oxford button down

red lips and rosy cheeks (isaac lahey AU)

Originally posted by sensualkisses

Summary: “Good girl. Now bend over Daddy’s lap.” (lawyer AU)

Pairing: Isaac x OC

Rating: you won’t find god here

A/N: This is for the magnificent @isaaclaheysmate. You’re the best, A. :)

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I saw a tweet by Dappered the other day linking to a story they did about “the perfect navy blazer” by Spiers & Mackey. It was a nice jacket by all accounts, a deep navy, contrasting buttons (but not gold, like mine…), and a modest price. The only issue I took with the blazer was the pictorial, which featured a bearded hipster bro in inky dark blue jeans, the blazer, and double monk strap loafers. Despite wearing jeans and a blazer, he looked like he improvised a suit as there was zero contrast in his jacket and pants. And of course I’m qualified to criticize.

Today I wore an old Brooks Brothers “346” sack blazer I grabbed on eBay a few years back. It’s labeled a “38” but it might be a short instead of a regular. However, the slightly shorter cut with a traditionally loose jacket does have a nice lengthening effect on the legs. I wore a faded pair of Levi’s 501s here to demonstrate how to wear jeans “right” with a navy blazer, but I failed to capture a pic of them. Because taking pictures in the bathroom mirror can be weird. The point is contrast: Jeans and jacket shouldn’t be the same shade of blue.

I did get a picture of these tan bucks by Bass, however. I always forget how comfortable they are, but I generally don’t wear them. Because they have laces. @theunbuttonedlife would understand.

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Addicted Appreciation Week (Ailin’s Day 7)
↪ One Flashback: Coballoway First Kiss, Chapter 42, Some Kind Of Perfect

I took a heartier breath and strutted towards Connor. When college exams and the texts made me feel frazzled, my wardrobe flooded me with confidence. Black skirt, sheer tights, booties with five-inch heels, a blazer over a loose white blouse, topped with a sleek pony and a Chanel handbag—I was ready for battle.
As I neared, Connor stepped from the table, his wardrobe equally put-together: navy slacks, leather belt, expensive loafers, an Oxford collar button-down and tie beneath a gray sweater. He had always dressed better than most men, but I wouldn’t dare compliment him.
I spoke hurriedly and hushed. “Did you slip and fall and forget that your allegiances are to Penn, not Princeton?”
He almost laughed like I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.
“Richard—”
“My allegiance is to you, Rose.”
[…]
What the hell is going on? my iron walls seemed to shriek. This was unlike me. Letting him stay. Letting him help. Letting him near.
I didn’t want to push him away. I wanted Connor right here next to me.
I found my pen. I placed it on the table, and his arm extended over the back of my chair. He started talking about the equation, but I couldn’t think straight.
“Rose?”
I glanced at him, just slightly.
He studied me with noticeable affection behind his blue eyes.
“Continue,” I told him, my voice stilted.
“No.”
My eyes flamed. “No?”
His hand encased my cheek and jaw, large and assured. My pulse beat my veins alive. His other hand rested on the outside of my thigh, climbing towards my ass.
I held onto his shoulder. Our lifetimes of combatting one another seemed to flip over like a spinning coin that fell to one side.
His lips an inch from mine, he whispered something, not a quote. Not in French. Connor Cobalt murmured, “What’s inside this feeling that screams at me?” His eyes spoke of battles and wins and years positioned right across from me. “Devotion.” He neared. “Fealty.”
His lips touched mine. Our very first kiss. My rigid body stayed erect, but I heated like a thousand burning stars. He deepened the kiss, in control so I wouldn’t have to think.
I was thinking.
I thought about how my mind sparked and blistered. I thought about how his hands commanded the moment as much as his lips. I thought about how he held me like I’d always been in his possession, as he’d always been in mine.

The Trad also known as the New Englander, the professor.

Dress code: Tweed blazers, button-down oxford-cloth shirts, rumpled khaki chinos.

First known sighting: The original J. Press shop in New Haven, Connecticut, 1902.

Recent sighting: Hipster coffee shop near you.

Hall of Famers: Miles Davis, George Plimpton, John Updike.

Signature accessory: Knit tie.

Bragging rights: Wearing the same pair of khakis for fifteen years.

Cause for stress: Hole in the crotch of said khakis.

Pickup line: “I like your cardigan.”

Favourite book: The Stories of John Cheever.

On his iPod: Talking Heads.

In his driveway: 1983 Mercedes Benz S-Series.

In his closet: Three-button wool herringbone blazer ($265) by J. Crew; cotton shirt ($30) by L.L. Bean; cotton tie ($95) by Gant; cotton trousers ($98) by Dockers; leather belt ($45) by J. Press; glasses ($405) by Tom Ford.

In Flagrante Delicto

Here is my contribution for the Rumbelle Order in the Court event! Yay rumbelle + law stuff + smut!

This is actually just a bit from a much larger fic that I am writing, but this part stands alone and is perfect for this. I’ll post the prequel chapters after the ROITC event. 

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1743

Beta: @mariequitecontrarie

On AO3 here.

Below the cut because.


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