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punkshort · 2 months

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somewhere to run | 13. the trial pt.2

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: The trial comes to an end and you go back to your life before.

Chapter Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), bath sex, piv (somewhat) unprotected sex, breeding kink?, language, dirty talk, parental emotional abuse, oral sex (f receiving)

WC: 11.9K

A/N: Beginning was inspired by this anon ask a while back - thank you! Also, please excuse my shitty law expertise. I have no idea if what I'm writing is actually factual because I got my law degree from movies and TV.

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Joel's entire body ached.

Under normal circumstances, he hated testifying in court. It was a long process, the benches were always uncomfortable, and by the end of the day his back was screaming at him. But this time, it was worse. His muscles were tense all day, twitching just underneath his shirt as he had to listen to every excruciating detail of what that monster put you through. By the time Madeline called him to the stand, he thought he would snap in half from the pressure. He remained tense throughout her questioning, but he was experienced enough to not allow his stress to show. He knew that it was too important and he needed to be the best possible witness he could be. He even made a point of trying to rein in his accent so he sounded more professional to the jury.

But all of that flew out the window when Beckett fucking Kennedy began his line of questioning.

Sheriff, have you ever had sex with the plaintiff?

Madeline leapt up from her chair, yelling objections at the judge while her and Beckett argued over the relevance of his question. Joel stared straight ahead, patiently waiting for the argument to settle. He knew this might happen, and they prepared for it.

"You better be going somewhere with this," the judge had warned Beckett before allowing Joel to answer.

"Yes," he had replied through gritted teeth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw members of the jury shift in their chairs and a murmur ripple through the crowd. The judge tapped his gavel, reminding the room to be silent, before nodding at Beckett to continue.

"When was the first time?" Beckett asked, his eyes bright, knowing he had Joel right where he wanted him.

Joel hesitated, trying to remind himself to give as little information as possible, but it was going to sound bad any way he sliced it.

"The evening the plaintiff gave her statement."

Beckett raised his eyebrows at Joel and gave the jury a disbelieving look.

"The same evening she had all these injuries you've accused my client of inflicting?"

They didn't prepare for that. No, Maddy certainly didn't expect this sleazeball to accuse Joel of inflicting any type of harm on you, and something in him snapped.

"Are you tryin' to say I did that-" he pointed at the now blank monitor, "to her? I wouldn't lay a finger on her!" His voice was too loud. His blood was boiling. He was seeing red and he knew he was losing control. You had curled your hand into a fist and pressed it anxiously against your mouth. Madeline caught his attention and narrowed her eyes and he took a deep breath.

"But you did. You just admitted to having sex with her that evening, so by definition you laid a finger on her," Beckett said, clearly pleased he was getting under Joel's skin. Luckily, before Joel could reply, the judge intervened.

"Move on, counselor."

Beckett slowly paced in front of his own table. Patrick sat back in his chair with a stupid smirk plastered across his face while Beckett readied his next question.

"Can you describe the nature of your sexual relations that night?"

"Objection!" Madeline yelled, standing up from her chair.

"Sustained," the judge said, frowning at Beckett.

"I'll rephrase," he said, and Joel could feel his blood pressure rising. "Did you have what could be considered rough sex with the plaintiff?"

A few women behind the benches gasped quietly to themselves, as well as a few jurors at the unexpected, and inappropriate, question.

"No."

"Are you sure about that, sheriff?"

"Yes, I was there. I'm sure." Joel said, staring daggers at Beckett now.

Beckett hummed and continued to pace thoughtfully, purposely dragging out the questions so it would annoy him. And it was working.

"Are you currently in a relationship with the plaintiff?"

Joel swallowed and ticked his jaw to the side. "No."

"Really?" Beckett asked, raising his eyebrows curiously as he paused in front of the bench. "When was the last time you had sex with the plaintiff?"

Joel sighed and couldn't help but meet your gaze. He could see the anguish all over your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, knowing he was going to have to answer honestly and what it could mean for you both.

"A month or so ago."

Madeline glared at him over her glasses and he knew she was already planning on giving him an earful for not warning her, but he didn't care. He just needed to get this over with.

"Sounds like a relationship to me," Beckett said.

"Objection."

"Sustained."

Another excruciating fifteen minutes crawled by where Beckett lobbed question after question at Joel, building up an image of him in front of the jury as a man who wielded his power as town sheriff to target his client so that he could run off with his wife. Joel did the best he could, but he felt like he was failing. Once Beckett sat down, announcing he was through, Madeline stood up.

"Redirect, your honor."

The judge nodded and Madeline stood in front of him once again, staring him down.

"The evening the defendant was arrested for being drunk and disorderly, who swung first?"

"The defendant did."

"Was the plaintiff there at the time?" Madeline asked, and Joel shook his head.

"No, ma'am."

"Did you have any idea at that point in time what the defendant had allegedly done to the plaintiff?"

"No, ma'am."

"So it sounds to me like you were just doing your job, is that correct, sheriff?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"No further questions," Madeline said, then turned on her heel to sit back down beside you.

He could feel Michelle's eyes on him when he stood up from the stand and it made him want to squirm. He could only imagine the shit she had to say about all this. She had tried to stop him after court adjourned for the day, but he was too pissed off. He stormed out of the courtroom, not even bothering to wait for you or Madeline.

He regretted leaving you the moment he stepped foot outside, but he knew he couldn't be seen with you. Not in that room. Not after the line of questioning Beckett pummeled him with. So instead, he found himself all alone in the nearest drugstore, picking up a box of Epsom salts and a bottle of extra strength Tylenol. The hotel was a short distance away on foot, but his back and hips were killing him after everything he had been through. Every step felt like torture. His head pounded so loudly he could hardly focus, his jaw clenched so tightly he thought he would crack a tooth. It was times like this he wished he was more of a drinker.

He quickly shed his jacket and belt and headed into the bathroom, running the water as hot as his skin would allow and pouring in a generous amount of Epsom salts before taking off the rest of his clothes and leaving them in a wrinkled pile on the floor. He slipped into the bath with a groan, instantly finding some relief from the heat, and closed his eyes.

He had brought his phone into the bathroom, but it sat silently on the tile floor next to the tub. He couldn't imagine you or Madeline or Michelle or anybody would want to reach out to him at that moment, but just in case you did want to talk, or if Sarah needed something, he kept it close by.

He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed as he let his mind wander and allowed the bath to relax his aching body. What he wouldn't give to have you there with him right now. He just wanted to be with you so badly, even if you weren't doing anything, even if you were just in the same room, that's all he wanted. Just to be breathing the same air as you would be more than enough.

His tired mind heard a click, then the shuffling of feet on carpet. His eyes cracked open just as the door slowly swung into the room, and relief flooded his veins when he saw your face.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked with a lazy smile, his eyes raking up and down your body. You grinned down at him but didn't say a word, just took a hesitant step towards him with your perfect lower lip tucked between your teeth. "You walked around the hotel wearin' just that?" he asked, eyeing the short, white silk teddy you were wearing.

"Mhm," you hummed, kneeling down in front of the tub and dipping your hand into the water. "Feels nice."

"You wanna get in?"

"Yes," you said breathlessly, standing up to lift the teddy over your head, revealing your naked body to him, and he groaned.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he mumbled, reaching his hands up to steady you as you stepped carefully into the tub to join him.

"It was such a hard day," you cooed, your hands drifting up his arms, fingers sending goosebumps all over his skin, and he nodded. "Can I help you relax?"

"Yes," he whispered, tilting his head back with a sigh when your hand dipped below the water, slowly dragging down his stomach before reaching his cock. He moaned softly when your delicate little fingers wrapped around him and began to pump him leisurely under the water.

You shifted so your thighs straddled his lap, your hand never leaving his throbbing length, and slowly sank yourself down onto him.

"Ohmygod," you whined, your hands gripping the sides of his head now, water dripping down his cheeks while you slowly began to rock your hips against him. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close and squeezing your ass.

"I love you," he moaned, not caring anymore. "I love you so much, I'll do anythin' for you," he rambled as you sped up, the both of you beginning to pant for air.

"I know. I love you too, Joel," you told him, your fingers creeping up to get tangled in his hair. He nuzzled his face against your neck, basking in your touch as you continued to bounce up and down, bringing him closer and closer.

"Nothin' can keep us apart, you hear me?" he mumbled into your skin. "Wanna be with you forever. Wanna make you mine. Wanna give you a baby." He groaned when you whimpered and gave his hair a firm tug. "Would you like that? Want me to fuck you so good you have my baby?"

"Yes!" you cried out as you clenched around him, little moans falling from those perfect lips as he continued to fuck up into you, muttering praise in your ear until he came so hard and so fast it made him lightheaded.

But when he opened his eyes, you vanished. He was still alone in the bath, surrounded by lukewarm water and his fist gripping his softening cock as his breathing began to stabilize. With a grimace, he turned the knob to drain the tub and stood up, snatching a towel off the bar and wiping himself down quickly before stepping out.

He leaned over the sink, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. His eyes looked tired. He felt tired. His shoulders sagged but his head and muscles felt marginally better.

He would never forgive himself if he ruined this for you. He fucking knew better. Everyone warned him but he actually convinced himself no one would find out, and now everything was out in the open. Everything was on the record.

He didn't even want to think what this would mean for his own legal trouble with Patrick. Dan said it could cost him his job, and he didn't really believe it until today. He felt the panic begin to swell in his chest and he pushed away from the sink, disgusted and unable to look at himself anymore. Grabbing his phone, he strolled out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist before flopping tiredly on the bed.

He wanted to call you. He needed to hear your voice. He wanted you to make him feel better, but he couldn't bring himself to call. He was too ashamed of himself. Ashamed for letting his feelings get in the way of something so fucking important to you. Ashamed for the way he behaved in court. Ashamed for the way he left you.

He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to have you soothe him. He fucking knew better. He should have put a stop to this thing with you. He never should have started it in the first place. Not when so much was at stake. But he just couldn't control himself. He couldn't fucking stop.

As he laid there, clad in only a towel while the TV droned on in the background, he wondered what you were doing. Were you upset? Were you mad at him? Fuck, he should really call you. Not to ease his own mind but to make sure you were okay. But when he picked up his phone, it rang in his hand. And when he saw Maddy's name pop up, he couldn't help but think she must have somehow known what he was about to do and she was putting a stop to it.

"Hey," he said into the phone, bracing himself for the lecture. He deserved it. He wasn't going to hide from it. "I know you're pissed, and I'm sorry. I should've told you-"

"I'm not calling about that, although I will kick your ass for that later, mark my words," she scolded, and he sat up on the bed, his interest piqued. "Are you sitting down?"

"Yes," he said, his heart beginning to thrum faster in his chest.

"Guess who I just got a call from?"

"Who?"

"Nina fucking Hoffman," she said triumphantly on the other end. Joel's lips parted in surprise and his eyes darted around the room, trying to catch up with what that meant.

"What'd she say?" he asked nervously.

"She said she's changed her mind and she spoke to the other girls, and while not all of them are willing to come forward, she did manage to convince three others," Madeline said hurriedly, and he could hear the excitement in her voice.

"H-how did she find the others? I didn't share their information with her, Maddy, I swear-"

"The Trojan horse himself, Officer Bates, reached out to a few of the girls and tried to help us out," she said, and he could tell she was grinning.

Officer Bates. A man who worked in the same precinct as Patrick and witnessed what he had been doing, had contacted Madeline to inform her there's been other girls, which prompted Madeline to call Joel that sent him on a wild goose chase in Philadelphia that he thought ended up being a lost cause, but apparently not.

"You know what the best part is?" she asked excitedly. Madeline never acted like this. She was always matter of fact and level headed. Whatever was happening was huge, and Joel began to feel the weight being lifted from his chest.

"What?"

"There's video evidence, Joel. Fucking video! I'm looking at it right now. Time stamped and everything. Faces clear as day... apparently one of these girls had a nanny cam in her apartment."

Joel sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Tell me we got 'em, Maddy."

"We got him, Joel."

He let out a shaky breath, his heart hammering like crazy now. He didn't fuck everything up. You're going to win and, most importantly, you'll be safe. His hands were trembling so badly that he had to set his phone down and put it on speaker.

"What's the next move?" he asked, standing up to get fresh clothes. "What d'you need me to do?"

"Nothing," she said, and he heard her tapping on her keyboard in the background. "I'm going to use this as leverage. I'm waiting for Kennedy to call me back and I'm going to try to strike a deal and end this."

"A deal?" Joel repeated, standing up from his suitcase, which was spread open on the floor.

"Yes, a deal. Don't you want this to end or do you really want me to put her up on the stand tomorrow? After you couldn't keep your dick in your pants? You really want that asshole to put on a repeat performance?" she snapped.

He winced, but knew he deserved it, so he remained silent.

"Besides, it's a miracle these other women are willing to go on the record as it is. Putting them up on the stand will just traumatize them further."

"Does she know?" he asked.

"No! And don't you go telling her until I know this is wrapped up. If this doesn't work, I can't have her getting her hopes up," she said sternly.

After he hung up with Maddy, he finally started to feel some relief. Maybe he actually made a difference going to Philadelphia. But ultimately he knew all of this wouldn't even be happening without the one cop in Patrick's whole precinct who had a fucking conscience. He knew the officer preferred to remain as anonymous as possible for obvious reasons, but he really had to find a way to thank him.

He stared at his phone for a moment, chewing on his lower lip, his foot tapping anxiously on the carpet. Glancing at the clock to make sure it wasn't too late, he snatched up his phone and tapped on your number. He wasn't going to tell you the news, but he still wanted to talk to you. He needed to make sure you were okay.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he said, a little breathlessly. He was still too excited about the news Madeline had just shared, so he tried to tone it down. "Just wanted to check on you. You doin' okay?"

He heard you shift around and your TV muted in the background.

"I guess so."

"I'm sorry I didn't walk out with you," he began, and he heard you suck in a breath over the phone. "After all that shit, I didn't wanna give them more ammo, y'know?"

You didn't say anything for a moment and his ears strained to read your silence.

"That's it?" you asked.

"What'dya mean?"

"You didn't leave because..." you trailed off and he furrowed his brow.

"Because what?" he urged.

"Because you're rethinking this? Rethinking us?" you asked, and he could hear the tremble in your voice.

"Oh god, baby, no," he breathed. "No, never. Don't think that." He heard you breathe a sigh of relief, but you remained silent. "I'm sorry. I was pissed off, I should've-"

"It's okay," you told him. "It was just a shitty day."

"Yeah," he agreed, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm a little freaked out about tomorrow," you admitted, and he could hear it in your voice: the anxiety and fear that always came out whenever you spoke about Patrick, and some dark part of him wished he could wrap his fingers around that motherfucker's throat to make sure he could never hurt you again.

"It'll be okay," he told you, and now he fully understood why Maddy was going for a deal over a potentially stronger sentence a jury could dole out. You didn't deserve to go through every excruciating detail again, especially in front of a room full of people. People who would just look at you with pity, or judge you for sticking around as long as you did. "Remember what I told you, you just look right at me, okay?"

"But if I do that, won't that make things worse? The jury will see-"

"No, it'll be fine. They won't be able to tell," he said, and he wasn't sure if that was even true, but he just needed to put you at ease. He listened to you breathing on the other end, not saying a word, and it took all his willpower to not knock down every door in the hotel until he found you and scooped you up into his arms.

"But then you have your lawsuit-"

"I told you not to worry 'bout that," he said, his eyebrows pinching together.

"Patrick told me Nikki is going to testify against you, Joel," you told him, and his lips parted in surprise.

"What?"

"He told me this morning. He said she would testify that your feelings for me caused you to approach him at the bar that night."

"That's bullshit," Joel scoffed. "Hank's already stated on the record that he wanted me to escort Patrick outta the bar, and he was the only sober one in the goddamn place. Nikki's not a reliable witness, she was drunk, they're graspin' at straws," he continued as he tried to tamp down the anger growing in his belly.

"I'm so sorry I caused all of this, Joel," you said softly, and when he heard you sniffle, it broke his heart.

"You didn't do anythin', please stop blamin' yourself. None of this is your fault."

"Maybe my mom's right. Maybe if I -"

"Stop right there," Joel said, sitting up straighter now and clenching his jaw. "Nothin' that woman's ever said is right. Get that outta your head right now. Don't let her manipulate you like that. Don't you see you deserve better? You deserve so much more than what these people have given you, and -"

He stopped short, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to hold himself back.

"And what?" you asked after a few moments.

"And... I'm gonna do my best to give you everythin' you deserve," he said, leaving out those three little words that kept jumping to the tip of his tongue.

He heard you let out a shaky breath and readjust on your bed. Fuck, he wished he was there with you right now. He could help you feel better. You were so close, too, but after the day you both had, he couldn't risk making things worse.

"I should probably go," you finally said, your voice sounding so small. "I want to study the questions Madeline's going to ask me once more."

"Okay," he replied, and he could tell he hadn't done much to help your nerves, but he gave it one more shot. "It's gonna be okay. I promise you, this'll all be over soon and we can put this behind us."

"I know," you said, "thank you, Joel. For everything. I know today was really hard."

"It's worth it," he said, and he meant it, but for your sake he really hoped Maddy was striking a deal with Patrick's lawyer at that very same moment.

You had hardly slept and it showed.

It was far too late in the night when you considered taking a sleeping pill, so you just put on the TV and hoped you would get some sleep, but at best you got two hours. Your nerves were a mess. Your stomach was churning so badly that you didn't even trust yourself to eat or drink anything other than water that morning, and to make matters worse, Madeline and Joel were nowhere to be found. So, you found yourself sitting alone at the plaintiff's table, and as the court room began to fill up, you kept turning around in the hopes of seeing one or both of the faces you were looking for. One of those times, your eyes locked with your mother and you quickly turned back around in your seat. It was a good thing you didn't eat anything because you were fairly confident at this point, you would have thrown up all over your hideous blouse.

You: where are you??

You stared down at your unanswered text to Joel. What the hell was going on? You had really hoped today, of all days, they would be there early so you could go over some last minute tips before taking the stand.

You could hear the crowds of people murmuring behind you amongst themselves as the clock ticked closer to nine. The room had gotten too full now, so you stopped looking at the door. It was becoming too embarrassing and you really didn't want to catch your mother's eye again, but you had noticed at least Michelle didn't show up this time.

The door swung open but you remained still, staring down at your list of questions and mentally rehearsing your answers, double checking your notes in the column for certain inflections or physical actions you wanted to take at specific points when you finally heard Joel's voice behind you.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," he said breathlessly, and you swiveled around in your seat.

"Where's Madeline?" you hissed, but he didn't pick up on your agitation. Or if he did, he didn't care because he was grinning. Fucking grinning as you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"She'll be here in a minute," he assured you, crouching down in front of the railing so he could keep your conversation private.

"In a minute? The trial's about to start! What do I do-"

"No, it's not," he said, his brown eyes sparkling as his smile stretched even wider.

"What do you mean?" you asked nervously, your eyes darting around the room at the people patiently waiting.

"It's -"

He was cut off when Madeline swung open the doors to the courtroom, followed closely by Beckett Kennedy, a confident smile sprawled across her face. Beckett dropped his briefcase on his table, and if you didn't know any better, he seemed annoyed. You ignored the bailiff in the corner of the room who ducked back behind the judge's bench to escort Patrick out from his holding cell, joining his lawyer at his table and looking distraught.

"What's going on?" you asked her when she sat down.

"It's over," she told you. You just stared at her, stunned.

"What do you mean?"

"He struck a deal. He's about to change his plea to guilty when the judge arrives. It's all over, hun," Madeline said, squeezing your shoulder. Your jaw dropped and your eyes widened as you looked back and forth between her and Joel, each of them looking elated.

"H-how?" you stammered, and your adrenaline finally caught up with you. Your hands began to shake and your heart slammed in your chest as you waited for an explanation that you were sure you would only absorb half of because you were far too emotional to focus.

"The other girls. A few came forward and gave their statements, and one in particular had video evidence. I presented all of this to Kennedy last night, and he had to review it with his client this morning but they took a deal," Madeline said hurriedly, knowing she was running out of time. "Six years in some cushy cop prison back up north, one of those years mandatory rehab. And," she said, triumphantly pulling a thick stack of papers out of her briefcase, "he signed your divorce papers. You're no longer married."

You gasped, eyes wide as you stared at the papers she dropped onto the desk. You finally tore your gaze away and looked at Joel, tears welling up in your eyes so quickly that you couldn't even read his expression.

"Oh my god," you whispered, turning back to Madeline and shakily covering your mouth with your palm.

"All rise!"

Somehow, you managed to stand on trembling legs and blink back most of your tears until the judge entered the courtroom and sat down, allowing the rest of the room to follow except for Beckett, who remained standing.

"Your honor, may I approach?"

You watched in a daze, trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself down as Patrick's lawyer walked up to the bench, murmured something to the judge, then sat back down. It was all a blur, but the judge announced there would be a change in plea, causing Patrick to stand and say the word you've been waiting to hear for years.

"Guilty."

You clapped your hands over your mouth and the tears began to flow. Madeline's arms wrapped around you as the judge tapped on his gavel, silencing the crowd behind you, and then dismissed the jury.

The bailiff led Patrick away, back into the room he emerged from moments ago, but you didn't notice. Your face was buried in Madeline's shoulder, sobbing your thanks over and over, knowing it would never be enough. Then you turned to Joel, reaching over the railing to wrap your arms around his neck. He squeezed you tightly around your ribs as you breathed in his familiar, comforting scent and you felt some of his own tears getting trapped against your neck.

"It's over," you whispered into his ear, "it's finally over."

By the time you finally collected yourself, most of the room had emptied out into the hallway, carrying with them their shocked murmurs and speculations as to what caused the sudden change in plea. Your eyes were still glimmering with tears as you walked out with Madeline. Joel trailed behind, pausing briefly to shake hands with the bailiff and exchange a few friendly words, before following you out into the hallway. You were dabbing at your cheeks with a tissue Madeline had procured from her purse, your mouth still stretched into a huge smile when he locked eyes with you, his own smile matching yours until he glanced over your shoulder. You could see the subtle change in his expression even from a distance, and your face fell a moment before you heard your mother call out your name.

You swiveled around, your heart getting stuck in your throat as you took her in. Her frail frame stood a few feet away, clutching her purse in front of her. Her makeup was perfectly done, not a hair out of place as she cleared her throat and asked to speak to you privately. By now, Joel had caught up with you. You glanced at Madeline first and then him. He tried to express his support with a small furrow of his brow and a quick nod: I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.

Turning back to your mother, you forced a tight smile and said sure before following her down the hall, out of earshot but still within range so you could still see Madeline and Joel over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out with you and Patrick," she said, her eyes briefly raking up and down your body, examining you up close now.

You didn't know what to say. The first words that popped into your head were I'm not, but you knew there would be no point, so you kept your mouth shut and just nodded.

An awkward silence passed as people filed past you, talking amongst themselves with ease and you wondered why it was always so hard to have a conversation with your own mother. And a few months ago, you blamed yourself, but today you finally felt like you could see clearly for the first time. It wasn't your fault. It never was your fault.

"I'm going to see if I can change my flight, I'd like to minimize my time spent in this godawful state as much as possible," she said, raising her chin in the air as she scrutinized a couple young women passing by. "When can we expect you back?"

Your eyes widened as you stared at her, gobsmacked.

"W-what?" you stammered, and her eyes dragged back to you.

"Back home, dear. When will you be coming back? I assume now that you've done what you came out here to do, you'll be coming back home."

You blinked rapidly and shook your head.

"What I came out here to do?" you repeated, and she sighed, looking at you as if to say drop the act.

"Yes. You wrangled some poor soul and managed to get him all twisted around in your drama so he could get you out of this mess," she said, waving over her shoulder in Joel's general direction. "So now that you got what you wanted from him, I can presume you'll be moving on."

Any other time, you would have crumpled at her words. You would have cried and bit your tongue. But not today. Today, you were free, and not just free from your ex-husband. Free from everybody who ever treated you like you weren't worthy. Like you were always the problem, like you deserved what happened to you.

"How dare you," you snarled, your eyes narrowing. "You might think you know everything about me, but you don't. I don't treat people like they're disposable. I'm not like you or Patrick. I don't hurt the people I love and take for granted that they'll forgive me," you said, the anger rising in your chest, and over her shoulder you could see Joel's body stiffen. He was watching, unable to hear you but your body language was telling him everything he needed to know.

Your mother scoffed and opened up her purse, rifling around for her compact with a little smirk.

"So this is how you're telling me you're in love with another man? Already? My god, has the ink even dried on your divorce papers?" she snickered, then flipped open the mirror to check her hair, avoiding your gaze. Your jaw tensed and you reached out, snatching the compact away and snapping it shut so she was forced to look you in the eye.

"So what?" you said, your voice getting louder and catching the attention of people passing by. "He's treated me better than Patrick or anyone else ever has. He's shown me-" you paused and looked over her shoulder, making eye contact with Joel, who looked nervous and concerned as he watched you from down the hall. "He's shown me what love is really supposed to be like," you said, your voice softening as you continued to hold his gaze. "He's been there for me through everything, good and bad. He would do anything for me, and I would do anything for him," you continued, dragging your eyes off of Joel and back to your mother. "And I deserve that. I deserve better."

Your mother regarded you for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words before she scoffed and plucked the compact out of your hand and dropped it back into her purse.

"Your father is going to hate him."

"I don't give a shit," you snapped, making her look up at you in surprise. "I'm not bringing him to Pennsylvania, Dad will never meet him because I'm not coming back," you said, looking at Joel once again. "This is my home now."

She looked around with her hands turned up towards the sky, a sarcastic smile on her face before looking back at you.

"This? This is what you consider home? Come on, be realistic," she said, dropping her hands.

"There's nothing wrong with Texas, so stop acting like there is," you told her with a frown. "I love it here. I love the people here. So, I'm staying."

Your mother opened her mouth to say more, but you held up your hand as you took a step forward.

"Have a safe flight," you said to her over your shoulder as you walked back towards Madeline and Joel. And you didn't look back once.

Madeline had insisted on taking you and Joel out to dinner to celebrate, and you excitedly agreed. In fact, you even decided to have a couple glasses of wine, something you rarely indulged in since Patrick managed to ruin the idea of alcohol for you, but you were determined not to let him influence your decisions any longer.

You didn't want to know much, but Madeline did share with you some of the details of Patrick's sentence. She told you he was cocky and arrogant when she announced there were other girls that came forward, then how stricken he looked when she played the video. He had asked for a specific prison up north, one that he knew of that was soft on cops, and in exchange he agreed to drop the charges against Joel and plead guilty to the rest of the charges for a reasonable sentence.

It only took one glass of wine for your muscles to relax and your lips to loosen up. You told the two of them over appetizers what your mother had said, leaving out some of the specifics and focusing on how you stood up for yourself, instead. And when Madeline excused herself to use the restroom, Joel gripped your hand and brought your knuckles up to his lips, his dark eyes shiny and his cheeks a little pink from the wine and he murmured how fucking proud he was of you, and you told him you never could have done it without him. He shook his head, about to say you were wrong, that you had it in you all along, but you stopped him and held his gaze.

"I mean it," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. "You changed my life, Joel."

And if it weren't for the public setting, if it weren't for Madeline walking back over to your table, he would have said it. But the timing wasn't right, so he let the moment pass.

After dinner and a reminder from Madeline to stop by her office the next day to finalize some paperwork before heading back home, Joel walked you back to the hotel. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and it took a few minutes before you realized you didn't need to hide anymore. You wrapped your hand around his bicep, pulling yourself closer into his side and he smiled, then freed his hand so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head.

"Which floor?" he asked after getting onto the elevator.

"Five," you replied, swaying slightly when the car lifted from the ground floor, the wine still coursing through your veins, making you feel loose and relaxed.

"Same as me," he said, leaning against the wall opposite you as his eyes leisurely roamed down your body, and you could tell by the playful smirk on his face that the wine had gotten to him, too.

"What a coincidence," you said, biting back a grin before carefully stepping out of the elevator when the doors opened. He followed behind you in silence. He didn't need to say anything. You could feel it. His eyes that were glued to your back, the heat that was radiating off of him, the heavy fall of his step behind you all sent a shiver down your spine.

You unlocked your door and pushed it open before turning back to Joel, who was leaning up against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets again as he smiled at you lazily.

"See you tomorrow, then," he said, and you hummed before reaching out to fiddle with his tie, His eyes fell to your hand and watched as your fingers wrapped around the strip of material and tugged him forward. His mouth crashed against yours with a groan while his hands quickly found a home on your hips. He backed you into the room, letting the door swing shut with a quiet click, and he didn't stop until the backs of your legs hit the bed. You pulled away from his mouth breathlessly and gave his chest a gentle shove, pushing him back so you could have some room to reach around and unzip the hideous skirt you had been wearing.

"I told you I can't stand these clothes," you said softly, and he grinned as he patiently watched you strip, but once you were down to your underwear his body crowded yours once again. His hands were everywhere. Your shoulders, your back, your ass, then your face, holding you still so his tongue could delve deeper into your mouth. Your hands came to rest on his belt, fingertips tucking behind his waistband, ensuring he remained as close as possible because now that you finally had him, you didn't want to ever let him go.

One of his hands dropped from your jaw and skirted around the edge of your underwear, then he dipped an experimental finger past the fabric. When your kisses became more feverish and your hands flew up to his shoulders, he added a second finger, then slowly tugged on the material. Your legs pressed together so you could wiggle out of your panties, letting them fall to the floor around your ankles. Joel smirked against your mouth, his fingers gliding down and when they slipped easily between your folds, the smirk fell from his face. You were so wet and so warm and it was all for him.

He quickly pulled his hand out from between your legs, making you whine until he wrapped his hands around your thighs, his mouth still relentless against yours, stealing all the breath from your lungs. He lifted you up, just enough so you were seated on the bed, then crawled forward, pushing you backwards until your back was flush with the mattress and your legs dangled over the edge.

He sat back, breaking the kiss, and you sucked in deep gulps of air, watching as he fell to his knees and yanked your hips closer. Your legs fell open while his palms slid up the inside of your thighs. His thumbs parted your folds and his eyes glazed over when he saw what was waiting for him.

"Fuck," he whispered, his eyes sliding closed for a moment, trying to collect himself before they snapped open again. "Can I taste you, baby? I really wanna taste you again," he breathed, then dragged his mouth up your leg, his beard tickling your skin and making you squirm.

"Yes," you squeaked, then gasped when you felt his tongue, hot and firm, slide over your clit, then dipped lower, licking at you greedily, scooping up your arousal with a moan, as if he enjoyed it as much as you did. Your hands immediately found his hair, clutching his curls between your fingers as he eagerly licked into you, his own fingers holding you against him and gripping your thighs so tightly that his nail beds turned white.

"Oh god, Joel, I... I-" you stammered, your head tossing back and forth as you struggled to breathe. You tugged harshly on his hair when his teeth grazed against your clit and he growled, his eyes flashing up to yours, watching your face as you lost all control, his chest swelling with pride that he was the one who got to do that to you, he was the only one who got to see you come undone.

He was relentless. He refused to hold back, having spent so many painstaking months already holding back, all he wanted to do now was make up for lost time. His jaw ached from the amount of pressure he was applying between your legs, his tongue cramped from how feverishly he licked, his lips were growing numb from how aggressively he sucked on your clit but if he were to die right then and there, he would die a happy man.

Your back arched underneath him, your body thrashed in his firm hold as you whined and whimpered his name. The slow spread of heat low in your belly came rushing up your entire body in an instant, causing your thighs to tighten around his head so hard, they trembled unsteadily when you finally relaxed.

He kissed your legs tenderly, spreading your slick over your skin with his lips as he listened to you catch your breath. Your muscles twitched under his fingers and your scent filled his nostrils and something about having you so soft and pliant under his touch made him feel animalistic.

He stood up suddenly, making you jump a little in surprise and turned your head as you groggily as you watched him tear off his tie and belt. You inched up the bed so your head rested on the pillow, making room for him while he hurriedly pulled off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers for last. He caught your eye before tugging them down and your lips parted as you watched his cock bob free.

You eagerly spread your legs and motioned for him to join you on the bed. He shot you a smirk as he bent forward and crawled on top of you, his hips falling against yours, grinding into your sensitive core. Your eyelids fluttered rapidly and a small noise slipped past your lips but his mouth quickly captured yours, giving you a heady taste of yourself with his tongue.

Your body jolted underneath him every time his hips rubbed up against your clit, little electric currents shot through your limbs, and you gasped softly each time, your senses in overdrive, your skin tingling with each gentle touch from his hand and each playful bite from his mouth as he made his way down your neck.

His tip kept catching on your opening every time he rolled his hips back, and each time you became more and more frustrated.

"Joel, please," you whined, but his focus was entirely on your chest, his mouth drifting back and forth over your breasts, which were comically pushed up by the bra he had tugged down. He reached behind you and you arched your back so he could unhook it, and he slid it down your arms before tossing it to the side, his mouth barely leaving your skin.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you reached down between your bodies and lined him up at your entrance. His hips paused and he glanced up at you from your chest.

"Please," you tried again, your eyes momentarily fluttering shut. "It's been so long, I've missed you so much, please, Joel," you begged, not caring how pathetic you sounded.

In the blink of an eye, his mouth left your breast and was once again hovering over your own as he gazed down at you, his dark eyes shifting back and forth, examining you closely.

"I've missed you, too," he murmured, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. Then something in his expression shifted as he stared down at you heatedly. "And now you're finally all mine," he said, and as he spoke, he slowly began to sink into you, making your jaw drop and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He paused for a moment, allowing your body a chance to relax and adjust around him before pushing in further. A deep groan tumbled from his lips when he finally found himself fully sheathed inside your wet heat, then he nibbled tenderly at your chin, patiently waiting to move until you stopped writhing and whimpering.

Your hands slid up past his shoulders and got lost in his messy hair, pulling him down the last little bit so your lips connected once again. Your lips were raw and swollen from his beard but it just made you crave him even more. As your tongue slipped past his teeth, you hooked one leg around his waist and began to rock your hips up, encouraging him to move.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, dragging his lips across your cheek while he slowly began to thrust in and out, savoring every single second. "You did so good, my brave girl," he continued, and you felt yourself flush from the praise. Your eyes slid shut, heart swelling with joy and pride and something else that you felt inching its way to the surface. With each rut of his hips, you felt the words being pushed closer and closer to the tip of your tongue.

"Joel," you gasped, his lips finding a sensitive spot on your throat while his hand gripped the meaty part of your hip, pressing and tugging you as close to him as possible. Your bodies began to stick together, the noise from your skin and sweat adding to the little grunts and moans coming from each of you.

His touch was too gentle, his kisses too soft, words too sweet. It was making your mind hazy and muddled, to the point where you were worried you were babbling something you didn't intend to share just yet, so you bit down on your lip to keep the words inside, safe and sound.

"Are you okay?" he panted in your ear, slowing down when he noticed your prolonged silence. You blinked back the tears before he could see and you nodded.

"Yes," you whispered, your fingers slipping through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. "Faster," you mumbled, and you felt his fingers dig a little harder into your hip at the request.

He did as you asked, hips snapping faster now, because he could never say no to you. Not that he would want to, anyway. But to him, anything you ever wanted would be yours.

You deserved someone who would treat you right, someone who would make up for all those horrible years you had to endure. Someone who would worship the ground you walked on during the day and kneel at the altar between your legs at night.

How did he get so lucky? How was he the person you chose? He didn't dare ask, not wanting to risk you coming to your senses because if you did, he was fairly certain he would never recover. His heart would surely never heal.

"Tell me you're mine," he groaned into your neck, his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes screwed shut as he listened to the air getting punched out of your lungs with each thrust. "Need to hear it. Need to-"

"I'm yours," you moaned, cutting him off, tipping your head back and exposing your neck.

"Say it again," he said through clenched teeth, hot air puffing from his nose in rhythm with his hips.

"I'm yours, I'm all yours," you rambled, your head rolling back and forth as you felt yourself begin to lose control. The white hot heat pooling low in your belly once again. "Of course I'm yours, I lo-, I'm yours, Joel," you continued to babble, hoping he didn't notice the words that almost slipped out.

He let go of your hip so he could wrap both arms around your ribs, holding you as close as he could with both your legs tightly squeezing around his waist. He felt so heavy, inside and on top of you, the pressure from both sending you careening towards the edge. You frantically grabbed at his hair as if you needed something to hold onto, and maybe you did because when your orgasm finally hit you, it felt like you might float away. Your back arched up into him, pressing your sweaty chest into his while he pulled his head back, just a little, so he could watch your face. He kissed one of the two small tears that trickled down from your eyes, all dark and wide. Your mouth hung open as you struggled to drag in air around his name. He would never tire of it. He was certain, now, more than ever.

"You got no idea what you do to me," he said huskily, recklessly chasing his own high now. Your body sagged under him, but your shaky legs still managed to pull him in, your heel pressing into his back, urging him forward. "God, I-I want you so much... all the time... all I think 'bout," he rambled, his vision going spotty. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come," he gritted out, slamming his hips into you until his body stilled and he let out a filthy moan, one you did you best to memorize before he dropped his head against your heaving chest.

"Oh my god," you whispered after a few minutes of silence, the two of you trying to catch your breath. He hummed tiredly into your skin, and you could feel it reverberating through your chest, right to your heart. You took a deep breath and summoned up what little courage you had left for the day.

"Joel?"

"Hmm?"

But when you looked down at his face, eyes closed and jaw relaxed, you could tell he was moments away from falling into a deep sleep.

"Nothing. I'll tell you tomorrow," you said, kissing the top of his head. His arms loosened ever so slightly around you, your sweaty skin there finally being exposed to the cool air of the room, making you shiver. And even though you couldn't reach the sheets, you were still warm because you were surrounded by him, and that was enough.

"If we're late, I am telling Madeline it was all your fault," you told him, grinning like a fool at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your hands were busy trying to make your hair look somewhat presentable, but his hands were busy roaming up and down your body. His chest pressed against your back and his chin tucked into the crook of your neck made your task even more difficult, but you didn't dare squirm away.

"That's fine. She's mad at me, anyway," he said, planting chaste kisses against your shoulder.

You finally resigned yourself to pulling your hair into a low ponytail and then turned around in his arms. His lips immediately found yours and you couldn't stop the smile from spreading across your face.

"Joel, c'mon," you whined, but your hands drifted up his chest, contradicting your tone. "You still need to go back to your room and clean up. I wanna hit the road right after this meeting," you said, pressing a kiss against his neck. "I wanna go home."

He sighed and gave you one more kiss before dropping his hands and pulling away.

"Fine," he said, trying to sound cross but you could see right through him. "Lemme go change and pack, I'll meet you down in the lobby in half an hour."

"You're going to need longer than that, you need to shower," you said, scrunching up your nose as you watched him button up his wrinkled shirt from the day before.

He just caught your eye and winked, making you giggle, before walking towards your door.

"Thirty minutes."

As it turned out, you were right on time. Somehow.

This time, when you both walked into the lobby and gave the same young and pretty receptionist your name, you didn't feel your stomach twist when she batted her eyelashes at Joel. And he didn't seem to notice her, either. His eyes were fixed entirely on you and as you sat down, you began to realize you were always so caught up in your own insecurities that you never noticed the way he looked at you. His eyes were filled with a mix of admiration, playfulness, and devotion. How on earth couldn't you see that before?

The only thing that pulled your gaze off him now was Madeline's familiar voice calling out your name. You shot her a wide smile and stood up, Joel trailing after you, and followed her down the path to her office.

"Will this take very long? I was hoping to be back home by lunch," you asked, and you felt Joel's fingers brush delicately against your lower back as you walked behind her. You hadn't really figured out what your relationship was quite yet, and the instinct to still hide it was strong. Especially from Madeline, considering how angry she was when he took the stand.

"No more than an hour," she said over her shoulder, but when her hand came to rest on her doorknob, she paused and turned back to you. "I have a little surprise for you, if that's okay," she said, and you glanced over at Joel briefly before giving her a shrug. "I have someone here who wanted to talk to you."

Your eyes went wide as a few guesses flitted through your brain, but when she opened the door and revealed a clean shaven younger man with a buzz cut, wearing dark jeans and a flannel, you realized none of your guesses were correct.

Madeline ushered you both in and shut the door behind you, and you stood in the middle of the room, your eyes examining him, trying to place him but failing. When Madeline took a few steps forward and reached an arm in his direction and introduced him as Officer Tyler Bates, your lips parted in surprise.

"Don't you work with Patrick?" you asked in disbelief, swallowing down your nerves. He gave you a sad smile and a brief nod.

"Yes, ma'am."

His voice was deeper than you expected, but so far nothing was really going as you expected. You blinked at Madeline, confused, and then Joel's hand was on your lower back again. Reassuring. Firm. He stretched an arm out and shook his hand.

"Nice to finally meet you," Joel said to him.

"Same to you, sir," Tyler said, his jaw firm. Joel looked back at your confused expression and glanced at Madeline before explaining.

"Few weeks back, Madeline got a call from Officer Bates here," he began, and Tyler went back to standing rigidly against the wall, his hands linked behind his back. "He heard 'bout your case and he wanted to help. He knew about the other victims, the girls Patrick coerced into silence, just like you," Joel said, bringing his hand up to your shoulder now. "He put us in touch with these girls. That's why I went up to Philly - because of the information he risked his neck to share," he said, looking at Tyler again. "We're forever grateful to you, Officer," Joel said earnestly.

"It's the least I could do," he replied, glancing at you with shame. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," he said, his voice cracking a bit. "I should have done more. I saw what was happening and I -" he bit his lip and turned away for a moment, and you felt the tears begin to burn in the backs of your eyes. "I stood by and did nothing. I was a rookie back then and... it's no excuse, but I just didn't know what to do," he said, meeting your gaze again, his blue eyes wet with tears. He looked down at his feet and sniffled before continuing. "I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me-"

You lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, surprising just about everybody in the room. You could feel his body stiffen under your touch, but then his arms shifted to gently embrace your midsection.

"Thank you," you whispered in his ear, your voice thick with emotion, and you felt him nod against your shoulder.

Stepping away, you wiped a few stray tears with the back of your hand and looked at Joel, whose eyes looked just as misty as Tyler's. His throat bobbed before meeting Tyler's gaze again.

"You ever find yourself in need of a job and you happen to yearn for the excitement of a podunk town," Joel joked with a grin, and pulled his card out of his coat pocket. "You give me a call."

Tyler took the card and flipped it over in his hand before putting it in his wallet.

"I will, sir. You never know. Change of scenery may be nice."

"Well, I mean it. Don't hesitate, okay?" Joel said, holding his gaze for a moment, and Tyler nodded before looking back at you.

"Thank you both," he said, his eyes drifting between you and Joel. "I appreciate you meeting with me and hearing me out."

After Officer Bates left, Madeline explained he had come down for the trial but, for obvious reasons, preferred to not let Patrick or the other cops who had been called to his defense see him. And for maybe the first time in your life, you realized you were actually losing count of how many people you had in your corner.

It was an incredibly draining day and it was barely ten in the morning but you finally wrapped everything up with Madeline and gave her a tight hug with the promise of staying in touch. But of course, just as you were letting your guard down, a knock came on the door when you were gathering your things and Michelle, of all people, poked her head in.

Your breath caught in your throat and you immediately looked away after giving her a shy smile. You wanted to look at Joel, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Just in case he looked at her the same way he looked at you, your heart wouldn't be able to take it. But had you found the courage to look at him, all you would have seen was a stony expression and a clenched jaw as she entered the room.

"I hear congratulations are in order," she said, clapping her hands. Madeline chuckled and nodded and you dragged your eyes back up to Michelle.

"Thank you again," you said weakly, and she waved you off like it was nothing.

"We're so happy to help," she said, still grinning when she locked eyes with Joel. "How have you been, Joel?"

"Alright," he said gruffly, and you could see the tension in his broad shoulders.

You thought her smile might have faltered a bit at his tone, but she still asked "do you have a second to talk?"

His eyes flicked over to you and you gave him a tight smile before turning to Madeline.

"Do you want to walk me out? You can tell me all about that cruise you're taking with your wife," you said, tilting your head towards the door, and she nodded as she rounded the desk.

"We're going to the Caribbean, we've never been," she said excitedly, pulling out her phone. "Take a look at the cabin we booked, isn't it just gorgeous?"

Joel's eyes followed you until you reached the hallway and disappeared, your voice fading, leaving him alone with Michelle.

"It's been a while," she said awkwardly, and he grunted while he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Didn't even know you worked here."

"Just over a year now," she said, her fingers tangling nervously in front of her. "They offered me partner, great benefits, sign on bonus... I couldn't say no."

"Congratulations," he said softly, and finally forced himself to look at her. "Why'd you tell her you picked this case as a favor to me? You know that ain't true. It made her feel bad."

She sighed and glanced at the open door. "It kind of was a favor for you, Joel."

"I didn't even talk to you 'bout it, I didn't even know you worked here," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but Victor told me you spoke to him and I may have pushed her case a little during some executive meetings," Michelle said with a shrug. Joel chewed on the inside of his cheek as he mulled over what she said.

"Why?"

She scoffed and dropped her hands to her sides in defeat. "You really need me to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah, I think I do," he said, crossing his arms defensively. She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath before answering.

"Because I wanted to see you again," she said, her voice trembling. "Because I missed you-"

"We didn't work out for a reason, Michelle," he reminded her. "And we are standing right in the fuckin' middle of that reason. Look around," he said, waving his hand in the air. "You got what you wanted. You made partner before you were forty. I'm sure you have a beautiful house or apartment and a fancy car-"

"But I was wrong," she said, cutting him off. "I thought those things would make me happy, but... I was wrong."

Joel stared at her for a moment, feeling something stirring in his chest - pity. Pity for the woman he once loved, who made the wrong choice and was full of regret.

"You're more than welcome to get together with Sarah," he said after a moment. "She's still got the same number. Maybe you should get lunch with her. Before you know it, she'll be off to college."

Michelle nodded and dropped her chin to her chest, trying to blink back tears, but Joel still noticed. He looked away, trying to give her a moment to collect herself.

"You love her, don't you?"

His eyes shot back over to her in surprise.

"Sarah?"

"No," Michelle said, sounding exasperated. She pointed to the open door. "Her."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah."

She smiled. A sad, strangled smile, then looked at him with glistening eyes.

"Makes sense now, why you did so much for her," she said, biting her lip and looking out the window.

Guilt began to creep up as he watched Michelle struggle with what to say. "Can't thank you enough for doin' what you did," he said, his eyebrows pinching together. "You helped out someone who really needed it. You did a good thing."

"For selfish reasons," she said with a chuckle.

"Doesn't matter," he told her. Michelle met his gaze and nodded slowly, then let out a sigh and clapped her hands together. In an instant, the sadness disappeared and a resilient lawyer once again stood before him.

"I'll give Sarah a call," she said, turning towards the door, and he followed.

"She'd like that."

When they reached the hallway, she looked at him once more, a soft look that once upon a time, he would have killed to see, but now no longer wanted. "Take care, Joel."

"You, too," he replied with a small smile, then turned on his heel and headed towards the lobby.

One Week Later

"Are you switchin' me to decaf?"

You feigned offense from behind the counter of the diner, your hand coming up to clutch your invisible pearls.

"What ever do you mean?"

"I heard you and Sarah whisperin' on Saturday before the movie," he said, wagging a finger at you.

"She was just telling me about a boy she liked," you said, leaning against the counter and watching his face contort.

"What?"

You giggled and filled up a glass of water. "She's a teenager, Joel. She's going to be interested in dating."

"Over my dead body," he grumbled before taking a sip of coffee and wincing. "I swear, this don't taste right."

"Try this instead," you told him, placing the glass of water in front of his nearly empty plate.

He eyed you suspiciously but picked up the glass and drank half, earning him one of the most beautiful smiles he'd ever seen and suddenly he felt like he could drink an ocean if he got to see that smile again. He leaned forward, his arms bent over the counter, as his eyes raked up and down your body.

"Still comin' over tonight?" he asked, but your eyes went wide and you shushed him, glancing to the side where Margaret, Nikki's mother, was seated. "Oh, come on, who cares?" he said, scowling in her direction even though she wasn't even looking.

"I know, I know," you replied, picking up a rag and wiping down the counter. He watched you fidget nervously before glancing at his watch and standing up.

"Better head back," he said, shrugging his blazer over his shoulders.

"Okay," you said sweetly, and you both paused, fighting the urge to kiss goodbye. You glanced around the dining room and looked back at him. You were about to say something when Maria waved you down.

"Can you grab table three?" she asked as Tommy sauntered out of the kitchen with a rag over his shoulder. He nodded in Joel's direction before grabbing Maria's chin and giving her a deep kiss. You felt your stomach clench, wishing more than anything Joel would do that very same thing to you, but your relationship was still so fresh and you were both trying to figure out how to act. In such a small town, you knew news like that would ripple through the streets in minutes, and neither of you seemed ready to deal with the fallout just yet.

"I'll see you later," you told him, and he took a deep breath.

"Seeya."

You grabbed your pad of paper and pen and headed over to table three while Joel walked toward the front door, tapping the hostess stand to break up Maria and Tommy and wave goodbye before he left.

You felt your heart clench when the door swung shut behind him. It always did. Whenever he left, you felt like a piece of you went with him. To distract yourself, you focused your attention on your table.

"Hi, Mr. Connor," you said with a cheery smile.

"How're doin', sweetheart? How's that car treatin' ya? Get you back and forth to Austin okay?"

Most of the town already knew about the finer details of your trial, courtesy of Betty. When you got back, you had explained to her the real reason for your divorce and why it required so much time off, and before you knew it, you were being overwhelmed with well-wishers.

"It did, thank you," you said with a smile.

"Well bring it by the garage, I'll rotate the tires and do a tune-up, on the house. You've been through enough as it is, don't need that car crappin' out on ya."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the front door swing open.

"Really? Thank you so much!" you said, taken aback at his generosity. Mr. Connor nodded and smiled, then curiously looked past you towards the front door. You followed his gaze and saw Joel, his eyes landing on you at the exact same time. Your lips parted in surprise as he marched towards you, his face determined and shoulders squared.

"Did you forget something?"

"Yeah," he said, then reached out and cupped your jaw with both hands, pulling you firmly against his mouth and stealing all the air from your lungs. You dropped your pen and paper to the ground and wrapped your arms around his neck, and you faintly registered the whistles and scattered applause from the remaining guests in the diner, but your focus was entirely on him. His lips gently massaged yours and his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of your cheeks and you couldn't think about anything else. Only him. Only ever him.

"Finally!" Betty exclaimed from a table nearby.

He pulled back with a grin, his hands still cupping your face.

"I love you."

A smile stretched across your face as tears instantly sprung to your eyes from hearing those words for the first time.

"I love you, too."

He laughed in disbelief and pulled you back in for one more quick kiss, both of you still grinning from ear to ear.

"I'll call you later," he said, dropping his hands.

"Okay," you replied, biting your lip and watching him back away, keeping his eyes on you until he reached the hostess stand, where Tommy and Maria were smirking, but he didn't look. All he could see was you. Only ever you.

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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months

Text

Falling Slowly

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: You are Tim's newest rookie, and his favorite. He treats you differently, able to see that your past affects you, and the little things build up until you can't deny your feelings.

Warnings: so much fluff, brief angst, domestic violence (Tim and reader respond to a call & allusions to past dv against reader), one scene is inspired by "The Switch" (1x4)

Word Count: 4.0k+ words

A/N: This doesn't really fit in any specific season, so I put characters in the roles I wanted them to have and just made up some names to fill in the gaps. Hopefully everything makes sense. Please let me know what you think!

Picture from Pinterest

“What are you doing here?” Angela asks, surprised to see Tim.

Furrowing his brows, Tim answers, “I’m here for the TO meeting.”

Angela tilts her head back and groans, passing Nyla a 10-dollar bill.

“She thought you’d give up your position for Metro,” Nyla explains.

“I’d like to, someday, but not today,” Tim replies.

“20 bucks this is his last one,” Angela says to Nyla. “He still has the open invite to Metro and his patience can’t take many more boots.”

Nyla reaches to shake Angela’s hand as Tim rolls his eyes and walks away.

“Let me see his rookie first, then we’ll talk,” Nyla decides. “I’ve got a feeling a lot is going to change around here.”

“Like what?” Angela asks. “Nyla! Like what?”

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the Mid-Wilshire station on your first day as a rookie is both nerve-wracking and exciting. You’ve heard stories about boots making it through the academy to fail once they reach this level, but you’re determined. When you were a kid, you were in bad situations more often than any child should be, but kind police officers changed your life, and you’d like to do the same.

Waving to one of your police academy friends, you sit in the bullpen, waiting impatiently to learn which officer behind you will be your training officer. Getting the perfect training officer is up to fate, based on what you’ve heard, and your TO can make or break your career.

“Good morning, boots! I am Watch Commander Wade Grey. You have made it through the police academy, but don’t expect a pat on the back, your work is just beginning. This is the time to prove yourself, to show your TO, me, and this city why you deserve to be a police officer.” He pauses, moving around the podium to add, “If you should be a police officer.”

As you listen intently, striving to remember every word Sergeant Grey says, two detectives stand at the back of the room and evaluate the rookies.

“He’s only got one shot,” Angela mutters.

“If he gets the pretty one in the front, I’m not taking the bet,” Nyla says.

Angela looks up a row, her brows raising when she sees you. “If he ends up with her, we’re starting a station-wide pool and getting rich,” she adds.

“Now, it’s time to be assigned to your judge, jury, and executioner,” Wade says with a smile. “Or, as we call them, TOs. Our former rookie turned TO, Nolan: you’ve got Edward Henderson.

Officer Nolan nods at Henderson, and you remember his story: a late-life rookie who got a golden ticket. Part of you wants to work with him and learn why he decided on law enforcement, but you only nod at Henderson before turning back around.

“Lance Vincent, you are with our newest TO, Eliza Reagan.”

Wade says your name with a smile that seems a bit more genuine than before. “Officer Bradford, last but not least,” he says as he assigns you your new TO.

You look over your shoulder, a small smile on your face as he nods at you. He is undeniably attractive, and you hope it doesn’t cause any problems.

“Oh, he’s a goner,” Nyla whispers under her breath when you smile at Tim.

“Should we tell him?” Angela replies.

“I think we’ll have to.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Something about you bothers Tim. Not in the usual, grumpy-with-a-new-boot way, but he has a sense that you’re different.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, walking to Tim at the back of the bullpen.

He stands, offering a calloused hand to shake.

“I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy or fun,” he tells you. “Being a rookie is the hardest part of your career, but if you’re a good cop under the uniform, you’ll be fine.”

Nodding, you promise to do your best and express your willingness to learn everything you can from him.

“Good,” he says. “Meet me outside the war room. We’re not wasting any time, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim watches you walk away, and when you stop to let someone carrying a large box cross in front of you, Tim realizes that you’re hurting, or were hurting not long ago. The underlying need to help people is something he recognizes.

“She’s pretty,” Angela muses, walking to Tim’s side.

“Though you know that,” Nyla adds, smiling on his other side.

“She’s a boot. No different than the other rookies,” Tim argues, though his gaze is still on your back as you sign for your bags and weapons.

“Sure, she is. Why don’t you go put her through a Tim test?” Angela suggests.

Tim rolls his eyes as he leaves, wondering what hurt you bad enough to make you want to be a cop. He became a cop despite his hurt, but you’re young and bright – and too good for him – so there must be something in you that makes you worthy of this. More worthy (and more beautiful) than any rookie before you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Several officers wish you luck, with one or two warning you about so-called “Tim Tests” while you wait for Tim behind the shop.

“Don’t tell me you have a checklist,” Tim begins, drawing your attention away from the shop tires.

“No, sir,” you answer. “Just being vigilant, I suppose. I’d hate to start my first day with a flat tire.”

Tim nods, asking where the war bags are. You tell him how you checked the contents and loaded them into the trunk, and he appreciates your brief explanation.

“Good work. The easy part is over,” Tim says. He seems to weigh his options before deciding, “You drive. Show me what you’ve got.”

He follows you to the driver’s side door, opening it as he reminds you of standard shop procedures. As Tim closes the door, you wonder if he’s a gentleman or if he followed you because he doesn’t trust you to drive correctly. Either way, you know what you’re doing, and you won’t let the man in the passenger seat distract you… too much.

Driving toward Wilshire Boulevard for patrol, Tim looks out the window.

“Blue Camaro has an expired plate,” you alert.

“Call it in.”

You do so, hitting the sirens as you engage the traffic stop. Tim raises a hand to stop you from getting out.

“Remember your training. Don’t let the situation get away from you.”

His words linger in your mind, and you complete the stop with no problem, issuing a ticket and returning to the shop.

“I’m driving,” Tim alerts you, spreading his hand across the small of your back as he directs you to the sidewalk.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask when he starts the car.

“No,” he answers bluntly.

You lick your lips nervously, turning your attention to your surroundings. Suddenly, Tim pulls over and hits the brakes.

“I’ve been shot, boot. Where are we?” Tim demands.

Furrowing your brows in surprise at his actions, you answer, “Intersection of 12th and Meadowbrook, west of Redondo. There are several hospitals in a five-mile radius, but only one has a trauma center.”

Tim pulls out wordlessly, continuing his patrol route. Tim doesn't say much else throughout the few hours between his first test and lunch. He lets you point things out, answers your questions about the area and procedures, and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. When he pulls up to a small circle of food trucks where several police officers are waiting, he turns toward you.

“You’re doing well. I’m not neglecting to give you good feedback for any reason other than once you start riding alone, you won’t get it. My role here is to prepare you for your solo career, not hold your hand until you get there.”

“I understand, sir. Thank you for answering my questions,” you reply as you open the door.

Tim’s hand finds your upper back as he leads you to his favorite of the food trucks, a light touch that disappears nearly as quickly as it happened. You thank him quietly for the suggestion before sitting with your fellow rookies.

“Hi, Tim,” Angela says.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his annoyance breaking through his growing fondness for you.

“Just came to get some food. Your boot seems to be in a good mood.”

“Strange, I thought Tim’s thing was ‘break their spirits in the first hour,’” Nyla adds as she joins Angela.

“You two not have work to do or something?” Tim inquires.

“Something like that. How’s she doing?” Angela tips her chin toward you as she asks.

“She’s got good instincts, knows protocols.”

“But?”

Tim shrugs, turning away before Angela can dig deeper.

“I give it a week,” Nyla announces.

“Before what?”

“He can’t take it anymore.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Domestic disturbance in your area,” dispatch alerts.

Tim grabs the radio, accepting the call as he hits the sirens and turns into a residential area. You chew the inside of your bottom lip; domestic calls are your least favorite, especially when kids are involved. Unwilling to show discomfort, you put on your best brave cop face and follow Tim to the door.

A young girl with a bloody nose and teary eyes opens it, and you glance at Tim before kneeling and asking her to come outside. She listens without question, her lower lip wobbling as you smile.

“He’s hurting my mom,” she whimpers.

Tim nods at you before tilting his head toward the shop. You direct the girl to stand at the edge of the porch and wait for you as you follow Tim inside.

“LAPD, put your hands up!” Tim yells as he steps into a bedroom.

Your eyes widen when you see the large man towering over the girl’s mother. He smiles as he reaches for something.

“Don’t move unless you want to give me a reason,” Tim says lowly. “Step away.”

The man looks toward the nightstand before taking a deep breath and giving up.

“I got it,” Tim tells you before radioing a code 4.

You wait until Tim has the handcuffs secured to walk outside. The girl runs into your arms, and you pop the shop's trunk, setting her down as you retrieve a small first aid kit. She lets you clean her bloody nose, gripping your wrist when it stings.

“Where’s my mom?” she asks.

“She’s talking to my partner right now, she’ll be out in a few minutes,” you explain.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you answer.

“Mom!” she yells, letting you set her on the ground before she runs to her mom’s side.

“Get in the shop,” Tim commands as he walks past, his hand brushing your arm as he closes the trunk.

You obey, climbing into the passenger seat and waiting as he talks to the EMTs. When he joins you, he drives to a quiet, empty street before switching off his body cam and gesturing for you to do the same.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer than you’ve heard.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t say what I want to hear. Domestic calls are tough but that wasn’t your first one, was it?”

You shake your head, looking out the windshield instead of at Tim.

“We all have reasons for becoming a cop, and some calls are harder than others. As long as your past doesn’t get in the way and put you in danger, it’s okay to be human,” he continues. “TOs are notoriously hard on you, but we’re also here for you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Tim shrugs, one corner of his lips upturned. “No more sappy stuff, we have work to do.”

“Oh, if you think that was sappy, I’ve got a lot to show you before I graduate to short sleeves.”

The comment catches Tim off guard and makes him feel something he didn’t expect.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the first week, you feel like you know Tim well. His hand spread across your back or shoulder when you’re in front of him, his little reminders that you’re not alone, that you can show emotion when the time allows, and every other little thing he does makes you wonder why there are so many horror stories around his teaching style.

Likewise, Tim thinks he has you down. You ask him questions, ask for his opinions, listen and apply what he says, and send him small smiles when he compliments your work.

But, it only takes a shift to realize that people are multi-faceted, and cops and rookies are no different.

“Good morning,” you greet, passing Tim a small box.

“What is this? A bribe?” he asks.

You smile as you reply, “Nope. Just something I found, and I thought you’d like.”

Tim opens the box, his eyes widening at the 2000 Super Bowl tickets, the Rams’ first win. “I can’t accept these.”

“They were under a bookshelf in my apartment, it’s not like I spent a million dollars on them, Officer Bradford.”

Tucking them into his pocket, Tim opens your door. “Thank you.”

You smile, and Tim thinks your joy is the better gift.

✯✯✯✯✯

During your first call of that day, you show Tim that you don’t just value his opinions.

“Shots fired!” you radio as you duck behind the car.

“Are you hit?” Tim asks.

Shaking your head, you move closer, trusting him to direct you and keep you safe. The men in the house you were called to have automatic weapons, and though you’re a good shot, you’re not a match for their guns alone.

“Backup is on the way, but I need you to do something for me. You trust me?” Tim adds.

“I do.”

“Reach around the back and open the trunk; just far enough to reach the latch. I’ll cover you.”

He stands above you, firing into the shattered window of the house as you slip your arm and back around the end of the shop and open the trunk.

“Good, perfect,” Tim praises as he ducks beside you. His knuckles graze yours as he leans past you. “Can you reach the shotguns?”

Glancing in the window above you, you locate them quickly. “I can.”

“Do it. I got you.”

Once the shotguns are in your hands, you pass one to Tim as you ready your own. Timing your shots, you take out two shooters just as your backup arrives.

“You’re bleeding,” Tim says, his adrenaline dropping as a tactical team takes over.

You look at your arm, just noticing your ripped sleeve and bloody skin. Tim lays his hands on your arm as he turns it toward him.

“I think it was just glass from the windshield,” you say quietly, pointing to the car behind you, riddled with bullet holes and broken glass.

“Either way, we need to get it checked out.”

“Officer Bradford?” you interject. “Thank you. For making sure I trust you.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” he mutters, so soft you can barely hear it.

He taps the Super Bowl tickets in his pocket as he rises to get a paramedic to check on you, and you smile, wondering how bad it would be if you fell in love with your TO.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tim points out. “I need to know that whatever is bothering you won’t impair your ability to work with me.”

“It won’t,” you promise. “Sorry.”

Tim considers pressing, but he trusts you. “I’m here. If you decide you want to talk about it.”

He exits the shop and opens your door before you can reach for the handle.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Did you see that?” Nyla gushes, elbowing Angela.

“Ow. See what?”

Nyla points to Tim, closing your door and laying a hand on your shoulder as he ducks his head to talk to you.

“That’s not a reprimand,” Angela deduces.

When you smile, a tiny upturning of your lips, Nyla laughs.

“Oh, that boy… The door, the touches, listening to her? He’s gone.”

“Not just him,” Angela adds. “She asks him questions, smiles at him, trusts him more than anyone… and the Super Bowl tickets? They’re adorable.”

“Should we do something?”

“Not yet. I think they’re close to realizing.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After your longest, and worst, day yet, you find yourself in a hospital waiting room beside Tim. He hasn't said anything since a speeding driver ran into your side of the shop, though you've apologized countless times (even though there's nothing you could have done).

Tim’s jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried it will snap. You’re sitting close to him, a bandage around your wrist and an ice pack pressed to your cheek.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Stop- stop apologizing, it’s not your fault,” Tim sighs.

His arm is on the armrest between you, and you move your hand toward his. When he doesn’t back away, you turn your arm to allow your knuckles to brush against his.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him kindly. “He ran a red light.”

“And you could’ve been killed,” Tim replies, standing abruptly and walking away.

You slump in your seat, dejected and curious about what you could say to make him stop blaming himself for someone running into you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim and his rookie sitting in a tree,” Nyla sings under her breath.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Tim replies.

“Right, because you’re too busy being mad that she got hurt. Cops get hurt Tim,” Angela reminds him.

“Not with me,” he begins, pausing to take a deep breath. “Despite what you think, I’m upset that she got hurt, not because I’m in love with her.”

“Whatever you got to hear, buddy,” Nyla replies. “But tell me this. If it was Nolan when he was a boot, would you have felt this bad? Even if I believed you didn’t have feelings for her, which I don’t, you’re different with her and you know it.”

Tim sighs, looking out the door at you. He knows it’s true; despite his constant denial, he does treat you differently because you are different, and you’re like a magnet, incapable of being ignored or forgotten. Finally confessing it to himself, Tim knows that his feelings for you will get one or both of you in trouble unless something changes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It is time for The Switch,” Wade says as he walks into the bullpen. “The day you ride with a new TO.”

You glance at Tim, who gives you an encouraging nod. He tells you that you’re a great rookie, but he also tells you that you’re pretty sometimes, which doesn’t seem pertinent (or always true, in your eyes). Wade says your name, and you look up.

“You’re with Nolan,” he tells you.

Smiling at Nolan, you cross your fingers under the desk that it’s a good day.

“Henderson,” you call as he stands up, “what’s Nolan like?”

“He’s great. Really understanding and knowledgeable. A little talkative, but fairly easy going. Just stick to protocol and listen to his directions; you’ll be fine.”

“What about Bradford?” Vincent asks you. “Everyone says he’s the toughest. Anything I should be aware of?”

“I don’t think so. He’s quiet sometimes, but he’s great.”

You collect your war bag with the expectation of a good day. You will miss Tim, but learning how another TO teaches and his views can be invaluable. As you slide into the driver’s seat beside Nolan, you realize something: you like Tim as more than your TO. He means more to you than just being your teacher, your mentor, and a trustworthy officer. The thought hits you so suddenly you're not sure where it came from.

With each passing moment, you find yourself remembering something Tim said or wanting to tell him something, but he isn’t there. Nolan is kind and laughs at your muttered comments, but it is nothing like riding with Tim. As you think about all the little things Tim does, everything begins to make sense.

Someone yells your name when you step out of the shop to get lunch. Turning, you’re surprised to see Vincent storming up to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.

“Tell you what?”

“That Bradford has ‘Tim Tests’ and nothing pleases him!”

You glance over his shoulder, finding Tim and Nolan talking. Tim glances over at you, and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease until Nolan says something else.

“His Tim Tests aren’t that bad; he’s just teaching you awareness and safety.”

“He wants to end my career,” Vincent exclaims before muttering something about you not understanding as he walks away.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s Vincent doing?” Nolan asks.

“That kid has no situational awareness,” Tim answers. “I stopped at a street sign, and he couldn’t figure out where we were.”

“He’s probably scared of you,” Nyla interjects. “And, no, Bradford, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“My rookie can tell me where I am, no matter what,” Tim adds.

“Your rookie is very good, I’ll give you that,” Nolan replies. “But Vincent has potential. Besides, your boot has people problems.”

Tim glances over at you, locking eyes with you while Vincent talks to you dramatically.

“So do I, but I’m still a good cop.”

Nyla watches as both you and Tim sigh before abandoning the conversations you’re in. She shakes her head, calculating her winnings if the betting pool goes her way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking out of the locker room at the end of the day, you’re surprised to be called into Sergeant Grey’s office. You sit across from him, fiddling with the hem of your shirt to spend your nervous energy.

“You are being assigned to a new TO. Officer Bradford has decided to hand you off to someone better equipped to teach you,” Grey informs. “But you’re not in trouble.”

You still your hands in your lap. “Okay. Effective when?”

“Monday morning. So, rest up.”

As you stand, Grey says your name, smiling as he repeats, “You’re not in trouble. This was Bradford’s decision, nothing to do with you. Well, nothing to do with you as a rookie.”

You purse your lips at his phrasing, and he chuckles before sending you out. Walking through the parking lot, you see Tim’s truck is still there and decide to ask him what happened. Standing by the tailgate, you chew your bottom lip as you wait, nervous that you did something, though Wade assured you differently.

Tim walks up unnoticed, saying your name to get your attention.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask, jumping straight to your questions. “I can fix it; there has to be a way to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tim promises. “I just can’t be your TO anymore.”

“Why not?”

Tim shifts his backpack on his shoulder. “It’s not appropriate.”

Your heart drops. Tim knows you have feelings for him, and it makes him uncomfortable; that’s the only explanation. Nodding slowly, you accept your fate.

“And I can’t do this,” Tim adds.

His hands slide onto your jaw, his palms against your cheeks as his fingers settle behind your ears, pulling you into a quick kiss. You only begin to respond when he pulls back.

“You’re the best boot I’ve ever had,” he whispers, brushing his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks.

“I’m not your boot anymore,” you remind him.

“That’s your fault. Those little gifts, and soft smiles, and how well you listen… You make it impossible not to fall for you.”

You laugh, leaning against his hands as you reply, “You do too. How do you think I felt when you called me pretty or touched my back? Then you kept comforting me and inviting me to talk. It was too easy.”

“Go to dinner with me?” he asks.

You nod, smiling against his hands before he moves to touch your back again, opening the passenger door as he helps you in. Tim slips his hand into yours, kissing your knuckles as he keeps you close.

✯✯✯✯✯

When the rest of the rookies leave the station, noticing that your car is still there, they ask each other if anyone has seen you.

“Bradford’s truck is gone,” Nyla notices as she walks out.

“Looks like we won,” Angela cheers.

“Where’s Bradford?” Vincent asks.

“On a date,” Nyla answers. “With his former boot.”

The rookies’ jaws drop, wondering how you managed to pull Mid-Wilshire’s resident grump.

“Don’t expect the same to happen to you,” Angela says as she passes the rookies. “We all worked for this one.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader

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sentofight · 2 years

Note

"Well you did offer this to me. You hadn't considered I would really follow through?" There is a playfulness to his tone to mirror her owns. The beauty of being out in the open plains and meadows was that it appealed to Mark's desire to simply let his mind wander. Doubly so in good company as his head rested nicely on Lyn's lap. "Much as I enjoy traveling into the bustle of cities. Can't say they scratch that enjoyment as much as just being out here. What can I say? I am a relatively simple man to please." He shrugged as his eyes wander off to the landscape before them as the wind blew a pleasant breeze throughout. His eyes then wandered back to Lyn. "Don't think I should be the one saying that you should slow down and take in the scenary, nature girl." A light enough jab, but nevertheless Mark was one person that wanted to make sure Lyn was ever present in the moment for where such memories shined strong. (From Mark!)

Ws left and right | @astralwiings

“A wonderful weather we have today. A blessing from Mother Earth and Father Sky,” a gentle breeze passed to sway her green hair softly before she places a hand to hold it down. The Sacaen lady turned around to take notice of her partner seemingly tired of their little hike. Heh, well, she can’t blame him since it is something she was brought up to do every day while he prefers a more slow lifestyle. Still, he agrees to humor her once in a while on her trips around the plains.

Quickly glancing around, she found a good place to sit down and take in the view. Sitting down, she gestured for the tactician to come and sit beside her. “Mark, let us take a break.” eyes wandering at the other face to examine his features. Lyn looked ahead thinking about what she can do for her tired tactician. Sighing inwardly, she looked down at her hands...hm? Oh!

A gentle tap to his shoulder to get his attention, “Mark,” patting her lap, she smiled at him. “You can rest your head for a bit. You look unwell. I told you to not push yourself hard *sigh* Come now, don’t be shy.” tapping her lap again. “Unless ... you don’t like it ... “ a small pout visible on her features though the soft smirk was soon to replace that pout because she knows very well that it is not the case. He had used her shoulder for his naps more than she can count now. He had this cute habit of exhausting himself that he just naps against anything he can find for a couple of minutes--cat naps, heh. It became kind of a hobby of her to find him in order to lend him a shoulder to sleep on. The first time she did it was out of concern to the tactician’s well-being and his reaction was priceless; waking up in surprise thinking he had offended her but she was both confused and unsure as to why he would think that when she is the one who offered it. Heh, he was well, adorable. Thinking back on it, she did things he was unsure how to register them. Guess she defied the norm of how a ‘lady’ was supposed to act. Not that he did not show her a thing or two that most men she met were too rigid to admit or confess to doing or saying. He was and still nothing but a bundle of surprises to her. The same goes for her in his eyes.

Without further ado, the tactician had already made himself comfortable against her lap which made her let out a low giggle. “Well, I thought you might decline because you want to remain a bit humble and gentleman,” she teased back. Her arms drawn back to her side to let him rest well but soon and out of habit now, one hand reached to gently caress his face. He ought to know that sleeping on her lap means she gets to play with his beard. It is the rule and he should know it.

“I told you previously, the plains is your home whenever you feel tired of the city life. You should rein yourself from exhausting your body like that. One life is not enough to seek all the knowledge on this earth.” came a soft sigh as she playfully run her fingers through his hair.

“--Wh-- ... It’s....sigh ... I am taking care of myself, thank you very much.” a flick to his forehead. “I will be fine because unlike someone, I eat, sleep, and rest well.” her index poking at Mark’s cheek. “I exercise daily, too.” her index traces down to his stomach, poking at it. “Do you, O wise tactician~?” she leans to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t change, Mark ...”

#IN CHARACTER.| L Y N #astralwiings (mark.)#astralwiings #[god...your honor they are married and they are living their peaceful and happy life #[[look at them judge and jury please look at them and tell me they are not the best couples in elibe?????#[was scaean in elibe i dont know i will replay the game some eon soon lmao #[it was not wait it was in ca...ca...somewhere...listen. i have very selective memory and im suffering #[anyway SHUT UP AND LOOK AT THESE DUMBOS FLIRTING LIKE NO ONE IS AROUND #[THERE ARE NO OEN AROUND BUT ANYWAY LOOK AT THEM SO...............DAIABETES.............................................#[KUPPPPPPPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MABUFU!!!!#[every time u send something im just ..oh god....my brain melting of how can i induce this with good vibes and not angst aha #[lays on the ground.....mark my dude...#[i will hunt your ass down if you made her sad #[you know who will hunt you down? sain XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD #[kent too #[hector and eliwood will be knocking to 'politely' tell you to perish #[listen. everyone will do anything for lady lyndis and you should know how terrifying it is to defy these people #[florena will drop you from the highest place she can reach let me remind you of this #[anyway my ted talk is over. hope you know the responsibility on your shoulders old man.

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blingblong55 · 1 month

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Think I'm pretty -John Price NSFW

Hello, I would like to make a request, please? Court AU/ Lawyer AU Lawyer!Fem!Reader x Lawyer!Price (both as opposition) - they both in court debating over a minor case (gaz+ Soap vs neighbour) - reader representing neighbour whilst price representing soap, debating about noise policies Sorry if this idea is a bit jumble up / difficult. 😅 But tqsm!!! 🫡🫡🫡✊✊🥺 ---- F!Reader, 18+, MDNI, smut, lawyer!Price, Lawyer!Reader, oral!sex, cheating ----

A/N: I know there was no smut requested but my mind immediately needed it..sorry<3

The room is silent. Everyone in the room standing up. Both sides do not dare to look at the other. You sigh as everyone gets ordered to sit down. You, a successful lawyer and your opponent John Price have always had trouble getting along, not just because he always disagrees with you, even outside of court but also because of how cocky he is. Today, as you see him back in court, he gives you a smirk. Oh, how you wish to win this case.

"John Mactavish and Kyle Garrick versus George Allen and others." The woman so softly speaks. "Neighbourhood guidelines about noise policies in a private community, this case will be dealt with by Lord Edward." You prepare your files in hand and when the time begins, you speak up. "Judge and jury, today, we are here for the case these young and immature men have caused. The community in which both live in has already received calls upon calls for the disturbance of these two young men," you begin.

For nearly 20 minutes after your and Price's opening statements, the problem became worse. Both MacTavish and Garrick began to get louder, pointing fingers at your client. You would occasionally roll your eyes and cover your smile when you'd see Price get frustrated over his client's words.

Maybe, after all, you'd win this one.

"No, what I'm saying is, if this absolute fookin' idiot understood how speakers and parties work, we wouldn't be here!" Kyle stands up and Price has to force him to sit back down.

Your client keeping calm, just like you had ordered them to. It's easy. These two guys are showing the court how bad of neighbours they can be and before you knew it, the men whom you stood upon, sighed as once again MacTavish cussed your client.

"Here's what we'll do, and Price, keep your clients shut or they will hurt themselves more," a deep sigh, "Y/N, your client is in the right. The papers and signatures are on file. Price, your clients are meant to keep quiet, not have a rave in their backyard. If there is one more complaint, the community in which both parties are a part of, can and will have the right to hand MacTavish and Garrick an eviction notice. Y/N, your client shan't step into their yard and if it does happen, MacTavish and Garrick can receive a restraining order against Mr. Allen."

It was clear this was a long one for the court to hear.

After the trial though, the two men Price represented were told to leave before your client saw them again. It was better this way.

You shook Price's hand, and he nodded at you and smiled. "You look rather beautiful today," he says in such a soft tone that makes him appear as if he was a completely different man from the one you argued against. "You look…okay for a shit lawyer," you smile back. "Oh darling," he laughs.

You don't have time for any proper conversation and as soon as you receive all files, you leave the room. Price knows where he can find you. After all, it's always been the number one spot for you to hang out after trials and long arguments.

The small pub that welcomes you also welcomes John. "Care to tell me why you're following me?" You turn to him and he gives you a cocky grin. "What, can't I come here to just relax?" "You? No."

"Still hurt over what happened years ago?" "You stole my case, of course I am. And you knew I was asking for it so I have no idea why the hell you'd go for it."

It was a known story. After all, it's how John and you became such rivals in court. But, it never has to end like that, right?

"It's called business darling," his hand snakes over yours and before anything else can happen, you pull away.

He sighs. "What, too good for me now?" His lips touching your ear. You shift away, trying to not yell at him here. It just isn't right, especially in front of so many others who respect you. "I'm not here to be annoyed by some-" You get cut off when he places his hand around your neck. "What, darling? Say it. Hmm, am I mediocre? incompetent? don't act like you weren't fucking moaning my name years ago. You and I know well that you liked me like I did you," his voice deep and in a whisper. Your hand on his wrist.

"You and I both know that was a mistake," you answer back and he shakes his head. "Tsk, tsk, mistakes are a one-time thing. You know you slept in my bed longer than anyone else. What? Did you forget you used to fuck those pretty fingers of yours to my voice?" he chuckles, almost mocking the nights you two spend together.

He sees that you aren't budging to his questions or comments, it's frustrating. He wants you, you know he does. His body and yours are like a puzzle, the one you both know all too well about.

"Look, I know…i know I'm a selfish son of a bitch but you also have your flaws and-"

"And what are they? hm? Because at least a cheating wife or a stupid fucking face like yours is not a problem I have to face."

Oh does he love it when you bite back.

It was true, which is why he nods. "I do have a cheating wife, the face part though…that is false. You should know. I mean you rode my face almost every night, darling" A smirk grows on him.

He notices your silence.

"What, did you not enjoy how i ate that pretty pussy of yours? Or was it too good that the orgasms made you forget?" he chuckles once more.

Is it bad he needs you again? That he wishes you laid on his bed and not the mistake of a girl he married? Sure she was funny but you…oh fuck. You are smart, gorgeous, funny, sexy…fuck..you're perfect.

"My flat is just a ten-minute drive from here, you can always come…maybe pay me a visit…or two..maybe a whole holiday."

You look at him and then at the drink in your hands. You did want him, yearned for his love again.

"The guy you're talking to is no good. Now, me…I'm handsome, funny, good with my hands and mouth and…well…you know the rest."

Was it a risk? yes. Did you both want it? Yes. So…is this why now after practically thirty minutes of asking you are in his car and on the way to his place?

Once inside his flat, he doesn't waste a second and in a matter of moments, he has you on the couch, his mouth to your neck. His calloused hands take your clothes off. His cock is needy to have you again.

His lips move up, embracing you in a kiss. A much-needed one. "Fuck did I miss you, Y/N," he groans. It was more than a need for sex, but for all the other fun and good emotions, you two brought to each other. His fingers teased your folds as he removed your panties. "Hm, already wet for me? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Need to do something about this, huh love," he slowly goes down on you. His lips are attached to your precious body. From your neck to your hips, his lips ran from. Your aching cunt begging for his tongue.

Once his fingers have enough slick covering them, he pushes them deep inside. A small moan escapes your lips. Eager thing, aren't you?

His tongue lapping at your folds all as his thumb rubs your clit over and over. This is what you always needed after a long day at court.

The sensation is so good. Feels like mythical waves of pleasure but it all stops abruptly. One stupid phone call and he leaves you there. "Stay, I'll come back later tonight, love," he kisses your forehead and walks out.

If only he didn't think his wife was pretty, his hands would be all over you

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covetyou · 2 months

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some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

#tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford x you #merge mansion #merge mansion fanfiction #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford #detective tim rockford #coveted fics

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iliveiloveiwrite · 9 months

Text

By My Side // A.B.

Request: Could I have something fluffy? I’m think maybe the reader is from a lower class and is married to Anthony and she’s worried about not being a good enough viscountess. They’re getting ready for their engagement ball and Anthony gives her a pep talk? You’re the best!! - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get to it, my love! But here it is, I’m sorry it isn’t longer - I hope you like it!!

Warnings: feelings of insecurity, worries, anxieties, lots of fluff and comfort, kissing, established relationship,

Word Count: less than 1k

Your hands couldn’t stop shaking. The nerves that had risen steadily all day were finally making themselves known in the tremor affecting your hands.

Exhaling shakily, you do your best to fasten the clasp of your necklace. A gorgeous piece, given to you by Anthony’s mother. The emeralds are only further accentuated by the champagne of your gown.

A further sigh of frustration leaves you as you fail once more in fastening the necklace.

“Let me,” A gentle voice cuts in, taking the necklace from your hands before you launch it across the room in despair. You meet the kind and caring gaze of your soon to be mother in law; her smile is comforting as she fiddles with the piece of jewellery.

“I thought I could do it,” You murmur, “But I can’t get my hands to stop shaking.”

“Nerves,” Violet says, smiling wider as she clasps the necklace and smooths her hands over your shoulders.

“I think it’s more than that,” You whisper, feeling the familiar burn of tears clog your throat. “I don’t think I can go out there and face all those people, whispering about Anthony’s choice in bride.”

Violet frowns. “My dear, whatever has brought this on?”

You blink against the rush of tears. “The closer we get to the wedding, the more it becomes clear just how lacking I am in class politics, gossip and graces. I don’t want Anthony to regret his choice in bride.”

Violet nods, taking the words to heart. “My dear, I shall not be a moment. Stay here and try to calm yourself whilst I make it all better.”

A watery but grateful smile crosses your face as you watch the beloved matriarch leave the room, the door clicking gently shut behind her. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, doing your best to calm yourself by trying not to think of the gathering crowd in the ballroom downstairs. Each one of them waiting to catch a glimpse of you - to make their judgement; to be judge, jury and executioner all in one.

You aren’t alone with your thoughts for long. The door opens once more, however it isn’t Violet that walks through the door.

It’s Anthony.

“Darling,” He greets, his voice concerned as he crosses the room to you.

“Anthony.”

“Mother told me. Darling, how could you think those things?”

Tears cling to your lashes as you face your beloved fiancé. Anthony kneels before you; his hands gripping your knees, his face the perfect picture of worry.

You sniffle. “It’s all I’ve heard since we announced our engagement. In the modiste, in the tearooms, when we promenade… It is so tiring. I love you beyond all reason, but I cannot help but worry whether this is a decision you’ll come to regret.”

The words leave you in a torrent; rushing out of you so quickly you barely have time to take a breath. The words get stuck in your throaty as you catch the devastation that passes over Anthony’s face.

“My love,” He whispers, “Had I known the full extent, I never would have organised tonight.”

“No,” You argue. “I’m glad you have, I love any moment I get to spend with your family but I worry for the impact on you.”

Anthony’s hands leave your knees to grasp your face. His eyes fix onto yours. “I don’t give a damn about the impact on me.” He all but spits. “That out there? It’s all pomp and fake, but what we have… the love we share and the adoration, that’s what’s matters.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do,” Anthony breathes. “I love you too… endlessly. You are who I want; I want my future to be utterly entwined with yours. I want the mornings and the evenings and the nights. Your class status means nothing to me. You will be a perfect wife and an incredible viscountess. I don’t care about the ton, I only care about you and how you feel and what you think.”

The man you love so entirely pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly. His lips seek out yours, kissing you thoroughly, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss. There was no denying his love and adoration for you now; there was no denying how well you fit, how perfect you moulded to the other. There would be no-one else for him as there would be no-one else for you.

Anthony pulls away, leaving you breathless as he places kiss after kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you,” You whisper, “Thank you for loving me.”

“Thank you for loving me,” He responds in earnest. Anthony kisses you again; a short, sweet kiss that has a smile crossing your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, relieved to see a genuine smile on your face.

“Do you feel ready to face the crowd waiting downstairs?” He asks quietly; lips brushing your hair.

“With you by my side, I can face anything.”

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagines #fluff #anthony bridgerton fluff #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine

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lovewheeler · 2 years

Note

eddie

oh so you’re down bad huh

#puts chin in my hands all cutesy like #do tell #judge n jury.

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 4 months

Text

Love and Liabilities (Agatha Harkness x FemReader): Chapter One

Summary: While you attend a pretrial conference for your current case, you’re stunned to learn your opposing council is your former ex…and law school professor, Agatha Harkness

Word Count: 4.7k

Tags: 18+ Minors Do Not Engage!! Smut, Light Choking, Light Degradation Kink, Mommy Kink, Hate Sex

A/N: Hi :) This idea has been bouncing around my brain since the promo pics came out. Lawyer Agatha, the gift we all need for the new year. This is my first real attempt at writing smut, but I hope y’all enjoy. Updates will be around every 2 weeks. If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please let me know. Feel free to let me know what you think! 💜 Also a special shout-out to my sweet beta/girlfriend, Sarah, thank you for always listening to my crazy ideas.

Smoothing out a wrinkle from your pantsuit, you looked over your case materials from outside the courtroom. It had been almost a decade since you graduated law school, and you’d spent the time since working in corporate law as a junior attorney, before leaving the firm and working your way up as a top prosecutor. To say you were married to your job would be an understatement. It wasn’t enough to be good, you simply had to be the best. You’d always pride yourself on your ability to dig deep in a case and pull out missing details, or find a crack in a seemingly perfect alibi. You were ruthless, but you knew you had to be. The defense attorneys you found yourself battling in court were absolute sharks, and if they sensed an ounce of hesitation on your end it would be a total bloodbath.

Dealing with criminal defense cases was as interesting as it sounded, although it wasn’t what you envisioned you’d be doing after law school. You had different dreams back then, more altruistic visions of helping those who needed it. Closing your eyes, you saw a brief flash of the strikingly blue eyes and dark hair that caused you to change your choice of career, before you quickly shook those thoughts aside. It had been almost ten years since you’d allowed yourself to think about her- about any of it, and it wouldn’t benefit you to take a stroll down memory lane before the biggest case of your career.

A law clerk eventually came by to inform you the judge was ready for you. This was it. Gathering your materials, you walked through the details again in your mind. Pre-trial conferences were relatively helpful when trying to reach a plea bargain, review evidence, as well as decide what to present to the jury. There was no doubt in your mind that this case would go to trial. After all, a woman who kidnaps two children and takes them to a small town in New Jersey didn’t leave much to plead innocent from. What was the name of it, Westchester? Westmont? No, no, you mentally crossed those out, until the name finally came to mind…Westview. Westview, New Jersey.

The room was relatively empty, and you recognized the judge, Carol Danvers. She had a reputation for being rather uptight, but was typically fair in her rulings. She’d moved up through various circuit courts throughout her career, and you’d heard rumblings she was being eyed for a potential Supreme Court nomination. Setting your briefcase on the empty chair next to you, you thought of any possible hiccups from the defense. Supposedly a brief psych evaluation had been done after the incident to rule anything out, so they wouldn’t try and plead insanity, right? You couldn’t see Carol ruling in favor of that. There was the small problem of genetics; the woman was the boys’ birth mother. But, you’d looked over the adoption contracts, as had your colleagues, and they were airtight. It had been a closed adoption, and from what you could tell there had been no contact for over a decade. Plus, with solid testimonies from both families and multiple eyewitnesses you weren’t worried of whatever argument the defense would make in her favor.

Speaking of the defense, you quickly realized the defense attorney hadn’t arrived yet, which was a bit unusual. Racking your brain, you tried to remember the name of the attorney Yelena said was leading the case, but no one came to mind. Pepper Potts perhaps? Carol also appeared to notice the lack of the second attorney, as she whispered with one of the law clerks. You could barely make out what they were saying, but she sounded annoyed. But, no matter, you knew this had absolutely no impact on you.

Carol finally sighed in defeat at whatever the law clerk told her, something about hitting a fire hydrant? “Well, as we’re waiting on the defense to resolve their…tardiness, will the prosecution step forward?”

Standing up, you grabbed a copy of your materials, evidence, testimonies, anything the judge would need, before taking a step towards the judge. “Your honor, the state of New York is ready to move forward with our case. You’ll find sufficient evidence to dismiss any plea deal, as well as ensure we can schedule a trial date.”

Handing the papers to the judge, you watched as she flipped through them, an unreadable expression on her face. Minutes passed before she looked up at you. “The prosecution is dismissing the plea deal being proposed by the defense?”

Nodding, you recalled the deal that had been sent over to your office. It was preposterous, and was heavily dependent on the mental state of the defendant, or rather the lack of mental state of the defendant. “Yes, your honor. The state has inculpatory evidence to convict the defendant, as well as a number of witnesses willing to testify.”

A voice you’d only heard in your dreams for the past decade spoke up, and you nearly froze in place. “Inculpatory evidence? That’s a rather bold claim, I’d call it circumstantial at best.”

It couldn’t be. Paralyzed, you forced yourself to ignore it, to ignore her and keep your eyes locked forward. It couldn’t possibly be her, you would have remembered hearing her name as the defense attorney. Clearing your throat, you continued, trying to keep yourself calm. “With all due respect, your honor, the typical procedure for a case involving the abduction of a minor is what we’re basing this precedent on-”

An obnoxiously loud cackle cut you off, and nearly made you whip your head around in annoyance. The slow clacking of heels echoed throughout the room, followed by the faint scent of Burberry that invaded your senses. Brief flashes of lecture halls and late night office hour visits intertwined with the smell of cigars and expensive whiskey. Lengthy, heated arguments over the moral justification of various Supreme Court rulings whilst being undressed and pressed against the door. Diamond jewelry and lavish bouquets being delivered to your modest law school apartment as you sheepishly explained to your roommates you were seeing an older woman. Secret rendezvous in dimly lit piano bars in Manhattan which would end in a king size bed in a penthouse you could never dream of affording.

It all led back to the same thought, the same woman you’d done your best to let go of. The very same woman you currently found yourself standing face to face with. Agatha Harkness. Clever blue eyes met yours, and a slow smirk painted her perfect red lips. She hadn’t changed much over the past decade. Her dark hair, now peppered with some gray, was pinned back with a few loose strands framing her face, and you briefly thought of how well it suited her. The fitted black pantsuit which accentuated her features, and black heels that made her look deceptively tall as she towered over you.

For a moment it was as if no time had passed at all, and you were back in her lecture hall. But as quickly as that oddly nostalgic feeling overcame you like a tidal wave, it swept away, leaving you with the reality of the situation. Clearing your throat, you looked past Agatha, keeping your focus on Judge Danvers. “As I was saying. While looking at prior cases involving the abduction of a minor we were able to set a precedent that-”

Agatha let out another cackle, and it took everything in you to not roll your eyes. However it appeared Carol was at the end of her rope with patience, as she banged her gavel twice. “Does the defense have something they wish to share with the rest of us?”

“Your honor,” Agatha drawled out, her voice sweet like honey, “The prosecution is making bold assumptions on precedents that do not directly follow the evidence of this particular case. To rule anything otherwise would be direct defamation to my client.”

“Defamation?” You all but hissed, momentarily forgetting you were in the middle of a courtroom. The answering smirk Agatha gave you only fuelled your fire. “Your honor, the defense is all but negating the direct evidence of the defendant’s guilt. We would like to proceed to trial while throwing out the plea deal.”

Agatha’s shark tooth grin widened, and you had a sneaking suspicion she was baiting you to get a reaction. Typical, as she always prided herself on being ten steps ahead of her opponent. Taking a deep breath, you regained your calm composure. It would do you no good to allow your emotions to take over. That would merely ensure Agatha to have one more victory over you, one more thing she would take away from you. But things were different this time, you weren’t some feeble, naive law student fawning over her professor. The playing field was finally leveled, and it was about time she realized that.

Unfortunately, you forgot Agatha never played fair. You curiously watched her grab two folders from her briefcase, all but tossing one at you whilst handing Carol the other. “While we’re discussing the plea deal your honor, I’ve included additional information regarding my client’s psychiatric evaluation.”

Practically tearing the folder open, your eyes scanned the lengthy documents before landing on something that nearly made you fall over. Before you could get a word in, Agatha continued on. “Due to our country’s ever failing healthcare and medical practices, my client has been unable to receive a proper psychiatric evaluation. Your honor, I am requesting a continuance to this trial until my client can get the help she needs.”

Carol’s focus remained on the papers, an inscrutable expression coloring her features. “I’m granting a one month continuance for the defendant, Wanda Maximoff, to be given a psychiatric evaluation. As long as Miss Maximoff follows the terms of her probation and doesn’t leave the state of New York, we’ll resume this conference one month from today. Thank you to the prosecution and defense, you’re dismissed.”

Not wanting to see the smug smirk on Agatha’s face, you packed up your materials, including the folder Agatha gave you, and did your best to hurry out of the courtroom. It was foolish to think you’d beat Agatha at the game she taught you to play. That’s what it always was to Agatha, a game. It was like everyone around her was playing checkers while she was constructing the most elaborate game of chess known to man. All while she moved you around as whatever piece she desired; because that’s how she viewed you, as an object she could twist and mold to her liking until you outlived your usefulness.

Ignoring the familiar sound of her heels approaching, you drafted a quick email to one of your colleagues with the news of the trial being halted before going to order your Uber. You didn’t have to look up to know Agatha was standing in front of you, because that was just part of her intricate plan. She surely knew you were furious, because of course she did. Hadn’t she once told you she knew everything? At the time you thought it was a cheeky remark to make you laugh, but looking back you came to terms with the fact that the only person Agatha Harkness could ever care for was herself.

You were growing weary of the rising tension, so you finally broke the silence, keeping your eyes locked on your phone. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m not sure,” Agatha replied, and although you weren’t looking at her you could practically feel her gaze burning into you. “I never took you for a sore loser, dear.”

There it was, she was trying to get her claws back in you. Keeping your tone even, you checked on the status of your Uber. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to. I’m just doing my job.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, your phone was ripped from your hands. “Hey!” You exclaimed, angrily whipping your head up and your eyes narrowed, meeting the deep blue eyes you used to get lost in. “Give me back my phone.”

“Checking for your ride?” Agatha mocked, arching an eyebrow up at you. “Is that more interesting than talking to me?”

“Watching paint dry would be more interesting than speaking with you,” You retorted, your discomfort quickly growing.

“Now darling, is that any way to speak to me?” Agatha teased, her voice gradually dropping in volume. “It’s been so long.”

Glaring at her, you tried to pry your phone from her hands, but she put it in her back pocket. “And whose fault is that again?” Your voice was laced with venom, you subconsciously wanted to make her feel as badly as you had. “Should we take a stroll down memory lane and recall what caused this?”

Agatha’s gaze hardened at that jab, and you momentarily wondered if you pushed too hard. “I’m surprised you’re leading this case. I thought you wanted to,” she paused and used air quotes, “‘help the voiceless’, not strangle them.”

“How dare you,” You seethed, not caring that your voice was growing in volume. “I’m just doing my job, Agatha. Besides, isn’t strangling the helpless what you do best?”

Agatha tilted her head back, and let out another cackle. “Doing your job? You’re trying to imprison an innocent mother.”

“Your innocent mother kidnapped two minors and took them over state lines,” You fired back, vaguely aware that Agatha was taking small, slow steps towards you.

“She’s still their mother,” Agatha pointed out and you felt your face grow red from rage.

“Regardless of DNA, it was a closed adoption. She waived her parental rights,” You argued, unaware of anything but the infuriating woman standing in front of you. “Surely you’ve been practicing long enough to know how to read a contract.”

“And I thought I taught you to read between the lines of said contracts,” Agatha countered, and you knew she was testing your argument, it’s what she always did. “Things aren’t always black and white, dear.”

No they weren’t, you silently agreed. By this point your back was to the wall of the deserted corridor, Agatha still towering over you. Your faces were practically touching, and you could practically taste her lips. Both of you were panting from the exertion of bickering, and it wouldn’t take much to close the distance. She was so close, closer than she had been to you in so long. Having her back in your orbit, taking over all of your senses, made you forget the reasons you were so angry with her. Instead, it made you remember how many other times you had found yourself in this exact same position.

You could feel your ironclad restraint begin to slip away, and Agatha appeared to notice it as well. She let out a low chuckle as she turned her face to the side, her breath now hot against your ear, and allowing her to whisper, “Looks like it still doesn’t take much to get you riled up, does it?”

Shuddering, you struggled to get your breathing even, thinking of the many reasons why this was a horrible idea. Your history aside, you were on opposing sides of what would most likely be a very public case. It wasn’t just unprofessional to be doing this, it could potentially jeopardize your whole career. But it was hard to think about any of that when you locked eyes with the woman you had spent so much time trying to forget. Her right hand left your waist to push back the loose strands of your hair, tucking them behind your ear.

Each movement was slow, and delicate, and as her fingers slowly trailed down your neck, she gently squeezed, before gradually applying more pressure, and you had to physically restrain yourself from moaning. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs and had to close your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. Agatha’s lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open kisses on your flesh while her fingers began to move lower, cupping your left breast before slowly pinching your nipple. This time you couldn’t stop the quiet moan that left your lips, and Agatha quickly used her free hand to silence you, covering your mouth.

“You always had a problem being quiet,” Agatha murmured, lips still on your skin. “Let’s find somewhere more…secluded to continue this, hm?”

Feeling yourself nod, you opened your eyes and let out a pathetic whine as she let go of you. It didn’t take long to find an empty storage closet, and Agatha practically shoved you inside before slamming the door behind her.

Pressing you against the bare wall, her eyes scanned yours before asking, “Are you sure?”

Being with Agatha like this was the greatest euphoric high, and it always left you wanting more and more. It didn’t have to mean anything, and you certainly didn’t want it to. It was just two people working out their frustrations, right? You nodded again, grabbing her right hand and placing it back around your throat. “Are you going to choke me again or are you too much of a coward?”

She nearly growled at that, and squeezed, a little rougher this time. You pressed your face into her shoulder, trying to silence the noises you always made when she touched you. She had barely started but it was so good, and you didn’t hesitate when she used her free hand to try and remove your blazer. Taking a step back to take off your blouse and bra, you nearly tripped over some boxes, and her hands steadied you.

“Careful,” She lightly teased, eyes still dark from arousal. “I’m not nearly finished with you.”

Her hands skillfully unhooked your bra, carelessly tossing it to the side, before lowering her mouth to your breast, and lewdly sucked. As if she anticipated the noises you’d inevitably make, she roughly pressed two fingers in your open mouth for you to suck. Moaning around them, you eagerly sucked and sucked, thinking of where you wanted her fingers to go next. Agatha’s tongue swirled around your nipple, teasing it enough to make it go erect before using her teeth to pull. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head, your last functioning brain cells wondering how she could still have this strong of an effect on you.

She let out a low hum, clearly enjoying this as much as you were before moving to your other breast, only this time she bit down, and the rush of pain and pleasure flooded you. Unable to cry out as she fucked her fingers further down your throat before adding a third, causing you to gag around them. Releasing your breast, Agatha panted out, “Look at how pathetic you are, sucking on my fingers like a good little slut. What a good girl.”

Whimpering around her fingers, you clenched at the filth spewing from her lips. You hated this, how easily she could flip the switch and have you dripping and wanting her to fuck you through the floorboards. Agatha cooed, using her free hand to gently stroke your face, and roughly pulled her fingers out of your mouth. She was face level again, and you watched the gears turn in her head as she weighed out what to do with you. That same free hand cupped your jaw, and she was so close, your brain buzzing from the endorphins. It was so good, you hated how good it was.

Her normally perfectly red lips were stained and parted slightly as she looked at you with an indecipherable stare, and you were still breathless from her earlier ministrations. Before you could fully comprehend what you were doing, you grabbed her hair and smashed your lips together. You swore you heard her groan, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and you had no time to contemplate it as you felt her tongue teasing the entrance of your mouth. It has been so long, so very long, but you fell back into the familiar dance you could never forget.

Everything Agatha did she dominated, for she had such a strong presence that was impossible to ignore. Just kissing her was enough to get you off, as her tongue expertly swirled around yours, sending you further and further from the edge of reality. You were so far gone you barely noticed her hands moving lower, and lower, until they were pawing at your ass. Groping and grabbing, she was insatiable as she conquered your mouth. You broke apart for merely a second and without speaking, you helped get rid of your pants, slightly stunned you were still this in sync after all this time.

But again, you had no time to ponder that thought as Agatha quickly slammed you against the wall, and you couldn’t help but moan at the pain. The same fingers you eagerly sucked on were now teasing your entrance, rubbing gentle, slow circles. Agatha’s breath was hot in your ear, and you whined, trying to thrust your hips up for more friction. You needed more, you needed her more than ever before. Going without for so long was fine, you’d nearly forgotten what it felt like, what she felt like; but the second you remembered you couldn’t bear a second without it.

“Someone’s awfully worked up,” Agatha taunted, her voice softly whispering in your ear. “Did you want something?”

“Agatha…” You breathed out, your voice nearly cracking. “Please…”

Her fingers teased your clit, and the sensation made you cry out, causing Agatha to silence you with yet another kiss. “Behave,” she murmured against your lips, “Do you want me inside you? Do you want me to fill that sweet little cunt?”

Mewling, you again tried to tilt your hips up, desperate to feel her inside you, but her other hand kept you in place. “Agatha, please, I…I need it, please fuck me.”

Agatha arched an eyebrow, “I know your brain just melts when that pussy gets wet, but we both know that’s not what you want to call me, is it?” Blushing, you tried to avert your eyes but it was impossible. She nipped at your lips before continuing. “Be a good girl and beg for it.”

“Mommy,” The words slipped past your lips and you felt another rush of heat between your legs while Agatha moaned.

“Good girl,” Agatha praised you, and before you could prepare yourself she roughly entered you with two fingers, filling you completely.

Her fingers were so long and so good, hitting the spots you had trouble reaching. You couldn’t help but clench around them, and she groaned in your ear. Wasting no time, she set a fast and hard rhythm, skillfully fucking you better than anyone else since her had been able to.

“I almost forgot how good your cunt feels around my fingers,” Agatha hissed, nibbling on your ear, “Suck me in, slut.”

Your hips met her fingers, and you desperately chased your orgasm. “Harder, please mommy fuck me harder.”

Putting all of her weight on you, Agatha swiftly added a third finger and you nearly squealed at how full you felt. Her fingers were so deep, and you were so close, so very close to the edge.

“Such a good whore for mommy,” Agatha cooed, and her voice was strained, you could tell she was close too. “Do you want to come on my fingers?”

“Mommy please,” You cried out, unable to focus on anything but wanting to feel her fingers make you come harder than you could ever remember.

Agatha’s hips rested against your knee, and she began riding your leg, chasing her own high. “Come for mommy, baby. Soak my fingers.”

Twisting her fingers and hitting your G-spot again, and again causing you to quickly unravel. Feeling your orgasm coming, you clenched around her fingers, needing her to stay inside you. Your knees buckled and you swore you saw stars, unable to speak as you silently cried out. Agatha came right as you did, grunting in your ear and roughly thrusting against your leg as she came undone.

“Fuck,” She panted, keeping her fingers inside you as you continued to twitched around them. “Good girl, such a good girl for mommy.”

Breathing heavily, you gradually felt yourself come back to Earth. You were drenched with sweat, and you were sure you looked positively debauched. Agatha was staring at you with yet another inscrutable expression on her face, and you felt yourself relaxing around her fingers as she slowly pulled out. You grabbed her hand, and lewdly cleaned her fingers off, watching her eyes darken once more as you made a point to swirl your tongue around them until they were clean.

As your brain fog cleared, you were all too aware of the uncomfortable silence growing around you. With every high that came with being with Agatha, it was almost always followed by an indescribable low. There were so many things you wanted to ask her, so many things you needed to know. Brief flashes of arguments and slamming doors. Dozens of unanswered calls, and late nights spent wondering what you had done wrong to deserve her random outbursts of anger. But with every argument, every heated fight, it would always end the same way; with Agatha pressing you against some surface and having her way with you.

There had been so much more going on at that point than you were aware of, and as the pieces slowly came together, she was too far gone for you to be able to help. You’d begged and pleaded with her, but it never mattered. What was it your therapist had said to you? You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to help themselves. Letting go of her nearly killed you, and now you made the mistake of opening that door again, knowing how much more complicated it would be. You weren’t just her law student anymore, you were on opposing sides of a trial.

It appeared Agatha was having the same train of thought as you, for she wordlessly helped you find your clothes. In spite of her just being inside you, you made a point of turning around as you got dressed, as the air in the room seemed to drop and any of the warmth that had been there prior had disappeared. There was so much you wanted to say, yet simultaneously wanted to get as far away from her as you could.

Agatha finally broke the silence as she fixed her hair, and she was back to her usual condescending self. “You know you’re wrong pursuing this case, right? It’s not too late to back out.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed your phone from her back pocket and saw your Uber driver understandably canceled your ride. That would certainly tank your rating. You quickly ordered another before replying with, “You know this meant absolutely nothing to me, right?”

Pushing past her to exit the room, she let out another cackle, the sound like grating nails on a chalkboard in your ears. You knew she wouldn’t follow you, and you were thankful for that. This was an indiscretion, a momentary lapse of judgment. You’ve been on edge with all the extra hours you’ve been working; you weren’t thinking clearly. The courthouse was still relatively empty, and you left the building, trying to get the thought of Agatha out of your mind. Why did she have to be so infuriating?

Your Uber eventually rolled up and as you got in you went to check your work email. It never failed to amaze you how quickly your inbox would fill up when you didn’t check it for more than five minutes. Scrolling through, you vaguely listened to the music your driver had in in the background, until a familiar song started playing. Frank Sinatra, a favorite artist of a certain attorney. The Way You Look Tonight had always been one of her favorites, and you could remember the last time you listened to it together.

Your mind absentmindedly drifted, the memories you’d tried to lock away slowly creeping back up to the surface. It seemed no matter how hard you tried to forget, she didn’t want you to. Settling into your seat, listening to Frank Sinatra, you thought back to the first time you met Agatha, or rather, how you met Professor Harkness.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfiction #agatha harkness smut

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uneditedidiot · 10 months

Text

this love is ours - jamie tartt x reader

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary: after officially starting to date Jamie, the media figures out who you are. Judgment comes in from all places - news outlets, social media, family members - but Jamie puts all that doubt out of your mind. based off the song ours by taylor swift. features appearances from Keeley and Roy.

word count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, angst, fluff social media bullying & hate, reassurance and comfort from Jamie

A/N: This could technically be part two to gold rush but you don’t need to have read that one to understand what’s going on in this imagine. Hope you enjoy!

Seems like there's always someone who disapproves

They'll judge it like they know about me and you

And the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do

The jury's out, but my choice is you

Even on a beautiful Saturday afternoon out on the Richmond Green, you and Jamie somehow attracted the attention of a few invasive paparazzi.

“I thought the hat would be enough,” said Jamie, pulling the brim of his ‘icon’ hat further down his forehead.

The two of you walked off quickly down the path, keeping the photographers and their bright flashes at your backs.

You couldn’t help but giggle, tugging at his hand in yours. “Jamie, you wear that hat everywhere. People recognize it pretty easily.”

“I’m not the only person in the world with this hat.”

“Maybe not, but you made it popular.”

He sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” He smiled at you. “Well now that we’ve left those annoying arseholes behind, what do you want for dinner?”

“Keeley invited us over for a couples night with her and Roy,” you reminded him. “Remember? We talked about it with Roy this morning after your training.”

“Nah, the granddad has a tendency to ramble on with ya about random stuff so I just thought ya were chattin’ with him.”

“Yeah, I was chatting with him about dinner with him and Keeley, which you agreed to, by the way, even in your post-workout haze.”

Jamie grumbled like a little kid. “Ugh, but I’d rather just stay home with you, get pizza or some takeout, and make out on the couch.”

You lifted your head up to his cheek to kiss it. “And we can do that – tomorrow night. Which is a night we didn’t agree to have dinner with Roy and Keeley.”

That seemed to satisfy him for the moment and the two of you made your way back home to your shared house.

“I’m going to go shower, babe!” he called as he headed upstairs.

“I’ll be here!” you called back.

You kicked off your shoes by the front mat and strode into the kitchen to grab some water. As you filled a glass from the filtered pitcher from the fridge, you scrolled through your instagram.

After making it official with Jamie, the two of you had decided to keep it quiet in terms of posting on social media. You’d told close friends and everyone at Richmond. Jamie’s mom and stepfather obviously knew, since it had been at their house that you’d made things official. But your family hadn’t taken it quite as well.

Being from the States, your family’s only impression of Jamie was the Richmond matches they streamed and his arc on Lust Conquers All, which hadn’t painted him in a flattering light. Of course, Jamie freely admitted that he was an all-out prick on the show and had publicly and privately apologized to those he had hurt while filming. But your family couldn’t exactly see past it. They were protective of you and worried about what Jamie might do in the relationship.

Thankfully, Ted and Beard, who knew your parents quite well, had reassured them that Jamie was not the person the media portrayed him as. This had seemed to quell their anxieties about their kid dating a superstar footballer with a notorious reputation for being a (as your mother so kindly put it) “man-whore.” But you, as well as everyone around you, knew that Jamie had changed.

Now the instagram comments you saw as you scrolled on your latest post of you and Jamie getting brunch together were of similar nature.

There were a few comments from your friends at Richmond – Keeley had commented, “I love you both so much and you are too cute together!” Sam had said, “the queen and king of Richmond;” while Rebecca put it plainly, “you are the best people and these photos are my new favorite of you both.”

Despite the many loving and supportive comments from friends and now people who had deemed themselves ‘fans’ of you (which felt quite strange, as you were merely the head physical therapist for the team and didn’t do anything that warranted ‘fans’), there were a good handful that were not quite as kind.

One person had written, “Jamie’s back in his pretending to be monogamous era - wonder how long that will last.”

You shook your head. You knew who Jamie had become and this wasn’t a phase for him. You scrolled on.

Another comment caught your eye. “Ew who are they? Jamie is way out of their league.”

And then more continued to pop up.

“Fuck them.”

“Why do they even bother? Jamie is going to dump them in like a week bet.”

“What are they wearing?”

“Jamie and Keeley will forever be endgame.”

“I liked it better when he was with Keeley.”

“Whatever happened to celebrities dating out of their league? This person is clearly a big step down for him.”

It was a rabbit hole of discouragement and darkness. And even after you exited out of Instagram trying to shake off the hate, more seemed to appear as you opened twitter. You’d been tagged in numerous disgusting tweets from multiple accounts.

“Go die no one likes u.”

“Why is your face like that and why does Jamie like it.”

“I bet he thinks of Keeley when they fuck. Lol I would.”

“You’re literally nobody and the fact that Jamie Tartt of all people is dating you is really pathetic.”

You shook your head, exiting out of twitter with a huff. You tossed your phone on the other couch cushion. It was difficult seeing so many people who thought they had a right to comment on your relationship saying such things on the internet. You knew coming into this that dating Jamie would be difficult in terms of hate on social media, but your fears were resurfacing.

Jamie wouldn’t actually believe all that stuff said about you. You knew that. But what if other people you knew saw it and agreed with it? What if you had to start dealing with people in real life saying that? Were you not good enough to be dating someone like Jamie?

The self-doubt began to creep in, like a mist slowly dragging itself over a hill. Your thoughts began to spiral.

You recognized the anxiety beginning to escalate and decided to watch something to distract yourself. You turned on the TV and tried to tune out the online ruckus.

About a half-hour later, Jamie came barreling down the stairs.

“Babe, Keeley just texted - I think we’re late for dinner,” he said, rushing to put on his shoes.

“Shit!” you cried, slamming the TV power button and quickly going back over to do the same as Jamie.

You both grabbed what you needed and quite literally ran out the door to Jamie’s car which was right next to the gates of your home.

As you sprinted to the passenger side door, a white light suddenly blinded you from beside the front gates.

It was like they appeared out of nowhere – two photographers with large lenses. And they were yelling your name.

“Hey, what’s it like to be with someone who clearly can’t commit?” one laughed.

“Getting tired of this one already, Tartt?” the other bellowed.

“Just fuck off!” exclaimed Jamie, waving his hand at them. “This is private property! Fuck off!”

You jumped into the car, shutting the door as fast as possible. You watched as Jamie flipped off the photographers, who took the last few pictures they wanted, and trudged away.

Jamie closed his door with more force than necessary and buckled his seatbelt. “Arseholes.” He turned to you, putting his hand on your leg gently. “Are ya okay?”

No. No, you weren’t okay. After reading through all those hateful comments and then being berated by paparazzi not just for pictures, but also with hurtful questions didn’t help your self-doubt. It seemed to be bubbling up from below into your heart.

But you didn’t want to ruin the mood more by admitting you were not okay, so all you could do was nod.

“Don’t let them get to you, alright? I love you and nothing’s gonna change that,” confirmed Jamie tenderly. His hand slid into yours.

Neither of you let go all the way to Keeley and Roy’s.

“Heya!” greeted Keeley from the front door as you and Jamie exited the car.

You forced a smile. “Hi, Keeley.”

“How ya doing, Keeley?” grinned Jamie. He gave her a big hug, and then you gave her one, too.

“Just peachy,” she replied, holding the door open for the both of you. “Roy’s inside getting the chicken all prepped. I think he’s trying something fancy tonight - chicken cordon bleu!”

“That is fancy,” you agreed. “He’s really upping his chef skills.”

“I’m not buyin’ that,”Jamie joked. “He’s making beans on toast.”

“Have some faith,” you nudged him playfully.

“I’ll put my faith in nothing until that chicken cordon bleu is sitting on my dinner plate.”

“You two are so cute,” awed Keeley as the three of you made your way to the kitchen.

You swallowed the lump in your throat at the comment, feeling sweat on your palms.

“Ey, if it isn’t the granddad himself!” cheered Jamie. “Making us something fancy, are ya?”

Roy was bent over the kitchen counter, slamming a meat tenderizer into pieces of flattened chicken. He turned with a scowl on his face and gestured at the younger man with the meat tenderizer.

“I’ll be flattening more than this fucking chicken if you keep that up, Tartt,” he growled.

“Aw, I’m terrified,” mocked Jamie.

“Stop it, you two,” ordered Keely good-naturedly as she kissed his cheek. “No one is flattening anything else ‘round here — especially body parts. Right, Roy?”

“I certainly wouldn’t be happy about it and neither would they,” Jamie chuckled, nodding his head at you.

Your smile was tight. You tried to make things light hearted as you wrapped an arm around Jamie’s bicep. “Yep. That’d be…tragic.”

Jamie peered down at you with a questioning glance. He knew something was up, but didn’t want to push it in front of Roy and Keeley.

Keeley gave you both drinks and you all went to sit outside on the patio as Roy finished up cooking in the kitchen.

Jamie and Keeley launched into immediate conversation and you tried your best to keep up and add things in here and there, but you were unusually quiet. Your mind kept drifting back to what you’d read online and what the paparazzi had screamed at you.

It was an endless circle of disappointment in yourself, anxiety, and self-consciousness. This infinite loop of darkness continued to crowd your mind, taking up all the space inside. A storm seemed have come into your psyche and it was doing a number on you.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket as Jamie and Keeley chatted about the towels in the locker room at Nelson Road.

Puzzled, you checked your texts. It was from your mom with a link to an article from a tabloid website.

“This doesn’t seem like a good thing, honey. What are you doing with a celebrity like that?”

That was the message your own mother had sent you about Jamie. You internally groaned. Then you clicked on the article. The headline was atrocious: HOW LONG WILL TARTT’S NEWEST FLING REALLY LAST? The pictures associated with it were from that very day on Richmond Green with you and Jamie walking hand-in-hand, clearly trying to outrun whoever was taking the photos. And then the worse ones – the paparazzi from outside your house had sold the pictures to this tabloid. They were grainy and ill-lit and had been very obviously edited. They had added weird width to your arms and even your head. The caption was “Tartt’s Partner has Gained some Weight!”

That was it for you. The dam had broken.

Tears were already spilling over by the time you’d suddenly stood from your chair and raced to the bathroom.

Both Jamie and Keeley called your name after you, and Roy had said it, surprised, from the kitchen as you rushed past.

You closed the door quietly, but didn’t have the willpower to sit anywhere else but on the floor next to the sink. You sobbed into your hands as silently as possible, but that didn’t work for long.

“Babe?” came Jamie’s voice through the door. “Babe, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

The desire to be alone was rapidly replaced by the need for Jamie.

You opened the door slowly, still seated by the sink. You kept your blood-shot gaze away from his for a moment as he stood there in silence.

When you looked up a moment later, your heart broke at his worried expression. His hands were shaking slightly.

“I’m just…overwhelmed,” you admitted hoarsely.

Jamie got down on the floor next to you, patting the space between his legs and reaching for you. You shuffled over to sit in his lap, your legs swung over one of his, arms going around his body and face sliding to nestle in his neck.

His arms wound around you protectively, rubbing your back and rocking back and forth slightly.

“Why are ya feeling overwhelmed, love?” he wondered gently.

You inhaled shakily, your face still buried in him. “I just…I’ve been getting a lot of hate comments and mean tweets lately. And then those paparazzi incidents today were awful and then my mom just texted me saying things like ‘why are you with him’ and ‘you shouldn’t be with someone like that.’ Then there was a link to this article that had pictures from today and they’d edited me to look horrible.”

Jamie sighed, his voice soft. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m truly so sorry. People are arseholes.”

“Why do they hate me so much?”

“They hate what they don’t have. They see us happy and they’re miserable, so they want to make us miserable. People throw rocks at things that shine.”

You moved your head off his neck so you could look him in the face. You smiled through your tears. “Did you just quote Taylor Swift at me?”

“I did,” he smiled. “But I’m not kidding. Media is fucked up. People on the internet are fucked up. They’re bored and feel the need to stick their stupid opinions where they’re not wanted.”

“It’s just so frustrating.”

“I know. But what matters is you and me. That’s it.”

“You’re right. You and me. That’s it.”

Jamie smirked mischievously. “Besides, they’re probably jealous you get to sleep with a hot footballer and they don’t.”

You laughed. “Jamie, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m not sleeping with Roy.”

Jamie laughed in return. “Oi! Ya don’t need to be an arsehole about it.”

You gazed happily at him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And I promise, forget all that shit. If you’re ever feeling this way again, just talk to me. I’ll make sure to let you know that all I need is you and you alone. This love is ours. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

You pressed your lips to his for a sweet kiss, feeling much more reassured.

“Now come on,” Jamie encouraged when he pulled away, “I’ve gotta see if Roy actually can cook.”

“I think he can, Jamie.”

“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”

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peter-parkers-left-pinky · 11 months

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Y/N: Natasha, you're testifying in an aggravated assault case tomorrow, and the D.A. is worried about how you'll present yourself on the stand.

Natasha: Why? I'm fine on the stand!

*flashback to Testimony #1*

Natasha: Look, I'll make this real simple so even these idiots can understand.

Natasha, to the jury: MAN DID CRIME.

*flashback to Testimony #2*

Natasha: I'm sorry, could you make her stop doing that weird thing with her face?

Defense Attorney, next to the crying defendant: ...Crying?

*flashback to Testimony #3*

Natasha: And when this is over, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna break those little fingers.

Judge: Could the witness please stop threatening the stenographer?

#marvel #mcu #incorrect quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #incorrect mcu quotes #natasha romanoff x reader #y/n insert #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #marvel reader insert #incorrect mcu #marvel x reader

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sebastianswallows · 11 months

Text

Beautiful memories — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, just a lot of angst (eventually there will be fluff and smut, but in later chapters)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— A/N: This fic is for a prompt by @pugsnotdrugs92, and I was also asked to write a similar fic by at least one anon.

Sadly, since she gave me that prompt, Pugs has deleted her blog. I have just learned this tonight and I am... pretty damn upset, I'll say that (not at her of course 💗, but at what caused it).

I will just say that if you get hate from anyone, block them, block indiscriminately until you have peace. I hope that Pugs (and anyone who deleted their blog as part of this mess) will make an account on this hellsite again one day <3

Anyway! On with the fic. Hope you enjoy it, my dears 🌺

Nobody had any idea who turned Sebastian in. It came so unexpectedly that they almost didn’t believe it when he happened. After all, it had been two years since Solomon’s death, and everyone in Feldcroft believed he died in his sleep.

“I know it isn’t me,” she said tearfully to Ominis one day, “and I know it isn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t Anne either,” said Ominis with a shake of his head.

“Are you sure? She still isn’t speaking to Sebastian.”

“She protected him this whole time, why would she report him to the ministry now? She might not forgive Sebastian, but she wouldn’t do this to him…”

Their suspicions fell on Leander, or the goblins, or any number of rivals Sebastian had made, but none of their suspects were likely to even know the truth about what happened that day in the catacomb. It therefore stood to reason that someone had overheard them speaking about it at some point, but that did little to narrow it down — for all they knew, one of the portraits had heard them and reported it to the Headmaster.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who told the Aurors about it. The trio rushed through their N.E.W.T.S. half-heartedly, with Sebastian unsurprisingly scoring lower than he ever had, and in their spare time they spoke of nothing but the upcoming trial.

They’d even arranged for a solicitor for Sebastian, and visited him via floo in London, but he only spoke to his client in private. And every time Sebastian walked out of the wizard’s office, he looked more discouraged than the last.

The trial took place during summer, right after their 7th year ended. Both she and Ominis attended it every day. Imelda came sometimes as well, and Poppy, and Lucan — even Garreth attended on two occasions. He’d never liked Sebastian much, but he seemed to put aside his feelings throughout all of this.

“They don’t mean to send him there, do they?” he whispered as they sat outside the courtroom one sweltering afternoon.

“Where else?” said Imelda. “They closed all the other wizarding prisons centuries ago.”

“But he’s supposed to have done it while he was still a student…”

“What d’you expect? That they’ll give him detention for murder?”

“No, but…”

“You don’t think he really did it, do you, Imelda?” asked Poppy, leaning over Garreth.

“He didn’t,” said Ominis without even glancing their way.

“That’s right,” she said from beside Ominis. “Sebastian’s done nothing wrong.”

The trial went badly almost from the start. The judge was a grey old wizard in a funny wig, and there was no jury to speak of. He seemed to treat the death of a former Auror, even one of such ill repute as Solomon, quite seriously. The Prosecution leaned into that every chance they got.

Anne was called to give testimony in the first week, and she confessed under oath what she had found when she reached the catacombs, which was enough to shock the court. Sebastian’s friends took courage from the fact that she had not actually seen what killed Solomon, but it was only a matter of the judge drawing a line between a quick succession of events.

Ominis was called to the stand as well, but lied shamelessly. Even the threat of Veritaserum from the Prosecution didn’t sway him. He knew none of them would dare submit a Gaunt to that — a rare occasion of his family name amounting to something. However, him being Sebastian’s oldest friend cast doubt upon his entire deposition…

And then, she was called to give testimony as well. Unlike Ominis, she was not sure she could afford to lie, but nothing could get her to betray Sebastian.

All that she could remember was that Solomon attacked the both of them, and both she and Sebastian felt quite threatened by him, and then somehow, between the flying curses and roving Inferi, Uncle Solomon fell dead. But that happened, after all, more than two years ago, Your Honour, and it was in a dark and gloomy cave — and oh, what were they doing there? Objection. Relevance?

Ominis and the others congratulated her on well she held her own, but deep down, she felt like she had let her best friend down — her statement didn’t put the blame on Sebastian, but neither did it exonerate him.

By the time the trial was approaching the end, their former classmates had stopped coming, and only she and Ominis were left.

“He looks so —”

“I know,” said Ominis, not wanting to hear her describe him. This was on the last day, and the judge would give the verdict.

Guilty. Six months in Azkaban.

The courtroom reverberated with murmurs from the crowd — some in approval, others in outrage.

It was a horrible sentence to hear, but it was not as bad as their worst fears — people were often given life imprisonment for the Unforgivables. Fortunately, in Sebastian’s case, there was not enough conclusive evidence either way. Still, if they were to appeal, it would take longer than six months to even have a new judge assigned to the case, so they were left with no choice but to accept it.

As the Aurors led Sebastian away, she and Ominis stood together and called out useless encouragements to their friend, telling him to have courage, to be strong, have faith that he would soon be free, but he went with the guards without looking back at them…

Most of their former classmates were shocked but seemed to think the six-month sentence would pass quickly. They knew Azkaban was pretty horrible and could remember a few things from their DADA class, but none of them was truly educated on the nature of Dementors. Ominis was. He’d been in their presence when he and his father went to visit an uncle of his who’d been sentenced for murdering a muggle. He claimed it was the worst experience he’d ever had in his life — worse than Crucio, in its own way. He still remembered how the despair lingered inside him for days.

And as time passed, she became aware of something lingering within herself as well…

By the fourth month, she had to use concealment charms around her waist when she went out in public. Ominis figured it out on his own — it was probably that echolocation spell he used to get around. He’d merely been suspicious at first, but by the fifth month…

“Can anyone else see?!”

“No, and they won’t if you just stop —”

“But this could ruin your reputation!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

“I can’t believe you! How c—”

“Ominis, shut up,” she hissed.

“But you —”

“It’s Sebastian’s!”

“… Oh. I suppose that makes it better, then.”

From then on, Ominis supported her and helped her in any way he could — which admittedly wasn’t much, as he was still getting used to living on his own after being freed from his family’s clutches. And either way, the first few months were gentle enough on her that she could cope well enough on her own. The only help she needed was preparing her small flat to host two people — and eventually three — which meant some creative furniture transfiguration to fit everything in too small a space.

Christmas arrived in the meanwhile, then the New Year. They had tried writing to him every month by then, but the authorities kept sending their letters back — none were allowed for fear of concealed enchantments, they said, and no visitations were allowed either for lower-class prisoners. It broke her heart to know him all alone throughout those rotten months and all through the holidays. Neither she nor Ominis found it in them to celebrate anything that year…

Sebastian was released in February. They wouldn’t be allowed on the island of Azkaban, but they could see him at the Ministry, where he would be transported before he was officially freed.

She and Ominis got there at sunrise, and waited for hours.

Sebastian’s assigned solicitor couldn’t be there, as he had another case, but he sent a house elf to sign the release form in his name. Anne hadn’t come either, but that was hardly a surprise…

The two of them sat alone in a busy hallway, watching witches and wizards pass through — some going in, some going out — until finally, late in the afternoon, the Auror at the front desk told them that inmate Sallow would be arriving within minutes.

“Here, here, they said this will be the exit,” she said, pulling on Ominis’ sleeve.

Two large wooden doors lay open out of which a long dark hallway extended like a neck, and on either side were doors being shut and open of ministry workers travelling through. There was constantly a small crowd of people darkening that space even further.

“I think that’s him,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes when she spotted a dark ruffled head of hair.

“Alright, stay calm,” said Ominis, taking her hand to settle her. Since he’d realised that she was pregnant, he was instinctively more protective.

“Oh, it is! It is him!” she said with tears in her happy voice.

Sebastian was led out of one of those side doors — dressed in a grey and black prisoner’s uniform, his hands and feet chained, terribly thin and tired and bent at the back, and looking as if he hadn’t slept for days…

“Sebastian!” she called out, waving to him with the hand that wasn’t in Ominis’ grasp. “Over here!”

He looked up slowly, as if doubting that he’d heard his name called. His eyes searched blearily through the crowd ahead, not really focusing anywhere, but then they fell on her. She grinned brightly when she caught his gaze.

“Y-you came?” he said, looking at the two of them like they were a dream come true.

“Of course,” she said.

“Surely you didn’t expect anything else,” grinned Ominis.

“I… I need to go somewhere, they’re taking me to… to…” He didn’t have time to explain before Aurors led him around the corner and to another room, for processing.

“We’ll be here,” she called out after him, “we’ll wait for you!”

“How does he look?” whispered Ominis. “He sounded quite weak.”

“He looks… the way he sounded,” she said, “but he’ll be alright… He has to be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Sebastian stepped back outside. He was now dressed the way he was when they arrested him: a faded green sweater and black trousers with worn old leather shoes. The clothes hung on his lanky frame, his face was all angles and shadows, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a wash in the whole six months. He was, of course, without his wand as well — they’d broken that after his sentencing.

But there was a still little light still left in his eyes, and it shone when he saw his friends again. He called out her name and Ominis’, and walked toward them with feeble brisk steps.

“I can’t believe it,” he grinned weakly, his steps growing bolder the closer he got to his friends. “I never thought —”

But then he noticed their joined hands, and her swollen stomach, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He only caught the sight for a second before she let go of Ominis and rushed to embrace him.

“Seb,” she cried out as she jumped into his arms. She clung to his neck like a lifeline. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve… missed you too,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

She buried her face in his neck while Sebastian’s eyes fell to Ominis — who embraced him too from the other side in an uncharacteristic display of affection, before he stood back timidly.

“How… erm, how are you?” he asked with a nervous smile, feeling more happy than he cared to admit, and relieved to have his friend back in one piece.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian. Gently, he dropped the girl from his arms and slowly pulled away.

“Of course,” she said, wiping her tears and stepping back, but keeping his hand clasped in hers. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say anything. We just came to take you home. It’s alright now… You’re free, you’re finally back. We’ve missed you so much…”

“Home?” said Sebastian, looking between her and Ominis coolly. “Whose home is that?”

“Well… whichever one you want,” she said. “Yours or mine or…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to see Feldcroft again,” said Sebastian. “But I wouldn’t want to… impose on either of you.”

“What?” frowned Ominis. “Don’t be stup— I mean, don’t worry about that, Sebastian.”

“Oh, is there something to worry about?” he asked.

“Well —”

“We don’t need to discuss that —”

“— here.”

“— now.”

“… I see.”

“Don’t concern yourself with anything,” she smiled, stepping up to him again and embracing him loosely. “Let’s leave this horrible place first…”

They made their way out of the ministry building and through the cold London streets toward Diagon Alley, and his friends talked to him excitedly about the things that had happened: what their former classmates were doing, what they knew about Anne, even the latest Quidditch matches.

They probably felt less cheerful than they seemed, but their enthusiasm was overflowing as they prattled on about all the normal things people their age should care about, almost as if nothing bad had happened at all. They laughed, and smiled, and rubbed his back, and all the while there was in Sebastian’s gait much of the same imprisoned and defeated look as there had been when he was led out of the courtroom at his sentencing.

“We wrote to you while you were there,” she said as they approached the Leaky Cauldron.

“But the damned guards never delivered them,” said Ominis.

Sebastian listened in silence, and they tacitly agreed it was because of what he had been through. He would open up to both of them in time, they were certain…

They decided to have lunch at the Cauldron since neither of them had eaten anything since morning — and they didn’t even wish to think of the food in Azkaban. They ordered sausages and eggs and mashed potatoes and a great big serving of pickled pumpkin.

Sebastian ate the least out of the three of them — and what he didn’t finish, she devoured. Ominis hid his chuckle behind a cough, while Sebastian could barely look at her. If she noticed it, she didn’t say. She just kept smiling and laughing along with Ominis…

More than ever in Azkaban, he wished he could dig a hole for himself through which to disappear. The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded, the smell of food made his stomach turn, and every scrape of a chair was like a scratch across his brain. Even sitting down was uncomfortable, his muscles too thin and his back too weak to hold him. He moved uncomfortably from one position to another, and let his friends prattle on to fill the emptiness between them.

After almost an hour, they decided to leave, and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“I’m seeing someone at the ministry next Wednesday about a position,” said Ominis as they walked toward the fireplace. “But I can stop by afterwards if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Do you have enough chocolate at home? I can bring some more.”

“Shelves full of it,” she laughed. “But more is always a good idea. I suspect we’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll bid you two goodbye for now, then,” said Ominis as he waved them off, blissfully oblivious to what was going through Sebastian’s mind.

“Goodbye,” she said with a tearful smile, letting go of Sebastian for a brief while to hug their friend once more.

“I’ll let you know before I arrive on Wednesday.”

“Not to worry, Ominis. We’ll be alright… Everything will be alright now.”

“I hope so…”

“And good luck with your interview!”

“Thank you… Although I’m not sure I want it.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” said Sebastian tiredly. “For… everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “I’m glad to have you back. We both are. Just focus on getting well again…”

Sebastian nodded, not feeling that any of their kind words were true. He disappeared in the green flames with her, wishing for once to not appear on the other end.

#Sebastian Sallow #Ominis Gaunt #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x reader #pugsnotdrugs92 #I miss you 😭#sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;memories

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