#Courtroom Humor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

0scarp1astr1 · 29 days ago

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Spoiled Much? (P2)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

ᯓ★ Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Yuki Tsunoda, Franco Colapinto, Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, George Russell

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: Part 2 of Spoiled much, I hope you all enjoy it, these are fun to make, and I am squeezing in as much content as possible for drivers.

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Oscar Piastri

You and Oscar had decided to spend a few quiet days with his family, away from media buzz and cameras. It was peaceful, relaxing — and just what you needed. Plus, it meant bonding time with his mom and sisters… and, well, the perfect opportunity to mess with your tall, calm, sweet-faced boyfriend.

Oscar always told you not to worry about money. “Just tell me what you want, I’ll get it,” he’d say like it was nothing — and while he looked calm on the outside, you knew exactly how to poke the bear. A fake “another guy paid for it” prank? That would definitely stir something.

After a full day of shopping with his mom and sisters, you returned to the house, bags in hand, smile innocent, kiss on his cheek, and his credit card handed back like a dutiful wife.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, pulling you into his side as he kissed your temple.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Didn’t even have to use much of your money.”

Oscar blinked, glancing at the ten shopping bags in your hand. “That’s... hard to believe,” he muttered.

Right on cue, Hattie chimed in. “Oh come on, Osc! The guy was sooo nice, you should’ve seen him. Just strolled up, all confident, and was like, ‘Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll take care of it.’”

Edie nodded. “He even told her to pick the next store and said he’d pay again!”

You bit back your laugh, playing your part perfectly. “Some people are just sweet like that,” you said with a shrug.

Oscar stood still for a moment. Processing. And then—

“Okay hold on, WHAT?” he said, completely blindsided. “He paid for you? Why?! No. Nope. That’s not sweet — that’s sketchy. That’s 'I’m trying to take your girl to dinner and dessert' energy.”

He turned to his mom and sisters like a courtroom defense lawyer. “You let him pay? You encouraged this? I’m her boyfriend. Me. Oscar Piastri. I make millions! I can pay for her to buy a store if she wants!”

That was it — you and the girls lost it, bursting out laughing. Oscar blinked around the room like he was the only one not in on the joke… until he spotted your phone angled toward him from the side table.

His shoulders dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You leaned up and kissed him, still giggling. “You’re so dramatic when you think another man’s trying to buy my affection.”

“Because he was!” Oscar said, exasperated as he turned to walk upstairs.

You followed, juggling your bags. “Come on! You have to admit that was hilarious.”

“I don’t think I trust you on TikTok anymore,” he muttered, disappearing into your shared vacation room.

“I love pranking you!” you called after him.

“I noticed. Especially after the flour incident. And when you made me think someone broke into our Monaco flat,” he said with a shake of his head.

You smirked. “Lando was in on that one. You nearly whacked him with the bat.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Shouldn’t prank me about break-ins — I’m trying to keep you safe, not turn Monaco into a crime scene.”

You flopped onto the bed, bags landing beside you. “So I take it this means war?”

Oscar shrugged, kicking off his shoes. “Just know… I’m not always as chill as I look. One day, I’ll get you back.”

You raised a brow. “Since when do you get in on the prank wars?”

He grinned slightly, slipping under the covers.

“One day, you’ll find out.”

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Yuki Tsunoda

It was a sunny afternoon in Tokyo, where you and Yuki had gone to visit his family and enjoy a break from the F1 madness. Between temple visits, catching up with his childhood friends, and eating your weight in street food, you were having the time of your life. Yuki was extra cuddly on this trip too—maybe it was the home vibes, or maybe he just loved showing you off. Either way, it was perfect.

But perfect wasn’t complete without chaos. And that chaos? A prank.

So when he offered to wait in the car while you ran into the local store for some drinks and snacks, you accepted with a sweet smile and his card in hand. You already knew what you were going to do.

When you returned with a bag of goodies and that signature innocent grin, you handed the card back to him casually. “Didn’t need it after all,” you said, getting into the car.

Yuki blinked. “Why? Did they not take cards?”

You shook your head. “No, actually… this guy behind me in line paid. Said something about a beautiful girl like me not needing to pay for her own stuff.” You said it so calmly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Yuki sat there. Processing.

Then he blinked again. “Wait. Who?!”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, some guy. He was nice. Complimented my outfit. Said I had a pretty smile.”

Yuki’s jaw dropped like you just told him AlphaTauri was being renamed “Team Random Guy.” “HE SAID WHAT?!”

You looked out the window like it was no big deal. “I mean, it was sweet, really. People can be really generous.”

Yuki turned to you fully. “That’s not generosity! That’s flirting! That’s trying to steal my girlfriend in 4K!”

You bit your lip, barely holding back laughter as he kept going.

“And you just let him?! What was I supposed to do, huh? Sit here like a chump while you got sugar-daddied by Mr. Free Snacks?! I could’ve been in there karate-chopping someone!”

You covered your mouth to hide the giggle.

Yuki pointed a dramatic finger at you. “You are not allowed to be this pretty in public. New rule. Hoodie, sunglasses, ninja mode.”

“I was wearing sweatpants and your hoodie,” you said.

“EVEN WORSE,” he shouted. “He knew it wasn’t even yours! That man paid while you wore MY CLOTHES?!”

You finally broke, bursting into laughter and pointing to your phone in the dashboard mount. “Yuki… it was a prank.”

He followed your finger, saw the red light, and slumped into the seat. “Oh my god… I thought I was gonna have to fight someone. Like, actual punches.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “But you were so cute and protective.”

He narrowed his eyes. “No. No compliments. I’m not falling for your sweet talk.”

“Come onnn,” you teased.

“I hope that guy steps on a Lego.”

“He doesn’t exist, Yuki.”

“I still hope he steps on a Lego. Just in case.”

You giggled as he started the car again, muttering something under his breath in Japanese.

“Love you,” you said sweetly.

He sighed, grabbing your hand.

“Yeah yeah. Love you too. But next time I get to prank you, and I’m going full chaos.”

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Franco Colapinto

You and Franco had a nice dinner out planned—a little place tucked away on a quiet street, somewhere he promised had “the best pasta in the city, I swear on my helmet.” The two of you were tucked into a cozy corner, laughing over shared appetizers, when he suddenly leaned in and whispered, “Mi amor, I need to use the bathroom. If the bill comes, just use my card, okay?”

You nodded sweetly, already sliding his card from his wallet like the loyal girlfriend you were. The moment he disappeared down the hallway, though, the phone was set up—tucked sneakily between the salt shaker and wine bottle, camera rolling. You pulled out your own card and paid with a knowing grin.

A few minutes later, Franco returned, hair slightly tousled, sleeves pushed up like he had just gotten into a brawl with the hand dryer. “Did the bill come?”

“Yeah,” you said casually, handing back his card. “But I didn’t need it. A gentleman saw me sitting alone and paid for it. Said no beautiful woman should have to pay for her own dinner.”

Franco blinked. Twice. Then very slowly sat down in the chair across from you.

“…A gentleman?” he repeated.

“Mmhm.” You sipped your drink nonchalantly. “He insisted. Said something about it being tragic for a gorgeous girl to be left alone for even a minute.”

Franco leaned forward, brows knitting. “Wait wait wait. So a man… paid for my girlfriend's dinner? While she was sitting here looking pretty, so he sat… in my seat?”

You nodded, pretending not to notice his rising stress.

“And you let him?! Did you tell him you’re with me?”

You tapped your chin. “I think I said I was seeing someone… briefly. Might’ve been hard to hear with the music.”

“Dios mío,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Was he older? Did he look rich?”

“Definitely older. Possibly owned a yacht.”

Franco sat back, blinking at the ceiling like he was trying not to cry. “So now I have competition with a yacht guy? At a pasta place I brought you to?!”

You bit your lip, struggling not to laugh as he threw his arms up.

“He just… paid for you? What was I doing?! Washing my hands like an idiot while some James Bond wannabe was out here stealing my girl with his wallet?”

You pointed silently to the phone recording between the bottles of olive oil. He followed your finger, then froze.

“Oh no…”

You burst out laughing as Franco buried his face in his hands. “You’re evil,” he groaned. “You actually had me questioning if I should challenge this guy to a duel.”

You giggled, reaching for his hand. “But it was so funny, baby!”

He peeked through his fingers. “You know what’s funny? How much flour is going to be in your hair next time I bake something.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t bake.”

“I’ll learn. For revenge.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Love you, Franco.”

He grinned.

“Love you too, mi amor… but your days are numbered.”

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Kimi Antonelli

You and Kimi were deep into a study date at a quiet café—books spread out across the table, highlighters scattered like confetti, and Kimi hunched over his notes like he was preparing for a championship instead of a history exam. His focus was intense, brows furrowed, jaw set, the occasional frustrated sigh escaping when something didn’t make sense.

“I’m starving,” you whispered, nudging his arm gently.

Without even looking up, he slid some cash across the table toward you. “Get us something. Surprise me. Just… not tuna.”

You grinned, taking the money. “Got it, no tuna. Maybe anchovies?”

His only response was a quick side-eye and a very clear don’t test me expression. You stood with a soft laugh, heading to the counter. But, of course, instead of paying with the cash he gave you, you slid it into your hoodie pocket and paid with your own card, mentally thanking your brain for remembering to set up your phone camera before you left the table.

When you came back, two drinks in hand and a little plate of snacks, Kimi was still buried in his book, scribbling notes at lightning speed.

“You got it?” he asked absently, finally glancing up.

“Mhm.” You placed the drinks and snacks on the table. “Funny thing though… some guy at the counter offered to pay for me. Said no pretty girl should have to pay for her own coffee.”

Kimi blinked slowly.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” you said casually, sipping your drink. “He was really sweet about it, said I looked too stressed to worry about paying. Even offered to pay for your drink too. Said he hopes my boyfriend is as nice as he is.”

Kimi set his pen down, his full attention now on you. “I—Sorry, what? A guy paid for you? At a café? While you were on a date with me?”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“And you accepted it?!”

You shrugged innocently. “Didn’t seem polite to decline.”

Kimi leaned back in his seat, running a hand down his face. “So now there’s some mystery guy out there thinking he’s your knight in shining armor? Great. I’m competing with a man who buys snacks at cafés.”

You tilted your head. “Are you…jealous?”

“No.” He paused. “Maybe. Yes. A little. I’m studying Napoleon and losing you to an oat milk cappuccino and charm.”

At that, you couldn’t help it—you laughed, pointing at the phone angled between your notebooks. “It was a prank.”

Kimi followed your finger, narrowed his eyes at the phone, and let out a slow sigh. “You’ve been spending way too much time on TikTok again.”

“You love it,” you grinned, nudging him with your knee.

He shook his head but couldn’t hold back the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered.

“Lucky? I’m gorgeous.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” he mumbled, grabbing his pen again. “That and the fact that now I have to find a way to prank you back in the middle of midterms.”

You leaned in with a smirk. “Bring it on, Antonelli.”

He looked up, smirk matching yours.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, bella.”

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Ollie Bearman

It had been a chill day at the paddock—at least, as chill as things could get during a race weekend. Ollie had been doing his usual: juggling meetings, debriefs, and pretending he wasn’t texting you between every other lap review. You’d been wandering around, catching up with people, grabbing snacks, and planning—most importantly—your next prank.

Which is where Esteban Ocon came in.

You cornered him earlier with a grin and said, “Want to help me mess with Ollie?”

“Always,” he replied without hesitation.

So now, you were strolling casually back to the paddock beside Esteban, snack bag in hand, your phone tucked in a subtle angle to record the chaos that was about to unfold. Ollie stood a little down the way, chatting with one of the engineers until he spotted you both. His face lit up—until he noticed the smug expression on Esteban’s face.

“What did I miss?” Ollie asked, brow already raised as you approached.

“Oh nothing,” Esteban said casually. “Just had to save your girlfriend from being hit on by a guy at the snack tent.”

You blinked up innocently. “He was sweet, though. Said no girl that pretty should pay for her own snacks.”

Ollie froze mid-step. “Wait—what?”

Esteban kept the bit going flawlessly. “Yeah, proper gentleman. Paid for her food and everything. Honestly, I felt a bit awkward just standing there.”

You nodded, biting your lip like you were holding back a laugh. “He even asked if I was single.”

Ollie looked between the two of you, his jaw slowly dropping. “Hang on—you let some random guy pay for you? And Esteban just stood there and let it happen?!”

Esteban raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t want to start a fight over chips, mate.”

You added, “He said I had really nice eyes. And a radiant energy.”

“Okay, what is this—The Bachelor: Paddock Edition?!” Ollie blinked, looking incredibly betrayed. “I’ve been doing tire analysis for thirty minutes and you were out there getting free snacks and compliments like it’s a rom-com?”

Esteban couldn’t hold it anymore. He started laughing first, and you quickly followed, pointing to the phone that was still subtly recording.

Ollie looked over, eyes narrowing. “Oh my god. I knew this was suspicious. You two are evil.”

“I prefer creative,” you giggled, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe you teamed up with Esteban for this.”

Esteban slapped him on the back. “She promised me a free coffee. Worth it.”

Ollie pointed between you both. “This means war. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but you better sleep with one eye open.”

You smiled sweetly. “You still love me though.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, pulling you into a quick hug. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Esteban winked at Ollie. “Next time, I’ll tell the guy she’s married to some old guy in Formula One.”

Ollie groaned.

“That makes it sound so much worse.”

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George Russell

Race weekend meant chaos, caffeine, and press obligations. You’d been hanging around the paddock, chatting with familiar faces, and were supposed to grab a snack while George was finishing up a quick engineering meeting. Nothing fancy—just a little bite to hold you over.

Toto had spotted you on the way to catering and, being the gentleman he always was, insisted on paying for you. You initially said no, but Toto waved it off like it was nothing. "George doesn’t mind. It all comes out of Mercedes’ budget somehow."

But you were struck with a spark of inspiration. A prank. A perfectly subtle, paddock-appropriate prank.

Toto was more than game.

So, when George came striding out of the garage looking far too confident and far too clean for someone in motorsport, he found you waiting with a snack and a smirk—and Toto standing nearby with the look of a man who was absolutely about to commit to the bit.

"Hey, love," George smiled, brushing a kiss to your temple. "Get everything sorted?"

Toto gave a casual shrug. "Well, yes. Though I’m not sure how I feel about some random man flirting with your girlfriend while paying for her lunch."

George blinked. "Wait—what?"

You nodded, biting into your snack, cool as ever. "Yeah, he was sweet. Told me I shouldn’t have to pay for myself. Said a pretty face like mine deserved better."

George’s entire posture changed. "I—hold on—what guy? Where was I? I was literally gone for ten minutes!"

Toto, somehow keeping the most impressive poker face ever, added: "Tall guy. Nice watch. Little too confident if you ask me. He even winked."

George looked between you both, trying to compute. "And you just—let him pay?! Toto, you're the boss! You didn’t say anything?!"

"I didn’t want to embarrass him," Toto said seriously. "Maybe George should be more present next time."

Your face was turning red from holding in your laughter, especially when George turned to you in complete disbelief. "You let some random man just... fund your lunch like it was a date?!"

You shrugged. "Free food is free food."

George looked like he was mentally filing divorce papers you hadn’t even signed yet. "Absolutely not. You’re banned from snack stands without supervision."

At that point, Toto lost it—chuckling deep in his chest as he clapped George on the back.

"She’s joking, George. It was me."

George paused. Blinked. "...Wait, you paid?"

"Yes."

"And the flirting?"

You pointed to Toto. "All him."

George’s face dropped into his hands as you finally burst out laughing. "You two are unbelievable."

"You’re just upset someone else got to call me pretty first today," you teased.

He peered at you through his fingers. "That’s not true. I called you pretty this morning. Before breakfast."

Toto smirked. "Guess you’ll have to step it up."

George pointed at you. "You are never teaming up with him again."

You grinned, slipping your arm around his. "No promises, Mr. Russell."

George shook his head as the three of you walked off.

"I’m switching snack duty to Kimi next time. He wouldn’t emotionally sabotage me like this."

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#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 fluff #formula 1 fanfic #oscar piastri x fem!reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #franco colapinto x female reader #kimi antonelli x reader #ollie bearman x reader #george russell x reader #f1 headcanons #f1 one shot #f1 fiction

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zomb13s · 2 years ago

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"Zombie Defense: Doctor Zed's Courthouse Conundrum"

Once upon a time in the quaint town of Zombietownia, there stood a peculiar courthouse where Doctor Zed, the renowned doctor-turned-zombie, found himself in a rather eerie predicament. With his lab coat a bit tattered and a stethoscope dangling around his decomposed neck, he shuffled his way into the courtroom filled with curious eyes fixed upon him. “Mumbling ‘I told you so’ all the time,”…

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wanderingandfound · 2 years ago

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#the judge is the one with the hammer (via @nerdfighterwhatevernumbers)

every once in a while im like "lmfao isnt england embarrassed to have a queen" but like the lawyer wig situation is honestly above and beyond that weirdness like what is that. do they make you guy your own wig. is it like harry potter where it chooses you. is it custom. do you go to a judge wig store. how come some wigs dont fit and look like shit

#I've rarely been in a courtroom but I think the judge also has a special seat.#humor #USA #England #laws

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fluentmoviequoter · 28 days ago

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what, like it's hard?

Tim Bradford x younger!lawyer!fem!reader

✰ Your relationship with Tim Bradford has been perfect but private. When you finally meet his team during a night out, they find you are not what they expected.

✰ fluff, banter/humor, brief insecurity from Tim, a few obligatory Legally Blonde references, 3.5k+ words, requested

✰ Pictures from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

You twist your pencil between your fingers as your lips purse. The velvety matte pink gloss you chose today is cute, but it’s also smooth as your favourite silk shirt when you change your expression. Paying attention in the courtroom shows the judge and the jury that you care about the case and the people involved. Still, the disbelief you communicate on your face now isn’t intentional.

“You will find that Jasmine Becker hated her husband,” the prosecutor tells the jury. “She married him for his money, and when that ran out, she decided to leave. But not how you might think. She didn’t leave in the middle of the night, didn’t serve him with divorce papers… no, she cut the brake lines in his car and waited for the insurance money.”

You shake your head before sending a comforting nod to the woman sitting beside you. The judge sighs as your opponent finishes his closing remarks. There was more than enough evidence that your client did not attempt to murder her husband. He’s in a coma, unable to support that, and the D.A.’s office is relentless. You think they’re just trying to close the case to get it off their favorite prosecutor’s desk, even if it means convicting an innocent, grieving woman.

Setting your pencil on your white legal pad, you stand and straighten your blazer. As you round the table to approach the table, you lift a picture of Jasmine Becker and her son, both smiling with their heads inclined toward one another.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” you begin, “Mrs. Becker is a wife, a mother, a self-made woman with her own business and a long history of working for what she wants. There is no reason that she would suddenly decide her husband’s money was more important than his life. She hadn’t fallen out of love, hadn’t met someone else, as the A.D.A. may have led you to believe. As we showed, she had planned an elaborate surprise trip to the Maldives for their anniversary in three months and was looking into renewing their vows. Not to mention – and forgive me if I’m being redundant – Mr. Becker recently purchased a Tesla Model 3 with stainless steel braided brake lines, which are much harder to cut than the ordinary rubber lines.”

The men on the jury seem to respond to that fact, and you were convinced the women were already on your side. You don’t know who tried to kill a beloved neighbor and father, but it wasn’t the woman on trial. After you finish your remarks, the jury is dismissed, and you are given a brief recess. Outside the courtroom, you unlock your phone. Smiling at the picture on your home screen, you think of your boyfriend. You’ve got a date tonight, but you refuse to let that distract you from the trial… much.

Your phone buzzes once with an incoming call from the very man you were thinking about.

“Hi,” you greet softly, looking down at your heels, tied delicately around your ankles.

“Becker trial?” he asks.

“I’m good, how are you?” you reply sarcastically. “And, yes.”

“He woke up.”

You straighten, pressing your hand against the smooth fabric of your skirt as you look at your client. She’s rocking on a nearby bench, fiddling with her fingers as she waits for the verdict.

“And?” you inquire breathlessly.

“According to him, his business partner demanded to be let out of a contract,” he explains. “He’s… he’s not taking the news that his wife was accused well. Insists it wasn’t her.”

“It wasn’t,” you agree. “Any merit to the other suspect?”

“Detectives are looking into it now. Your judge is being alerted, and-“

You stop listening when the courtroom door opens, and a bailiff beckons everyone inside.

“I have to go,” you interrupt. “Thank you.”

Hanging up before he can reply, you place your hand on Jasmine Becker’s back, offering a small comfort as you return to the table before the judge.

“Your honor, may I approach?” you request.

“If it is about the, uh… the development, then I am aware,” he replies. “Has the jury reached a decision?”

The next thirty seconds seem slow, time moving like molasses dropping from a cold jar. Then, when your client is found not guilty, Jasmine bursts into tears, the A.D.A. storms out, and you nod your appreciation to the jury. It’s another win for you, but it’s so much more than that.

As you exit the courthouse with your baby pink and white checkered tote pulled onto your shoulder, you glance down at your outfit and then check your nails. You find an excuse to pamper yourself after a loss in court, but you think today’s success is worthy of a reward. With a smile, you walk into your Los Angeles office as Jasmine Becker arrives at the hospital and hugs her husband.

Dragging your pinky nail under your bottom lip, you perfect your makeup. The bathroom is filled with the scent of your favorite candle while a slow instrumental song plays from your laptop. On the screen, a clothing site you frequent advertises a new men’s line, so you smile and click a shirt your boyfriend would look good in.

Will he like it? Probably not. Would he wear it on his own? Also improbable. Yet you add it to your cart and glance up in the mirror to check that your lashes are ready to bat. It convinces him every time.

The front door opens before a tired voice calls, “If you’re reading that book again, I’m going to rip the ending out.”

“It’s a law book,” you reply, interrupting yourself with a laugh. “The ending’s a bunch of references.”

Groaning, your boyfriend sets something on your table before walking down the hall toward you. You close your laptop quickly and pick it up as you blow out the candle. Before you can escape to your bedroom, your boyfriend appears in the doorway. He raises one arm to the top of the door frame as he leans against it. Instantly, your eyes are drawn to his bicep, your mouth drying as you consider skipping dinner.

“How’d the trial go?” he asks.

You don’t hear the question, not really, so you nod and move your eyes across his chest. He presses his lips together to hide his smile, but you don’t care that you’re shamelessly ogling him. It’s your right and your duty as his girlfriend, you think.

“You look amazing,” he says.

“You look better,” you sigh. When you meet Tim's eyes, you add, “Thanks for the information about the brake lines.”

He smiles and drops his arm, leaning toward you. In the usually harsh bathroom light, you can see every feature, every perfect millimeter of his face. The blue of his eyes that darkens until they appear grey, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the jawline and cheekbones that constantly beg to be kissed. You lift your hand against his chest to stop him from kissing you.

“There a problem?” he murmurs, pressing into your hand as he uses the doorframe to keep himself up.

“Just…” you trail off as you pull a drawer open and find a tube of Chapstick.

He sighs deeply but doesn’t fight back as you uncap the tube. You move the hand on his chest to hold his face, brushing your thumb under his jaw as your fingers settle beneath the faint lines beside his eyes. Focused on applying the Chapstick, you don’t notice how he watches you, the admiration and love in his eyes as he takes you in, how he leans toward your touch but ensures he doesn’t make himself too heavy against you.

“There,” you announce, replacing the lid and dropping the tube into the drawer. “Now you can kiss me.”

“Oh, thank you,” he grumbles.

Yet, despite that grumpiness, he doesn’t hesitate to lay his hands on your waist and pull you against his chest. He angles his face toward yours, kissing you like he’s been waiting weeks to do it. At the risk of being late for your dinner reservation, you sigh into the kiss and spread your hands against his back, sliding them up to grip his lats.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak.

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply innocently. “You kissed me, remember?”

He hums, gripping your waist tighter yet maintaining his always gentle treatment of you. “Yeah, that’s what you said last time,” he reminds you, “but then you were putting stuff on my face and distracting me, so I missed kickoff.”

“It was lotion,” you correct. “And just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you can’t benefit from taking care of your skin.”

“You saying I’m wrinkly?” he challenges.

“You don’t have to ask me to stroke your ego,” you whisper. Kissing his jaw, you murmur, “I’ll tell you how gorgeous you are for free.”

“We need to go,” Tim reminds you.

He lowers his hands to your hips when you kiss down his neck, his resolve weakening. When he turns to putty beneath your palms, you smile and step back.

“Ready to go?” you ask.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbles.

You wag your finger, reminding him that he isn’t allowed to talk like that. He rolls his eyes at that, too. As you exit the bathroom, Tim turns off the light and trails behind you.

“I know we talked about going to the aquarium tomorrow,” he begins as you gather your things.

“Something come up?” you ask.

“Sorry.”

“You’ll make it up to me.”

You turn toward him, and Tim can’t help but smile. You’ve discovered a part of him even he didn’t know was there. Some days Tim loves it, others he wonders what will happen when you realize that people judge the age gap and there are layers of trauma beneath the man you claim to love. On the bad days, he sees every little reason you could choose to leave him. The good days, like today, however, give him a desire for a future with you. You accept him on both days, loving him all the same.

Your fingers slot between his, removing every feeling of inadequacy. He can’t feel his callouses or scars, just the warm, comfortable weight of your hand in his, your fingers intertwined in a parallel image of your hearts and lives.

“Tim,” Angela says without looking up from her phone, “Jumbo’s at 9.”

“No,” he replies simply.

“Yes,” she argues as she types.

“Lopez, I have plans tonight.”

Lifting one hand from the device, she waves and murmurs, “Change them.”

“To go get dinner with you and a handful of borderline incompetent rookies? No thanks.”

“Tim,” she sighs, finally setting her phone aside. “It’s been a long week; we just want to relax, and we know you could use the break too.”

“Lopez, I have plans,” Tim repeats.

“What could you possibly be doing? It’s offseason-“

“I have a date,” he interrupts, lifting his brows. “Is that okay with you?”

Angela fails to speak for nearly thirty seconds, her mind racing as she tries to make sense of what Tim just said. As far as she knows, he hasn’t been in a meaningful relationship since Isabel. He and Lucy had some tension-filled moments during her probationary period. Then she met someone and has been going strong with him since taking her rookie exam. Not that she isn’t glad Tim is happy and putting himself out there, but she knows the kind of doubts he feels, the pressure he puts on himself.

“How long?” she asks.

“A while,” he admits. “Can I go now?”

“Bring her to dinner,” Angela says. “Not tonight, but the end of the week. We’ll go somewhere nicer, meet this girl.”

“I-“ Tim rolls his eyes at the look on Angela’s face but murmurs, “I’ll extend the invitation.”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees sarcastically, “it’ll be great.”

“Wait, go back,” you interrupt while Tim tells you about the conversation he had with Angela hours earlier. “You told her you couldn’t go out tonight because we had a date?”

Tim hums as he nods, and you smile down at him as you raise your hands to your hips.

“Why’d you lie?” you inquire.

“Because I’d rather do this than listen to them,” Tim answers, interlocking his fingers behind his head as he leans back and admires you. “Spin again?”

“Not that easy,” you chide, walking toward him in your new pantsuit. The bottom of the sleeves and the waistband of the pants have a small ruffle detail, and when you saw it on a mannequin, you knew you had to have it. So far, Tim seems to support your decision. “You should go.”

Tim doesn’t reply right away, opting to look up and down your body. “I’m good here.”

“Tim,” you groan.

“Look, I’ll take you to the next dinner,” he promises. “But Jumbo’s isn’t my scene and it’s definitely not yours.”

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips at him, but he seems genuine. So, you nod, then step back and spin, letting him see the new outfit (and you) from every angle.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Me or the suit?”

Tim just smiles, so you duck back into your bathroom to change again. Why Tim demanded you try on all of the clothes that were delivered today may always be a mystery, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. When you return, dressed in a pair of your favourite shorts and a bright pink brushed tee Tim got you for your birthday, Tim pulls you onto the couch with him and angles his mouth toward yours. You push your fingers into his hair but stop before kissing him.

“It’s probably best I met you later in life,” you realize.

“Why?” he asks, blinking up at you.

“Because I’ve seen pictures of the buzzcut years.”

Tim ignores your dramatic shudder. “What was so wrong with it?”

“You looked fine,” you amend. “But where would I have put my hands when we do this?”

With his hair between your fingers, you close the distance and kiss him, moving with him as his hands push beneath your shirt and warm your sides.

The rhythmic click-clack of your heels speeds up as you approach the restaurant. Your meeting with a potential client ran over the planned time, and you don’t want Tim’s friends’ first impression to be you arriving late. When you reach the restaurant door, an exiting family holds it open for you. Thanking them, you glance down to ensure your outfit is still sitting properly, then exhale.

“Did you walk here?”

You look up immediately when you hear Tim’s voice, and the concern on his face makes you smile. Shaking your head, you explain that you had to park down the block.

“You should have called me,” he chides softly, taking your hand. “I would’ve walked in with you.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, squeezing his hand. “Am I late?”

“No, we’re still waiting for a few more people from the station. You look beautiful.”

“You look nice, too,” you reply. “Whoever got that shirt for you has excellent taste.”

“Timothy!” someone calls from behind you.

You stop, and Tim sighs as he releases your hand to turn around. Moving with him, you smile at the approaching women.

“You brought her!” one of them cheers.

The other steps forward and offers her hand as she says, “I’m Lucy Chen, it’s so nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself, then meet Angela Lopez. You’ve heard their names before, but they already seem different than how Tim described them. Briefly, you wonder how he makes you seem when he talks about you. Then, Lucy speaks.

“I want to know everything about you,” she says. “Tim – as I’m sure you know – doesn’t like to share.”

“He has his moments,” you agree, winking at him.

“Can we go to the table or does this need to happen here?” Tim sighs.

“Who’s here?” Angela inquires.

“Everyone but you two.” Tim sighs when Nolan walks in. “I forgot he was coming,” he explains.

You follow Lucy to the table, thanking Tim when he pulls your chair out for you. You’ve been locked in conversation with her since she arrived, and Tim has taken to watching you.

“She’s not what I expected,” Angela whispers as she lifts Tim’s menu.

“You expected her to be fake,” he argues.

“No, I didn’t.” After a moment of staring at each other, she concedes, “Okay, I thought for a few minutes she might just be an excuse to get you out of dinner. But… she’s like a lawyer Barbie.”

Tim glances at you, but as you laugh with Lucy about a themed cocktail, he knows you wouldn’t be offended by that even if you heard it. Your aesthetic is part of who you are; it’s a physical representation of your personality. Tim might have complained about the pink when you first started getting serious, but now, every time he sees something in your signature color, you’re his first thought.

“So, how’d you meet?” Nolan inquires.

“A mediation meeting,” you answer with Tim.

“You represented someone he arrested?” Angela clarifies.

You smile at Tim, who sighs and explains, “My neighbor rented out their house for opening weekend at Dodgers Stadium, and the people staying there wanted to sue me for Kojo scratching their car.”

“What? How would that even happen?” Lucy wonders.

“Doorbell camera across the street caught what really happened,” you say. “Their kid wanted to add some ‘cool scratch marks’ to the paint, so he went out in the middle of the night with a picture pulled up on his iPad and a kitchen knife.”

“And that somehow looked like dog scratches?” Nolan questions. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I had a good lawyer,” Tim says with a shrug.

“Dodgers opening weekend was only a few months ago,” Angela remembers.

“Didn’t say it was this opening weekend,” Tim mumbles, reaching for his drink.

Angela’s jaw drops at the realization that you’ve been dating for over a year. She doesn’t care about the age difference, of course, but she wonders how Tim kept you a secret for so long.

“You know, I’ve seen you all before,” you begin, spinning your straw in your drink. “I interrupted your dinner a few months back, but Tim made up an excuse and we left before you realized I was there for him.”

“I knew your sister didn’t call you!” Nolan brags.

“Different excuse, and my sister did call,” Tim responds.

Nolan’s smile falls before he apologizes.

“You’re not what we expected,” Lucy tells you. “You’re so much better.”

“Thank you,” you reply genuinely. “I’m glad I finally got to meet you.”

“But we need to be back by 10 to get Kojo,” Tim adds, “so if you’re going to interrogate us, do it quickly.”

You tap him with your elbow and shake your head.

“I only have one question,” Lucy begins, “have you considered dressing up as Barbie and Ken for Halloween?”

When you turn to Tim with bright eyes and a growing smile, he tips his head back and sighs.

“Could I pull off a pink blazer?” Angela wonders.

“Absolutely,” you say simultaneously with Lucy.

“What about me?” Nolan adds, laughing.

Tim looks up then, his brows drawn together in what’s clearly a judgemental look.

“Maybe,” you muse.

“It’d have to be a duller shade,” Lucy adds, drawing a nod from you.

“What is happening?” Tim whispers.

“You invited me,” you remind him.

“Would you say things are serious?” Angela asks you, leaning forward to look past Tim.

He taps your palm under the table, and you smile as you answer, “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Tim keeps his hands firmly in yours as he walks you to your car. Lucy takes most of your attention until she reaches her car, then you’re left alone with Tim on the corner. He raises his empty hand to your cheek as he thanks you for coming.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you reply. “They’re great.”

Tim kisses you once, a quick brush of his lips over yours.

“You need to go get Kojo,” you whisper.

“He’s at my house,” he says.

“You lied?”

“When you know what they’re really like, you’ll thank me.”

You shake your head and spread your palms over Tim’s new shirt. “I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he replies. "Even if I don't always understand why you love me."

"What, like it's hard?" you question, batting your lashes at him.

After a few seconds, he demands, “Get in the car.”

You match his smile as you release his hand. He opens the door for you, and your life feels complete when he waits for you to drive away before walking to his truck.

An hour later, you’re lying in bed when your phone buzzes with a text from Tim. The picture of Kojo is captioned ‘someone misses you.’ You promise to visit both of your boys after trial prep tomorrow, then drift to sleep, hoping to dream of them.

#hanna writes✯#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford oneshot #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford fluff #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #requests

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ashthesalamipiece · 24 days ago

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Hi, could I request a bakugo x childhood best friend reader where she kinda gets alot of special treatment (takes care of her when she's sick, isn't mean to her, is quieter when she's around and cooks for her ect.) And one day they were at the dorms and he was cooking for her just because she craved something while she was waiting on the kitchen counter while watching tiktoks and the class points it out and they say it's unfair ofc only if your comfortable no pressure!!

“She Gets Special Treatment”

Characters: Bakugo Katsuki x Childhood Best Friend!Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Soft!Bakugo

CW: Mild language (Bakugo being Bakugo), general fluffiness overload

---

Katsuki was cooking again.

And not just cooking. Cooking for you.

You were seated on the counter, legs swinging as you scrolled through TikTok, wearing one of his hoodies because you’d whined earlier that you were “chilly” and Katsuki, without a word, peeled it off and threw it at your face. Now he stood at the stove, quietly flipping the okonomiyaki you’d randomly mentioned craving ten minutes ago.

He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t grumbling. He wasn’t threatening to kill anyone. He was just… calm.

“Bro,” Kirishima whispered from the hallway, eyes wide as he peeked into the kitchen. “He’s not even threatening to poison her with wasabi.”

“I’ve literally seen him scream at Midoriya for breathing near the rice cooker,” Kaminari added, dramatically sipping his soda.

Sero leaned in beside them. “She asked for okonomiyaki and he just… made it. No complaining, no yelling, just—‘Tch, sit down, I got it.’ Like he’s a boyfriend in a rom-com.”

You scrolled through your phone obliviously, giggling at a TikTok with your headphones in. You didn’t even notice the audience you were gathering.

“Kacchan is smiling,” Deku whispered, pale.

“Is it possible he’s been replaced?” Mina hissed, eyes narrowed.

“Or brainwashed,” Tokoyami offered solemnly.

Bakugo finally turned, sliding a plate in front of you and poking your knee gently with the spatula. “It’s hot. Blow on it.”

You blinked up at him with a soft smile. “Thanks, ‘Suki. You’re the best.”

And he didn’t deny it. Didn’t grumble. Just muttered, “Yeah, yeah,” and turned back to the stove like it was no big deal.

Dead silence from the hallway.

“So, like…” Kaminari broke the silence. “You like her, right?”

Bakugo’s head snapped toward the hallway like a bomb about to detonate. “The hell are you losers doing just standing there?!”

“Just observing the obvious favoritism!” Mina beamed, stepping into the kitchen like this was court. “Exhibit A: She gets homemade food on command. Exhibit B: She’s sitting on the counter, which I’ve been banned from since March. Exhibit C: You smile at her.”

“I do not—” he started, red creeping up his ears.

“She wore your hoodie,” Sero added, pointing. “You never let anyone wear your clothes. You screamed at Mineta for looking at your slippers.”

“That’s because Mineta’s a damn freak,” Bakugo barked, but his ears were definitely red now.

You blinked, finally pulling out your earbuds. “What’s happening?”

Mina spun toward you like a courtroom lawyer. “Your Honor, how long have you two been secretly dating?”

You choked on your okonomiyaki. “Wh—we’re not dating!”

“Could’ve fooled us,” Kirishima muttered, crossing his arms.

Bakugo slammed the spatula on the counter. “SHE’S MY BEST FRIEND, DAMN IT!”

“Best friend who gets the VIP treatment,” Kaminari teased.

“She had a fever last week and you hand-fed her soup, bro!” Sero yelled.

Bakugo bristled. “She wouldn’t eat otherwise!”

You slipped off the counter quietly and poked his side with a smirk. “You do treat me special.”

He glared. “You got a problem with that?”

You shrugged. “Not really. It’s cute.”

Bakugo paused. Eyed you. Eyed the class.

Then turned back to the stove, muttering, “Tch. I’ll make more if you want.”

Class 1-A screamed.

#my hero academia #reader #mha x reader #bhna #fluff #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #funny

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thirstbxtch · 2 months ago

Text

Steno

Pairing: John Munch x Reader

Rating: E

John's curious as to why you would break things off with a seemingly great guy.

Started watching SVU from the beginning for the first time as an adult.

Became unexpectedly feral for Detective Munch.

Lack of content has brought me out of retirement.

You're in one of the courthouse break rooms grabbing a coffee when Detective John Munch comes in.

"Hey, haven't seen you in awhile," he says, also pouring a coffee. You lean back against the counter sipping yours.

You run into each other sometimes, being a stenographer. You like it when you're assigned to a trial he's called to testify on, like today. The sound of his voice. His sometimes dryly sarcastic responses given during cross examination. You both have the same sense of humor. He likes you because you never ask him to spell anything, including psychological terminology.

John gives an "ah" of understanding.

You sigh.

"Got tied up on a double homicide. Mistrial. It's on hold while they find a new jury."

"How you've been? How's Eric?" He teases pleasantly.

Eric was an up-and-coming attorney you'd started dating about two months ago.

"Over that fast? Did it even have time to get started?" John jokes.

You make a face.

"Mmm, just went ahead and ended it. Wasn't going anywhere."

You shrug nonchalant.

"Well, when you know, you know."

He nods, deciding not to push.

"You?"

"This case has been a bitch, I'm expecting the trial will be as well."

"Seems to be headed that way."

You check your watch.

"Better get back to it, recess is almost up. You know how Judge Schneider is when it comes to punctuality."

"Oh believe me, I know."

The jury reaches a verdict after three days of deliberation. Now the end of the third day, Munch is there to hear it, sitting in the gallery.

Your fingers hover over the stenotype in anticipation as they stand to deliver.

"The jury has found the defendant Not Guilty, your honor."

There's a stunned kind of silence throughout the court room. It takes you a second to process before you can transcribe it.

You glance over at Munch. Stony expression says it all.

He approaches you once it's all over, the courtroom clearing, you're gathering your things.

John's standing there tall and slender, black suit, dark grey shirt, dark salt and pepper hair brushed back. Blue tie with his signature silver tie clip.

"I could use a drink after that, care to join?"

He's not really expecting you to agree, but what the hell right.

Handsome in an academic sort of way.

"You drive?"

"Yeah, actually, same."

Can't be any harm in commiserating with someone in essentially the same field. Your friends only put up with so much of your work talk.

"No, not today, took the subway."

He looks at you, skeptical.

"What?"

He shakes his head, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

"Alright, come on."

He takes you to a quiet, little bar, where you'll actually be able to hear each other talk. Soft piano music playing in the background.

John orders a Scotch, neat, and you order a Manhattan.

After about an hour and two drinks of lamenting the outcome of the trial, debating the downfalls of the legal system, and generally catching up --John decides he's curious.

"So--wanna tell me what actually happened with Erick?" Tone only half serious.

"Is this why you brought me out? To get the details of my romantic life?" You reply, teasing.

"Well I'd tell you the details of mine, but it's non-existent," he replies in that signature deadpan way.

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Believe it."

You finish your drink and signal for another. He waits, expectantly. Sometimes half of getting people to talk is just being quiet.

"I did tell you, just wasn't going anywhere, no point in wasting time when you know it's not going to work," you explain.

John finishes his drink and leans forward, elbows resting on the bar, also signaling for another.

"Ok, but why wasn't it going anywhere? Come on, the guy is practically prince charming-- attractive, good job, promising career, nice car, apartment on the nice side of town from what I hear-- If that's not considered 'going anywhere' for women, what possible hope can there be for me?"

You smile and roll your eyes, playful, as the bartender places new drinks in front of you.

"Yeah, he sounds great on paper, but we just weren't compatible."

John studies you now, trying to read beneath the smiles and guarded responses.

"Did he hurt you?" He asks frankly.

You give him a pointed look.

"No, nothing like that Detective," you place a hand on his upper arm, attempting to placate him, "trust me, it's not that serious."

John glances down at your hand on his arm. The light touch somehow burning through his suit jacket and shirt. Brings his eyes back to yours. A moment. Another smile before you withdraw.

You each sip your drinks.

"If I tell you, it stays between us ok?"

"Hey, loose lips sink ships," John says casually, not wanting to appear over-eager.

You drink again.

"Like I said, Erik sounds great on paper, he's nice, but the sex was-- less so," You finish wryly.

"Less so?" John prompts, pleased to be making progress, but this is only piquing his interest, not satisfying it.

John processes the information, annoyed now on your behalf, but checks his composure.

You hum, thinking.

"Let's just say I never saw any sparks." You give him another pointed look, before drinking again.

"You mean, never? Not once?" He asks, casual.

"Not once," you reply simply.

The brief silence however, encourages you to continue, unable to suppress the impulse overshare while under the influence.

"Ah --well, that'll do it."

He drinks.

"He always wanted me to blow him but wouldn't eat me out--" you roll your eyes, decidedly less playful now and drink "hate that, so annoying."

John clears his throat, caught off guard by your sudden bluntness, and certain illicit images they conjure.

"Did you tell him that?" He asks, matter of fact, once he's able to form words.

"I mean, I think he tried once or twice, but it was just--disappointing."

You make a face.

"No, no need to be cruel, it's not like he did me wrong or anything, just easier to tell him it wasn't going to work."

"Sounds like he was doing you wrong." The comment is out of John's mouth before he can think. He panics momentarily, hoping he hasn't been too crude.

John cracks a smile.

But instead you're actually laughing.

"Got me there."

"Maybe he's insecure, maybe he knows he's not good at giving head so that's why he doesn't like to do it." He's playing devil's advocate now. "I mean the poor bastard can't do any better if someone doesn't teach him."

John raises a brow.

You make another face.

"He's 30-something. Not 19. If he doesn't know by now," you shrug, finishing your drink, "I'm sure he'll be fine, he'll meet someone nice."

"Someone nicer than me." You add, not sure when you and the detective had gotten so close. You're practically elbow to elbow. You can smell his aftershave -- clean and inviting. You press your thighs together. Just so.

"I don't mind driving you home," he offers, "would rather make sure you get home alive."

You check your watch, sighing.

"It's getting late. I should call a cab."

You guess you can't really argue, both knowing the hundreds of horrible possibilities that can happen at any given time in this city.

He calls the bartender over for the tab, and you both straighten up.

"I can--" you start, only for John to wave you off.

"Wouldn't dream of it, one tab please," he tells the bartender mildly.

The drive home is quiet, but comfortable. You don't want to give him the wrong directions.

"Just up here on the right, that's my building."

He pulls up to the sidewalk, eyeing the building.

"I know, it's not much, but it's decent, for New York at least."

John turns off the car.

"You know I'm walking you to your door."

You could live in the Upper East Side and he would walk you to your door. Doesn't trust anyone or anywhere at this point in his career.

"Came all this way," you tease putting in the key, "might as well come in for a night cap."

There's no doorman, which he scolds you for.

You hit the keypad for entrance, take the elevator up to the 5th floor, and walk all the way down to the end of the hall.

Thinking all the while about how you're not ready for your time with the detective to be over.

This old song and dance, John thinks, regarding you. You're looking at him with something, dare he say, dangerously akin to want.

"Twist my arm why don't you," he replies easily.

You turn on a light and slip out of your blazer, tossing it lazily over the back of the couch.

John takes the opportunity to shamelessly admire the line your body while you're not paying attention.

Formal t-shirt tucked into your modest knee length pencil skirt, lingering on the curve of your ass, then down your legs to your simple, black pumps.

You make your way over to the bar cart in your so-called dining room.

Whiskey and two glasses, setting them on the table, pouring generously.

A silent toast.

"This was nice," you hum, leaning back against the table.

"Yeah, it was," he murmurs, allowing his gaze to drop to your mouth.

John smoothly downs his in one go.

He steps forward, setting his now empty glass on the table but doesn't move away.

You're not moving away or re-directing the conversation. Just standing there looking back at him through long lashes.

He closes the small distance between you, slotting his mouth over yours. You return the kiss, lips pressed for long moments to his, before separating.

You set your unfinished drink on the table, pushing it off to the side, and returning your mouth to his. An exchange of kisses that quickly grows hungry. Your hands slipping beneath his suit jacket, palming his chest, he shrugs out of the offending item, lips still half connected to yours.

Then he's lifting you effortlessly onto the table, tongue running along your lower lip when you gasp. Dizzy from the way he licks into your mouth.

"John," you breathe. He's kissing your neck now, pushing up your skirt.

"Yeah, yes," you say pulling gently at his tie, and he's kissing you senseless again, running a hand up your thigh to the edge of your panties, lingering momentarily before long fingers are stroking your folds.

He pauses.

"You good?" He asks, looking to you for reassurance. He's not sure really if his pride can handle hearing that this was just a drunken mistaken the morning after.

He groans.

You whimper in agreement.

"Sweetheart, you're so fucking wet."

Breath hot against your skin, savoring the easy way his fingers slide over you.

He withdraws, eager now to act on what he's been thinking about half the night since you brought it up. Rolling up his sleeves and taking off his glasses. Dropping to his knees. He'll probably feel this later.

He pushes apart your thighs as you look down at him in half-lidded anticipation, lifting your hips as he slides off your underwear.

Then he's licking into you like a half-starved man, because well he is, dragging the flat of his tongue against you and moaning, pleased with the high-pitched little sigh you make, needy.

"Taste good too, baby," he says looking up at you, "so fucking good, sweet little pussy."

Returns his mouth to you, easy, taking his time, you card a hand through his hair. It isn't long before you're pushing your hips against his tongue, trying to press your thighs together. Only then does he slip two long fingers into you, stroking you deep and curling them, sure you were vocal before but now you're loud.

He hums low in his throat, pleased, tonguing your clit in a gentle, steady rhythm with his fingers.

"Fuckkk, John --"

Hand tightening in his hair, one leg thrown over his shoulder.

It's been a long time since it's been this good and suddenly it's too much, you're coming apart, John's name the only thing you're capable of saying between pants and high moans, and John just keeps going, dragging the wave all the way out, feeling you spasm on his fingers, leaking on his tongue, just when he thinks you can't get any wetter. He doesn't stop until your inner thighs start to tremble and you're oversensitive, weakly stroking his hair.

He rests his head on your thigh for a moment, gazing up at you, a few strands of dark hair falling in his face, appreciating your thoroughly fucked-out appearance.

Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before standing.

You kiss him softly before palming his pants where he's painfully hard.

He stills your hand, reluctantly, after a few moments.

"I'm not exactly in the habit of keeping protection on me sweetheart."

"Mmm, I don't care, I'm on the pill." You reply, hand going for his belt buckle.

"You can't expect me to last very long," he says looking at you with raised brows.

"I don't care, John--just wanna feel you."

He groans, giving in, not stopping you now as you make quick work of his belt and his fly, pulling out his shirt, slipping your hand into his boxers, running your hand experimentally over his long cock.

"Hey, none of that right now angel," he pants, grabbing your wrist, he finishes pulling himself out.

Then he's easing into you, biting off a moan, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Shit, you're tight, you're so fucking tight."

"Feels so good," you sigh, taking him with minimal effort, body thoroughly relaxed after the orgasm he just gave you.

He rolls his hips slowly into yours, setting an easy rhythm, enough to keep him just on edge, but he's still lightheaded after only a few minutes, muttering apologies and half curses under his breath that you silence by placing your lips on his.

You stay together for long moments when it's over, both still buzzed but no longer from the drinks. John thinks back to the conversation at the bar though.

"So would you say that was 'more so' than 'less so' ? See any sparks?"

#detective munch #detective john munch #john munch #john munch x reader #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit

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rafeskai · 8 months ago

Text

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Six

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: 1 chapter left to gooooooo!

Masterlist: Here

The next few days blurred together as the courtroom became a battleground. The air was thick with tension, the walls seemingly closing in around you as each new revelation about Ward Cameron was brought to light. The stakes were higher than they had ever been before. The pressure to win, to protect Willa, pressed down on you like an invisible weight, and the only thing that kept you grounded was the unwavering support from Rafe by your side.

Each morning you walked into the courthouse, the same grim faces of the Cameron family greeted you. Ward was there, his presence looming over the proceedings like a dark cloud. His smugness hadn't faltered, and even though he was under intense scrutiny, he still acted like he was above it all. He never once looked at you or Rafe directly—only ever speaking to his lawyers in low, controlled tones, as though his guilt was something he could keep hidden.

But it wouldn’t last.

Today, you were ready. You had no intention of backing down. You had the truth on your side, and that was something Ward could never escape.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was packed as usual, and you sat in your chair, feeling the weight of all eyes on you. Rafe, though his jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed with focus, sat beside you. The final moments of this battle were drawing near, and today was the day you hoped would shift everything in your favor.

Ward’s lawyer had spent the last few hours trying to discredit the evidence you’d found in the attic—claiming it was old, irrelevant, that it had nothing to do with Willa’s future. But the judge had seen through those arguments, and as you waited for the next moment to arrive, your heart beat steadily in your chest.

Rafe’s lawyer stood, clearing his throat as he prepared to present the final piece of evidence. A stack of photographs, medical reports, and those damning letters Sarah had written in secret. Rafe held your hand under the table, a gesture so small yet filled with so much meaning. You squeezed his hand in return, a silent promise to him that you would do your part.

“Your Honor,” Rafe’s lawyer began, “we’ve gathered new evidence that clearly shows the abusive history of Mr. Ward Cameron. This evidence is not just hearsay—it is documented, it is real, and it is a direct reflection of the environment in which Rafe and his sister, Sarah, were forced to grow up. These letters, these photos, they paint a portrait of emotional and physical abuse, a history that has haunted the Cameron family for years.”

The lawyer presented each piece, and the courtroom fell into a tense silence. You could feel Ward’s gaze burning into you, but you refused to look back. This was it. You were done being intimidated.

When the lawyer finished, the judge nodded, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a flicker of doubt now cast on Ward’s credibility.

And then, it was your turn.

You stood up from your seat, your legs shaking but your resolve as solid as ever. You walked to the stand, the weight of the moment sinking in. You could feel the tension rising, the murmurs in the courtroom fading as all eyes turned to you. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, and then you spoke.

“Your Honor, I know you’ve heard a lot of things about Rafe Cameron in this courtroom,” you began, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside. “I know what people say about him. That he’s angry, that he’s dangerous, that he’s just another spoiled rich kid who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. But that’s not who he is. And that’s not the person he’s been to Willa.”

Your eyes searched for Rafe in the crowd, and when you found him, there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—a mixture of vulnerability and strength that you hadn’t seen before.

“I’ve known Rafe for a long time. And yes, he has a past—one that’s been shaped by a father who made him believe that love was something earned, not something given. But that’s not the Rafe I’ve seen over the past few months. The man who sits here today is a man who has stepped up for his niece, a man who, despite his own hurt, has taken responsibility for her, for them. And I’ve seen him with Willa. I’ve seen how he cares for her.”

You turned slightly to look at Rafe again, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite put into words. You had seen him grow into a man who loved fiercely and without hesitation. A man who would never, ever let someone like Ward tear apart what he was trying to build.

“I’ve seen him comfort her when she’s scared. I’ve seen him stay up all night with her when she’s sick. I’ve seen him put aside his own pain to make sure she’s okay. He’s been there for her in ways that no one ever was for him. He’s been a better father figure than Ward Cameron could ever be.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. You weren’t going to break now—not in front of the court, not when you were so close.

“You want to know the truth?” you continued, your voice rising with emotion. “The truth is, Rafe Cameron is one of the most caring people I know. And he has done everything in his power to make sure that Willa grows up with love, safety, and stability. He is not like his father. And he is not the man they say he is.”

You paused, your chest tightening, but you pushed forward. “I’m not just here to testify for Rafe. I’m here to testify for Willa. She deserves a childhood full of love and protection. And I promise you, Your Honor, that is what Rafe will give her. I’ll give her too. We will do this together.”

The courtroom was silent when you finished, the weight of your words hanging in the air. You could hear the sharp intake of breath from those who had been skeptical of your testimony. Even Ward seemed taken aback, his smug expression faltering just for a moment.

You sat back down, trying to steady your breath, your hands trembling. You didn’t know what was going to happen next, but for the first time in a long time, you felt hope.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After a long deliberation, the judge returned to the bench. You could feel Rafe’s tension beside you, his hand gripping yours as he waited for the decision.

The room held its breath as the judge spoke, his voice calm but firm. “After reviewing all the evidence, including the newly presented documentation of Mr. Ward Cameron’s abusive behavior and the heartfelt testimony regarding the current guardianship situation, this court finds that the best interest of Willa Routledge lies with her current guardians—Rafe and [Y/N]. The court hereby grants full custody to the guardians of the child, effective immediately.”

For a moment, you couldn’t process what you had just heard. And then it hit you, crashing through you like a wave. You had won.

Rafe, who had been so stoic, looked at you in disbelief. His grip on your hand tightened, and for a moment, all the pain, all the struggle, all the long nights of worry faded into the background. You had done it. Willa was safe.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Rafe. You had fought together—and now, for the first time since Sarah and John B. had passed, you both had a reason to believe in the future again.

Rafe squeezed your hand, his voice thick with emotion. “We did it. We really did it.”

And as the gavel came down, sealing the decision, you finally allowed yourself to breathe again.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was still buzzing with the aftermath of the judge’s ruling. The gavel had just come down, the words of victory still echoing in your ears. Willa was finally safe, and you had won—together. You and Rafe exchanged a look, one that held a mix of disbelief and relief. There were no more battles to fight. The war was over, and you had come out on top.

But just as you thought you could breathe again, the door to the courtroom swung open with a heavy slam. Ward Cameron.

His face was a mask of rage, his eyes burning with fury as he stormed toward the front. The room fell silent, the tension thickening again as people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. You knew this wasn’t over. Ward wasn’t the type to let go of a loss easily.

“You think you’ve won?” Ward spat, his voice dripping with venom. His eyes locked on Rafe, and for a moment, it was like the room itself shrank. His presence alone seemed to warp the air around you, making the world feel smaller. “This isn’t over, boy. I’ll make sure you never get to raise that child. You don’t deserve her. None of you do.”

Rafe stood up immediately, his jaw tightening, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re the last person who gets to tell me what I deserve,” Rafe growled, his voice low but laced with fury. The anger between them had been simmering for years, but now it was a live wire, crackling between them.

You could feel Rafe’s anger radiating beside you, but you stood quickly, placing a hand on his arm. “Rafe, it’s done. The decision is made. You’re not going to change it by causing a scene.”

Ward sneered at you, his eyes narrowing in disdain. “You think this is over, huh? You think just because you got some courtroom victory, I’m going to back off? You’re both fools. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”

Before you could respond, Ward turned his eyes back to Rafe. “You’re weak. Just like your mother. Just like Sarah. Always the disappointment.” His words were sharp, like daggers aimed right at Rafe’s chest, trying to cut deep.

You could see the tension in Rafe’s posture, his muscles tensing, but before he could say anything, Ward took a step forward, getting dangerously close.

That’s when security stepped in.

“Mr. Cameron, that’s enough,” one of the officers said sternly, moving toward him with authority. “You need to leave now.”

Ward didn’t seem to care. He stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Rafe. “I’m not finished with you. Not by a long shot.” His voice was shaking with rage.

But before he could take another step, two security guards moved in, grabbing his arms and pulling him back. Ward tried to shove them off, but they held firm, dragging him away from the front of the courtroom.

“You’ll regret this, Rafe!” Ward yelled, his voice echoing through the room as he was escorted out. “I’ll make sure of it!”

The door slammed shut behind him, and the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. But slowly, the tension began to ebb. People exchanged glances, whispered amongst themselves. There was no question now—Ward Cameron had lost. But the question remained: would he ever truly accept it?

Rafe stood there, his body rigid with anger, his fists still clenched. You could see the way his hands shook, the way his jaw clenched tighter with each breath. But he didn’t say a word. Not yet. Instead, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he turned to face you.

You walked over to him, your heart heavy with everything that had just happened. His face was pale, his eyes distant. You reached out, touching his arm gently, but he didn’t pull away.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, knowing full well that the words didn’t do justice to the storm that was brewing inside him.

Rafe exhaled slowly, a long, tortured sound. “Yeah… I will be.” He paused, then added in a quieter voice, “I just never thought it would be this hard. To finally win… and still have him out there.”

You nodded, understanding all too well. “It won’t be easy. But we’ve got each other. And we’ve got Willa. That’s all that matters.”

Rafe looked down at the floor for a long moment, his hand running through his hair. “I hate that he still has this hold on me, on all of us,” he murmured. “I hate that even after everything, he can just show up and make me feel like I’m still that kid. Like I’m still the one who doesn’t deserve anything.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t control you anymore. He never will again. You’re not that kid anymore, Rafe. And you’ve earned the right to protect Willa. You are her family.”

Rafe didn’t look up immediately, but the words seemed to sink in. His breath was steadier now, his expression softer. Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper—something you had seen in him all along, but only now, in this moment, could you truly recognize.

“We’ll keep fighting for her,” he said, his voice firm, though still weary. “No matter what it takes.”

You nodded, knowing that together, you would face whatever came next. The fight wasn’t over. Ward might not have given up, but neither had you—or Rafe.

You turned to the door, where Willa’s social worker was waiting for you, her smile soft and reassuring. It was done. Willa was safe. And despite the lingering presence of Ward, despite the obstacles still ahead, for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could finally begin to heal.

And together, you would build the family that Sarah and John B. had wanted for her all along.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron request #rafe cameron season 4 #drew starkey fanfiction #life as we know it

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happy74827 · 1 year ago

Note

if you take requests! i love your writing! maybe a fic about harvey and it’s a little angsty bc of his pride or a miscommunication but then it becomes really fluffy

Regrets and Resolutions

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis Sometimes it takes a fight to know what you want, and sometimes what you want is what you need.

WC: 2459

Category: Angst to Fluff, Happy Ending

Angst to fluff is my specialty, so when I saw this request, I got all giddy. However, I do want to apologize for how long it took because it's been like two months and I feel really bad about it 😅🙏

Also miscommunication? Haha more like no communication

『••✎••』

Harvey Specter rarely messes up. For him, it’s always a perfect mix of confidence, arrogance, and planning. It was the one thing you always loved about him. Sure, he could be an ass at times, but the man knew how to work the courtroom, and as he always says, he plays the man, not the role.

You can still remember how it all started. It was a slow summer night, and you both happened to be at the bar that evening. For different reasons, of course.

For him, it was a celebration of a win for his client. Usually, he’d celebrate alone in the office with a bottle of wine, but the world worked in mysterious ways.

For you, it wasn’t a celebration or a happy event for work at all. You were there for a break. It had been an extremely stressful day, and all you wanted to do was drink and think about something other than work.

That was until a drunk man ruined your night.

He had approached you with some words that made your skin crawl and a touch that made you nauseous. You quickly got up to leave, but before you could, he held you down. You tried to push away, but he had a firm grip on your arm, and you couldn't get away from him.

That’s when you felt a set of strong arms pull him off you and into a chair. Your eyes widened, and that feeling in your chest fluttered when you were met with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen.

They were warm, and even though he was mad, he still looked like he had just woken up from a dream. He looked like a male model. You were completely infatuated.

“You alright, hunny?” His voice was gentle and quiet. His voice was like a lullaby and the only thing you could focus on in the noisy bar.

You didn’t even register the nickname.

It was only when he referred to you as “his wife" that you finally snapped out of it.

You were about to argue back, but he took your hand in his and leaned forward to your ear. His breath was warm, and your body reacted on its own.

To some, it would look like an endearing kiss on the cheek, but in reality, he was only whispering.

“Just play along. Marriage will scare him off faster than anything.” There was humor in his tone, and you could feel the smile in his voice.

You nodded in agreement, not wanting to deal with an uncomfortable situation, and as it turns out, Harvey Specter knows exactly how to get someone to back down.

It took all but a few minutes, and he was able to scare the man away. Afterward, you offered your hand to shake his in thanks, and even though he gave you a charming smile, it was his eyes you were most drawn to.

That night, you were sure you were in love.

Since that night, you found yourself frequently going to that bar and talking to the handsome stranger. You fell in love with the way he always paid attention and asked questions about your life and your work. His words were like a breeze in the summer, making you feel alive and warm. He was so easy to talk to, and you were surprised at how quickly you became comfortable around him.

You would ask each other questions, flirt, and even laugh. Sometimes, you would go out to dinner. Nothing too formal, usually just for sushi and wine, but the night would be perfect.

As the months rolled by, he began to be the best part of your day. Whenever you saw him, it would brighten your day, and whenever he'd smile, it would warm your soul.

But one day, that all changed.

Harvey became colder towards you, and you began to wonder if you had done something wrong. But it was never you. It was always Harvey who started the arguments. It was always Harvey who pushed you away, but never you.

It was a Tuesday evening, and you had just returned from work. You expected the day to be stressful as usual, but nothing could prepare you for what came that evening.

You were about to get a glass of water when Harvey stormed in, tie in hand with a pissed-off look in his eye.

“Hey Harv…” You started, but Harvey cut you off.

"Don’t.” He didn’t even look at you, only shrugging off his coat and tossing it on the hook. “I’m not in the mood.”

He didn't even glance your way before he walked over to the fridge and opened it. He rummaged through the fridge for a few minutes before taking out a beer. He opened the bottle, took a swig, and let out a loud sigh. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. You wanted to comfort him, but your legs were glued to the floor, unable to move.

"What do you want for dinner? I'm going to order takeout," He said, not even looking at you.

You remained quiet, unsure if you should speak or not.

Harvey didn't speak much more that night. The only words he spoke were asking you what you wanted and when it would be there. But other than that, it was quiet. You ate your takeout in silence and took your bath without saying a word.

In the morning, he was gone before you woke. You assumed he went to work, and when you checked your phone, you were right. He texted you to say that he would be at work all day. It wasn't until that evening that you found out what was going on.

And you didn’t figure it out from him.

Donna. She had told you after you called her for help, asking her why he was acting so strangely.

And thus, the big fight that made Harvey mess up for once. You didn’t mean to blow up at him, but with his constant avoiding and refusal to speak, you got mad.

He thought you were pissed about the dishes and didn't take it seriously at first, but when you began to yell, he realized that wasn't the issue.

"I can’t keep doing this. I know it’s hard for you given how it is at work, but… God, Harvey, I feel like I don't even know you anymore!"

He scoffed and gave you a look you knew too well.

"You can't even spend five seconds with me without snapping or accusing me of something, and that’s not even the worst part," You shook your head and clenched your fists.

Harvey didn’t say anything, only folding his arms and watching you closely.

"You don't talk to me anymore, you don't pay attention, you're just cold." Your eyes stung as you said those words. The reality of it all was just hitting you, and the longer it went on, the worse you felt. "You used to be so sweet, and I used to feel like we were the best team."

“What’re you saying?” Harvey asked, taking a step closer to you.

"I’m saying how I hate that I always have to call Donna and tell her that, 'Harvey’s lashing out again, what happened this time?' when I should be hearing about what's going on from you. But you never open up. You don't tell me how your day is going; you don't tell me how your firm is. I don't know what's wrong. I never know what’s wrong. And when I ask, you either tell me it's nothing or say nothing at all.”

Your voice broke slightly, and you looked away. You couldn't bear to look at Harvey right then. It felt like everything you were saying was a slap in the face to him, and you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to hurt him. You didn't want to be a bad person. You wanted to be good for Harvey. You loved him more than anything, but you couldn't take the pain any longer.

"And now, I just feel like you don't care about me, that you don't love me, that you don't love anything at all. It's like you don't care about anything that I've done for you, that you're just walking away from it all like it doesn't mean anything to you. I can't keep living like this."

You held your tears back, but you didn't say anything else.

You started heading toward the door, not wanting to look at him, but he quickly grabbed your arm and turned you around. He looked like he was going to say something, but before he could, you spoke.

"Just let go.” Your voice was quiet. You couldn't bear to look at him anymore. You tried to pull your arm back, but Harvey wouldn't let go.

"Where are you going?" He asked, and you could hear the pain in his voice. You could tell he wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the words. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I'm going to think. So, why don’t you do the same and then call Donna and ask her what you should do because she seems to be the only one who knows what's going on with you."

You started heading for the door once again, and when he didn't stop you this time, you pulled your arm out of his grasp.

You could still feel the sting when you woke up the next day, but you were glad it was gone.

After that day, Harvey called you, and you ignored him. Seeing his name pop up on the screen only made you sad, and you didn't know how to deal with that, so you put your phone away, unanswered, and shut him out.

Your parents' house was always open to you, so you spent a few nights there to clear your mind.

As you sat there, watching some crappy romance movie with your family, you only thought about him. The good times. The happy times. The laughs. The smiles. The love.

Harvey always had problems with committing to anything. You knew that before you got together.

You remember all the arguments you had about it. How he would always say everything but the word "love” because he was too scared that you would leave once it was out in the open.

And now, with everything you just went through, you didn't think you would ever forgive yourself if you left. You would never be able to forgive yourself if you abandoned the man you loved, who you knew loved you just as much.

You spent hours debating in your head on if it was worth it. Suppose it was worth fighting for.

And that's when it hit you.

The realization of it all.

He was a lawyer. It's his nature to fight. His nature is to argue and argue until the end. He would never admit defeat or admit defeat was even possible. And you were the person he was willing to fight for and fight for you he would.

The night you decided to go home and face him came faster than you thought. And you didn’t even make it out of your parent's house because he was waiting for you at the front door.

Regret was in those beautiful eyes. He wasn’t in a suit, either. He was in jeans and a T-shirt with a sweater, and he looked so casual but, at the same time, so handsome. You wanted to reach out and touch him, just to see if he was real, but you held yourself back.

You stood there and looked at him, and he looked right back at you. He didn't move, didn't say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes.

And then he finally spoke.

"I messed up," Harvey said quietly, stepping closer to you.

You nodded.

"I should've talked to you sooner, but I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't understand. I was afraid that you'd look at me the same way as everyone else. I was afraid that you wouldn't love me anymore."

"I never stopped loving you, Harvey," You said quietly, looking up at him. "I just stopped thinking you loved me back."

He took another step closer to you, and before he could say another word, you had your arms wrapped around him. Your body fit against his like it was supposed to be there, and he did the same.

Your foreheads touched, and you looked into his eyes. He looked into yours.

"I love you.”

Your eyes met, and you practically almost burst into tears. You had waited for him to say it for so long.

"I love you so much." He whispered, “And I’m sorry I didn’t show it. I’m sorry I made you doubt that."

You sniffled and nodded. “You know you’re being the most Hallmark cliche ever right now, right?" You let out a small laugh, wiping away a few tears that were escaping you. "Hot lawyer and a tearful confession. All we need now is a dog."

Harvey laughed and looked away for a second. "Don’t forget about the townspeople watching us from their windows and cheering."

“Like who? Donna?”

"Well, I was going to say your parents, but sure. Let's just add Donna." He smiled and kissed the tip of your nose.

"You really do love me, right? And you aren't just saying it for a townsperson's sake?" You asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Harvey put his hands on your waist and looked at you, still smiling.

“I’m saying it for the dog.”

“Harvey.” You gave him a look.

"Alright, alright. I'm saying it for the townspeople. For Donna, if she were here."

“Mhmm... and for yourself?"

Harvey stared into your eyes and gave you the most gentle smile you had ever seen.

"And for you." He whispered.

That was it. That was the moment you knew it was real. You could feel it in your heart, in your bones, and in your very soul.

You kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulled you closer to him, and you pressed your body against him.

It felt like time had stopped as the kiss lingered on for what felt like years. His lips moved with yours, and you felt like your soul was leaving your body and going to heaven. It felt like a dream. It was a dream.

And for you, that would be your happy ending.

The world worked in mysterious ways, and so did Harvey Specter. But one thing you learned about Harvey is that he knows exactly how to work the world.

And after that night? He definitely worked it for you.

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spanishskulduggery · 30 days ago

Text

Daily Spanish Vocabulary

ser = to be (description/permanent things/identification) el ser = a being un ser viviente = a living being los seres queridos = "loved ones" [lit. "dear beings" or "cherished beings"]

cundir = to spread [the more common words are difundir or propagar but this verb is special - by far the most common use of this is cundir el pánico which is "for panic to spread" - you're almost always going to see this as que no cunda el pánico "don't panic" which is "don't spread panic" in a subjunctive sense........ you will also see the humorous que no panda el cúnico which is from a sketch show but it caught on; the joke is the guy is panicking so much that he mixes up the words, so sarcastically you can say que no panda el cúnico like "alright nobody panic!"]

la contabilidad = accounting, bookkeeping/financial records el/la contable = accountant [almost always used in finances; related directly to contar "to count" or la cuenta "account"]

el hueco = (empty) slot, an opening / a gap / elevator shaft / a hollow hueco/a = hollow

la nariz = nose

el hocico = snout (of an animal; or a sarcastic/mean way of saying la nariz "nose" for a person)

la máquina = machine

el codo = elbow [also another word for the end piece of bread in some countries - there are a handful of these words] codo a codo = "shoulder to shoulder", "side by side" [lit. "elbow to elbow"]

el codazo = a nudge (with the elbow), a strike with the elbow, "an elbow (blow)"

la mancha = stain

sonar = to sound, to make a sound / to ring (phones) / to seem, to sound like sonar(le) = "to ring a bell" [me suena for example can be "it's familiar to me" or "it rings a bell"]

difundir = to spread, "to spread the word" difundir(se) = (for gas) to diffuse

untar = to spread (food) / to slather / to smear (something onto something) [untar is the word used for food - this is the word for spreading butter, jam, jelly, cream cheese, etc onto something, and it usually gets used with something food-related...... or oil, grease, mud or something slick]

según = according to [used like según mi amigo "according to my friend" or según mi abuela "according to my grandmother", or según el libro "according to the book" - very handy to know]

la manzana = apple [or in some contexts means "city block"] el manzano = apple tree el manzanar = apple orchard

el truco = trick, ruse

invertir = to invest / to invert, to reverse, to turn upside down / inside out

la inversión = investment / inversion, reversal

la vaca = cow

el vaquero, la vaquera = cowboy, cowgirl / cowherder los vaqueros = "jeans" [in Spain; because cowboy pants were denim]

el juzgado = courtroom, tribunal [from juzgar " to judge" - you might know this word from cowboy lingo, it's "hoosegow" which is a transliteration of juzgado from people in the southwest of the US near the Mexican border; it meant something like "jail" or "police station" - same general idea of a place where the Law is]

la cárcel = jail

encarcelar = to jail, to incarcerat

la magia = magic

el hechizo (mágico) = (magic) spell

el hechicero, la hechicera = sorcerer

la hechicería = sorcery

el brujo, la bruja = "warlock" [male], "witch" [female] [brujo/a is also the term for "warlock" in DND settings while mago/a is "wizard" and hechicero/a is "sorcerer" - fitting because brujos/brujas were said to make pacts with the devil]

la brujería = witchcraft

el sortilegio = magic, spells/spellcraft [a fancier term for hechizo]

el bosque = woods / forest

la selva = forest / jungle [la selva is also used for la jungla "jungle", but in general you can usually use el bosque or la selva for a regular forest interchangeably... but la selva gets used for terms like la Selva Amazónica "Amazon Rainforest"]

el avestruz = ostrich

el/la atleta = athlete [always atleta with the A]

(la) prisa = hurry, haste, rush dar prisa = to hurry, to rush con prisa = "hastily", rushing a toda prisa = "as fast as (someone) can", "with all haste"

el conejo = rabbit, bunny la liebre = hare (large rabbit)

la cobaya / el conejillo de Indias = guinea pig [used exactly like English; both the animal and "test subject" meaning... la cobaya is the shorter one so it is sometimes preferred, el conejillo de Indias means "the little rabbit from the Indies"; you'll also see el cuy in some countries - it's from Quechua so you can assume South America, primarily Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador etc.]

el vendaval = strong wind, gale

la borrasca = squall / wind and rainstorm

el ladrón, la ladrona = thief, burglar

el caco = thief, burglar [the standard word is ladrón or ladrona - el caco is a reference to Greek mythology, Cacus stole cattle from Hercules in Hercules's labors, so now calling someone a caco is calling them a thief]

cuanto antes = as soon as possible lo antes posible = as soon as possible

de antemano = beforehand

veloz = fast, swift

mordaz = sharp-tongued, cutting, biting, scathing [lit - from morder "to bite", said of remarks or criticisms etc]

feroz = ferocious

el polvo = dust

el moho = mold

borroso/a = blurry / smudged (writing) / fuzzy (memory) [or un recuerdo borroso is "a hazy memory / vague recollection (of something)" - it's the same idea, of vague or indistinct, but English says "fuzzy" for memories - the general word for "fuzzy" like texture is peludo/a or velloso/a which are related to fur/fuzz]

la estrella = star la estrella fugaz = shooting star

la ceniza = ash

la ira = wrath, rage, anger

el cambio = a change a cambio (de) = in exchange for, in return for

el trueno = thunder

el rayo = bolt of lightning

los escombros = debris, wreckage [often used in plural, but el escombro does exist]

el estrago, los estragos = "chaos", "havoc", devastation causar / hacer estragos = to wreak havoc, to ravage, to run amok [usually hacer estragos but causar is fine too]

la torre = tower

el daltonismo = color blindness daltónico/a = colorblind

el imperio = empire el imperio otomano = Ottoman Empire el imperio Inca / el imperio incaíco = Inca Empire el imperio español = Spanish Empire el Sacro Imperio Romano = Holy Roman Empire

la somnambulancia = sleepwalking

somnoliento/a = drowsy [somnoliento/a can be "sleepy" but it usually implies a sleep-inducing effect, so you normally see somnoliento used in the context of medicine or alcohol, things that "cause drowsiness" so it's not the same as being cansado/a "tired"]

el somnífero = sleeping pill, a sleep inducing drug [somnífero/a as an adjective means "sleep-inducing" or "soporific", from somn- related to "sleep" and "dreams", and the suffix is like "causing" or "carrying"]

fuerte = strong / loud (music) ["loud" is the one that will throw you off - más fuerte can be "stronger" or "louder", so la música fuerte means "loud music"]

la carnicería = butcher's shop / carnage [just like the root of "carnage", carnicero/a or "butcher" comes from la carne "meat" - a carnicería is a place where "meat is sold", but also means "carnage" or "bloodshed"]

matricular(se) = to sign up, to enroll, to register (school, vehicles, etc.)

la beca = scholarship, grant

el pelo = hair [all hair]

el cabello = hair [specifically for the head]

el moco = snot, booger no ser moco de pavo = "nothing to sneeze at", "no mean feat" [more common in Spain as far as I know, here el moco de pavo refers to a turkey "wattle" or "snood" - that red part of the turkey, in Spanish they call it moco which is "snot" so it makes more sense in Spanish imo]

mocoso/a = snotty el mocoso, la mocosa = "brat" [something you'd call a little kid, "brat" or "snot-nosed brat" etc.]

ciego/a = blind

sordo/a = deaf

mudo/a = mute, quiet

la ola = wave [water-related or something with more physical motion] la ola de calor = heatwave el oleaje = surf, a swell, the motion of waves

la onda = wave [radiation, soundwaves, "vibes" etc. - think el microondas which is "the microwave"]

la hormiga = ant el hormiguero = anthill

el hormigueo = "pins and needles", "tingling sensation" [el hormigueo is sometimes understood as "prickly sensation" but it's like what we'd call "pins and needles" - as you can see by this list, it's related to la hormiga "ant"; the best way to explain it is that this feeling is likened to having ants crawling on you]

sencillo/a = simple, easy

crujiente = crunchy

la canícula = midsummer heat, the hottest days of summer [lit. canícula refers to the star Canis Major or the star Sirius - the "dog star", and this is related to "canine"... the star is the most visible during the hottest months in Europe, so la canícula came to mean "the hottest days when the star Sirius appears" - it does mean "the dog days of summer" in English for the same reason; some countries use la canícula as "drought" related to heat or a dry season]

la sequía = drought

la estación = season (of the year) / station (as in a train station or police station etc.)

la temporada = time period / season / "season (for a TV show)"

la estación de lluvias = rainy season la temporada de lluvias = rainy season

tragar = to swallow / "to eat fast", "to inhale food"

tragón, tragona = "big eater", "glutton"

el enjambre = swarm (of insects)

el muérdago = mistletoe

a sabiendas = "knowing full well", "knowingly"

esconder = to hide

a escondidas = "secretly", "in secret" escuchar a escondidas = "to eavesdrop" [lit. "to listen secretly" or "to listen in secretly"]

la misericordia = mercy

la fe = faith

el escudo = shield

fallecer(se) = to pass away [a more polite way to say morir "to die"]

fallecido/a = deceased

nonato/a = unborn [sometimes also the term used for someone born by Cesarean/C-section]

muerto/a = dead estar muerto/a = to be dead

vivo/a = alive estar vivo/a = to be alive

(el) muerto viviente, (los) muertos vivientes = (the) undead

ejemplar = exemplary el ejemplar = a prototype, the original el ejemplar = copy of a book

el bigote = mustache / whiskers (like on a cat)

la calabaza = pumpkin el calabacín = zucchini, courgette / squash, gourd [lit. "little pumpkin", so any kind of gourd is calabacín ... other regional variations include la calabacita which is another diminutive, and in some countries the word is el zapallo or el zapallito... same words, "pumpkin" and "gourd" - just that zapallo comes from Quechua, so it's more commonly used in South America than anywhere else]

el calabozo = "cells", holding cells / dungeon [a place where prisoners are kept and guarded - the other word for a "dungeon" usually in the fantasy sense is la mazmorra... basically, el calabozo is a place you'd find in a police station, and la mazmorra is now what you'd use for fantasy, castles, or dungeons in video games]

el lunar = birthmark (tela) a lunares = polkadot, spotted [lit. "(fabric) with dots"... related to luna "moon" as you'd expect, but a lunares is a typical pattern or design to see for clothes and accessories]

la tierra = dirt, earth, soil la Tierra = Earth (the planet)

al revés = upside down [lit. "to the reverse", but used literally and euphemistically the way English uses "upside down"... meaning you could literally turn something upside down, or it could mean "everything's crazy now" or "topsy turvy"]

la semilla = seed

el hoyuelo = dimple [diminutive of el hoyo "hole"]

la coraza = breastplate, cuirass / "shielding"

el acorazado = dreadnought [warship] acorazado/a = covered in armor la cámara acorazada = vault [lit. "armored chamber/vault" - this is something like a bank vault, but it can also be "safe" like caja fuerte, though to me cámara implies a larger room or "vault" rather than caja fuerte which means "strong box"]

el/la cambiaformas = shapeshifter [lit. "changes-form"]

la amapola = poppy

el grano = a grain (of something) / pimple (ir) al grano = "(to get) to the point", "to cut to the chase"

el barro / el fango / el lodo = mud [all three words are okay to use - they can also mean "slime" or "sludge", the idea is something that is basically dirt and water, or a goopy mixture of something]

don nadie / doña nadie = "a nobody", no one of importance [literally "Sir/Mr. Nobody" and "Lady/Mrs. Nobody" - don/doña used to be a more polite term of address for someone of noble blood; today it's like "sir" or "ma'am" when you have in front of someone's name.... but for the purposes of this don/doña nadie is a sarcastic way of calling someone a nobody or saying they're completely unremarkable, or to say someone is unknown]

#spanish #langblr #vocabulario #learning spanish #la gramatica #idiomatic expressions #language #español

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rebuiltzine · 1 month ago

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BREAKING: Desperate Journalist Hires Clown Puppet as Legal Counsel in Maryland Family CourtBy The Habeas Circus News Desk

ROCKVILLE, MD — In a bold legal maneuver that stunned bailiffs, confused judges, and delighted bored spectators, local journalist and full-time legal punching bag Mike Phillips arrived at Maryland family court this week with a new attorney: a clown puppet named “Mr. Wiggles.” The ventriloquist doll—dressed in a polka-dot bowtie, rainbow suspenders, and an unsettling grin—was introduced to the…

#absurd legal system #bold banner #circus of justice #clown puppet #courtroom chaos #courtroom comedy #desperate father #family court satire #funny legal cartoon #journalist in court #legal humor #Maryland court #parody news #puppet lawyer #satire artwork

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lushrue · 11 months ago

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i’ve been seeing a lot of business/ceo aus with the 141, but i’ve been bingewatching “suits” lately so…law firm au?

The 141 Law Group is one of the most prestigious in London. they take on clients that nobody else will, lots of high profile people and large businesses. they have a great reputation for discreteness, getting things done quickly and quietly and mostly above board. 141 handpicks their associates from the top law schools in the UK and it’s an honor to be chosen by them.

jonathan price is managing partner. at the end of the day, it’s him who makes the decisions of what clients to take on, what expenses are necessary and which ones aren’t, and how to handle the difficult cases. he runs the show, and what he says goes. usually mills around in the associate spaces, making sure the firm’s making good investments in the rookies. his background is in criminal law, but getting him in the courtroom is tough these days. he can be tempted out of his cushy corner office on occasion, though.

simon riley is a senior partner, price’s right hand. he was one of the founding partners of the firm, but chose to keep his name off the official paperwork. he has more interest in being a lawyer than a manager, though he likes to throw his weight around from time to time. expert in business law, does a really good job at giving government oversight the finger and finding workarounds for his clients. he has his limits though, won’t help his clients take action that will harm consumers. most people think he’s sleazy and dirty, but there’s a heart of gold underneath that prada suit.

john mactavish is the firm’s numbers guy. we already know he’s good with math, he has to be not to blow himself to bits. he keeps the ledgers balanced and the firm consistently in the green. has a few clients of his own that he advises on strictly financial matters. price brings him on every new client lunch because of his charm and wit, swears they’ve gotten a couple of clients because of johnny’s sense of humor alone. likes the water cooler talk, especially with lawyers in different specializations. this man knows so many random bits and pieces of international law, business law, entertainment law all because of the people he strikes up conversation with.

kyle garrick is the freshest face, hired for a permanent position after being chosen as an associate. aspiring senior partner, would love to co-manage the firm with price someday. he works primarily with international clients, loves the late nights reading up on the laws that govern other countries. he’s great at finding loopholes, just like simon. he’s aggressive in the courtroom when he does get to go, oftentimes as co-counsel with simon or johnny. he’s scribbling notes in every meeting he’s in, soaking in all the information. despite the multiple offers he’s gotten from other firms, his loyalty lies with john.

and then there’s you, their new secretary. simon was hesitant when john announced your hiring at the partners’ meeting, didn’t really think they needed someone fielding calls and making copies when that was what the associates were for. john had purely personal motivations for hiring you, though. poached you from the rival firm, Shadow Company, LLC. while you’d been content enough in your position, phillip graves was a bit of a sleazeball, in your opinion. when price came in with his sweet talk and promise of a signing bonus, you were hooked. nevermind that it took a whole week of morning coffees and tickets to the ballet for johnny to agree to the extra expense. they change their mind when you show up to work in your tight skirt and high heels, eyes bright and ready to start.

the second you bent over your desk and they caught a glimpse of your lacy thong, it was all over.

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