around you two as you continue to weep into Erwin’s drenched suit. He doesn’t say anything, only placing his hand on top of your head and holding you closer.  

“I don’t know what I could say to help, truthfully. But I know that Levi wouldn’t ever want you to feel this way.” He says finally, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “Terrible things happen, and they can’t be explained. But it’s no one’s fault, not even his. It’s easy to point the blame, but sometimes there isn't anything to blame.”

“That’s not good enough, Erwin.” You mutter in between hitched breaths.

“I know, especially not now. But it will get easier. You need to be more patient with yourself. And be kind.” He whispers down to you, a hand rubbing up and down your back as he talks.

Erwin stays with you until you can breathe again. He offered to take over the eulogy for you, which you gladly accepted. You didn’t even show up to the rest of the funeral, instead opting to sit in Hange’s car until they came for you and drove you home in silence.

.

A few weeks had passed since Levi’s service. At Erwin’s request, you had been more patient with yourself in that time. Of course, none of it was easier - but you weren’t running anymore. With shaky resolve, you were able to bring yourself down to the cemetery.

You twist your wedding band in between two fingers as you walk down the path to where your late husband rests. Your heart feels like it’s about to explode in anticipation. You hadn’t seen the tombstone that Hange helped pick out, so when your eyes finally fall on it, it’s enough to make you stop in your tracks.

Levi Ackerman

Dec. 25th 1983 – Oct. 17th 2023

“The only thing we’re allowed to do is believe that we won’t regret the choice we made.”

He often said to live your life with no regrets. The thing that has been gnawing at you finally comes to you in a new light. Levi wasn’t the type to do anything without thinking. He knew the risks, and you knew the risks of loving him.

Your feet stumble over the soft grass, and you lean down to place a small bouquet of flowers onto the fresh dirt. There’s a layer of permafrost from this morning, just barely starting to melt. Today is warm with the sun out, but that doesn’t stop the fog of breath that comes out with every spoken word.

“I’m sorry for everything I said, Levi. I’m not mad anymore. I just miss you so much.” You sit yourself down carefully, facing the tombstone.

There’s no answer, of course. The only thing you hear is the whistling of the cold wind blowing through the almost empty trees that came with this time of year. You tuck your chin into the scarf wrapped around your neck. It still smells like Levi – clean laundry and pine.

“I don’t want to be here if you’re not. I see you everywhere.” Your words start to choke again. The day of the funeral made that dam within you break open and since then, you find yourself to be more vulnerable. More fragile, like everyone expected. “And I can’t pretend that it’s okay when it’s not. But I’ll try for you, because I know that’s what you’d want.” You whisper, silent tears streaking down your face into the scarf as you shudder.

“I love you. And I will see you again.”

-> Taglist: @humanitys-strongest-bamf @sckerman @nube55 @notgoodforlife @kingkonoha @missyasma @highgoon69 @elsasarahi @kamyru @eriellaa @genyastolemyheart @jadam724 @sujiroses @levisversion @apolloshaiku @secretmoneybearvoid @romantichomicide95 @elnyrae @dkbktk420 @icansmellsouls @levis-squishy-cheeks @missamity @roseofdarknessblog @youre-ackermine @averysmolbear

If you'd like to join my taglist, please go here! (also if you had multichapter fics marked or would be interested in my JJK content, please go back into your answers and recheck them! I fucked up and didn't realize if I changed the answers, it would uncheck things lmao oops)

[ursas-arts]

I'm on that RhineAlice agenda

Tried all the skirt shapes they were bad I say fuckit wide leg pants be upon ye. She would wear a pantsuit lesbihonest.

[unintentional-edgelord]

Context-less concept sketches for an upcoming FTGFTF chapter!!

Formal wear is fun to design!

Grey has a cocktail dress with shiny shorts and cool boots, picked because it's short and therefore easy to move in.

Ashe has a wide-legged pantsuit with a cape and lots of shiny accessories because c'mon, she's Ashe.

Plus a bonus with her:

Mostly because I wanted to draw her in motion, she's jumping over a table haha.

I'll eventually do a coloured version.

Curious to hear everyone's guesses about what this is for!!

[dapper-nahrwhale]

[ID sketches of the triplets from naddpod Trinyvale, Onyx, Nyack, and Jens. Onyx is wearing a pantsuit with big shoulder pads and platforms, her hair is in braids styled like sailor moons with twin buns with braid out of it and crystal gems on the ends. She is standing with her hands on her hips looking confidently at the viewer. Nyack has wide leg jinko jorts on and and a quiver across his chest and is shirt and shoeless He has a few tattoos his chest and a mullet. He is standing with a nervous queasy expression, hands out and almost slipping. Jens is wearing a shirt with a boob window, many many belts, tight pants, and impractical knee high boots. His hair is in a ponytail. He is standing with one hand on hip the other talking on a phone angrily. End ID]

Triplets!!!!!!

[houseofbrat]

Well, well, well...

It's been approximately two months since the pr narrative about The Waleses being all about "the work" started.

And just think of all the pictures we now have of them working! The Waleses, they're just like us!

In fact, so dedicated is Kate to "her work" that she didn't even wear any dresses, except for that one time when she wore a dress to a memorial service for QEII in Wales.

Otherwise, Kate is all about business work! That's why she wore suits!

Just count em'!

Rugby podcast video: A Catherine Walker blazer in Prince of Wales check, Alexander McQueen Tailored straight-leg trousers/pants, and white shirt.

09 Sept 2023: Rugby World Cup appearance in white pantsuit; white/ivory Alexander McQueen blazer with white pants/trousers (possibly Roland Mouret).

12 Sept 2023: Alexander McQueen Amethyst suit

14 Sept 2023: Maje Vincio Blazer in Houndstooth tweed with black pants/trousers and shirt/sweater

18 Sept 2023: Holland Cooper Double-Breasted Twill Blazer in black with black pants/trousers and white shirt.

19 Sept 2023: Roland Mouret custom suit in beige

26 Sept 2023: Burberry Wool Tailored Suit in green

27 Sept 2023: Zara Textured Double-Breasted Long Blazer in red, LK Bennet Frieda Pants/Trousers in black

28 Sept 2023: Holland Cooper suit in navy chalk pin stripe

03 Oct 2023: Holland cooper suit in navy chalk pin stripe

04 Oct 2023: Cefinn Janie Sleeveless Funnel Neck sweater/jumper in mid-grey with Sezane Martin Trousers in mottled grey

05 Oct 2023: Oxen Sports ensemble

10 Oct 2023: LK Bennet Mya Blazer in yellow with black sweater and black Roland Mouret Axon Wide Leg pants/trousers

Wow.

THIRTEEN ensembles before Kate wore a skirt again.

She wore so many pantsuit ensembles that The Telegraph posted an article about it.

For eight out of the ten new appearances she’s undertaken in the past three weeks, the Princess has worn either a full trouser suit or a blazer with coordinating trousers. She’s mostly chosen muted colours and she’s largely been recycling previously seen pieces.  [...] If three’s a trend, then these many tailored looks point to a very deliberate change in style direction from Catherine, who has always used her fashion choices to send messages. So what is she trying to tell us here? “It’s a look of the moment, which works well on the Princess with her long legs, and those boxy jackets suit her,” said Ingrid Seward, the editor-in-chief of Majesty magazine and author of numerous royal biographies. “She wore those ‘little girl’ dresses for so long, but now she wants to look more sophisticated. It’s more of a work-day look; she doesn’t need to be in dresses anymore. A suit is snappier and smarter.” A year after assuming their Wales titles, Catherine and William are shaping their new roles for a modern era. “Catherine’s suits come at a time when the Waleses are making the way they work much more businesslike,” Seward said, adding that their increased workload and fresh approach to running their office, with the imminent appointment of a CEO, points to a polished and professional attitude from the future king and queen.  If Catherine has spent the past decade being viewed as a mother and young duchess, with a wardrobe of ladylike looks to reflect that perception, then now that she is in her 40s it may feel like the right time to swing the narrative. 

Wow. Ten plus years as a royal and only now does she want to be taken seriously! So much for wearing bright colors like Queen Elizabeth II so that people can see you. It's "muted colors" time now!

And it’s understandable that she might use what Seward called “the look of the moment” to craft a serious yet chic uniform that reflects her current priorities. But there are other long-time admirers of Catherine’s style who miss her softer, more classically “princessy” outfits.  “I don’t mind the occasional trouser or suit, but she’s been wearing this style so much of late,” wrote Jane Barr, who comments on the Princess via her Instagram page, From Berkshire to Buckingham. “I really miss the beautiful dresses and coats. This is, very frankly, boring. She is the Princess of Wales. I’d like to see some more pizazz.” The time for pizazz may come later in the autumn, especially if Catherine attends a state banquet set to be held in honour of South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol in November. For now, though, “blazers are more powerful than a dress, tougher and less feminine,” according to Berkeley. “The armour plating one needs to get a job done, in my book.”

Oh, is it all about the work now? Blazers and business suits to "get a job done"? Just like Gordon Rayner wrote two months ago, "Kate is keen to do more." I see all members of the British press, who write about Kate and the royals, have received the message loud and clear that Kate is all about "the work."

Was there a risk that the press would assume Kate is not about "the work" these days? For what reason would anyone assume something like that? Is there something that the unspectacular Kensington Palace comms team hasn't told peeps about? Some "ongoing situation" that is going to become permanent?

I'm sure nothing significant will be happening regarding The Waleses in the next two weeks while their three school-age children are on half-term break. It's not as if we are currently in a period of time where shit just springs out of nowhere with no warning. Just ask Israel! They received multiple warnings that Hamas was planning shit and ignored it. See! They were warned about it. It didn't come out of nowhere even though everyone outside of the Israeli government didn't know about it.

You can't blame the messenger when people just don't want to listen.

[addictedbespoken]

Women Pink Custom Made 2Pc Pantsuit

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Regular Fit

Single Breasted Blazer

Flap Pockets

Waist Belt With Buckle

Button Closure

Embroidered Pantsuit

High Waist Wide Leg Trousers

Wrinkle resistant

Care:

Dry Clean Only

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[addictedbespoke]

Women Pink Linen Suit Single Breasted 3 Piece Coat Vest Loose Fit Pants Peak Lapel Bridesmaid Travel Prom Cocktail Formal Party Wear Set

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We are in the field of Customized Suit/Sherwani from last more than 10 years. We do all kinds of custom orders for Men, Women & Kids. These are our completely custom handmade suits. Each suit is crafted for an individual customer based on his tastes and lifestyle. We also offer matching accessories like Lapel Pins, Bow Ties, Narrow Ties, Broad Ties, Cufflinks, Socks, Shoes, Belt and Pocket Squares, etc. with a little extra cost, to make out a complete package for you (additional cost will be applied). We are always up to suit your demands and make something special and unique for your custom order! Please contact us if you have any questions about your order. This is a made-to-order garment. This pink linen suit is made from premium quality fabric.

[florietiae]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘. 𝐟𝐭. 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐓 / 𝐌𝐑𝐒. 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐍.

𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 / 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.

excited, hopeful.

creative, affectionate.

irritated, board.

disappointed, lonely.

powerless, overwhelmed.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒.

baby pink.

sky blue.

purple.

burgundy red.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒.

centifolia rose.

vibrant neroli.

sweet honey and patchouli.

bitter orange.

lavender and vanilla.

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍.

pantsuits, polka dot dresses,

high-waisted denim, cropped tees. leather jackets.

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒.

watercolor paintings.

brightened theater lights.

clear lip gloss.

big sunglasses.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄.

wide smiles.

lips quiver when emotional.

bright laughter.

chews at inside of cheek.

sits with one leg folded under the other.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

the lavender in sunsets

nostalgia that aches.

wind through hair.

novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins.

the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment.

[neelskyfashion]

Navy Blue Textured 2Pc Pantsuit Set

Handcrafted in India, Our Navy blue textured pantsuit set with asymetrical silk printed collar is a top selection for any business meeting or wedding party event which comes with high waist wide leg trouser with silk printed designing. Look great, feel wonderful and sophisticated wearing this unisex luxury style Pantsuit set.

[unit2-ss24]

The 1970s - part 1

Some trends from the late 1960s carried through into the early 1970s, the Woodstock festival of peace and music marked the end of the 1960s hippie movement however, the hippie flower child look carried over into the first half of the decade in a non-restrictive bohemian silhouette with a heavy folksy influence.

Arts and crafts were very popular to the era, things such as tie-dye, batik, knitwear, crochet and macramé were present during this time and created a great sense of ease and comfort to early 1970s fashion.

1970s folk style.

Angelica Huston wearing Ossie Clark for Miss Selfridge, Cosmopolitan, May 1972

Designers like Laura Ashley and Jessica McClintock popularized the prairie dress phenomenon. The Prairie dress was typically made up of romantic silhouettes with delicate details like floral prints, long billowing skirts, and lots of ruffles.

Thea Porter

Thea Porter pioneered bohemian chic, her shop in Soho instantly drew a crowd of rock and film stars, clients such as the Beatles and Pink Floyd to Elizabeth Taylor, Faye Dunaway and Barbara Streisand took a liking to her style. Thea Porter celebrated ethnic styles in Indian style prints, free flowing breezy gauzy tent dresses and wide legged pants.

Thea Porter had seven signature looks:

the Abaya & Kaftan

the Gipsy dress

the Faye dress

the Brocade-panel dress

the Wrap-over dress

the Chazara jacket

Sirwal skirt

As well as this her fashion photography featured on the pages of Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar and Women’s Wear

During the 1970s skirts could be seen in a variety of lengths, mini, midi or maxi. The maxi dress was a must have of the decade in a multitude of styles and shapes. Rich earthy tones dominated the era, warm browns, burgundy, rust, mustard, and avocado green took centre stage.

The 1970s saw women emerge in to the work place, they began to dress more "masculine" wearing pantsuits, day wear and separates echoed in the film'Annie Hall'. The image below shows Diane Keaton wearing a fitted vest with a collared white shirt and men’s neckties in the film.

From then on, the pantsuit became the next big thing. Bianca Jagger wore a YSL pantsuit at her wedding to Mick Jagger in 1971.