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corkinavoid · 7 months ago

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DPxDC Police Officer Wes

"Excuse me, sorry, Mr. Batman, sir!"

That's definitely not a voice he knows. Bruce halts in his steps, aborting his usual retreat into the shadows, and turns back around. Commissioner Gordon, who was still in the process of wrapping up his small talk with Tim - the term 'grumpy banter' would describe their conversation more accurately at this point, but Bruce knows better than to argue with the two over semantics - also turns around, pausing in the middle of the sentence.

A ginger haired boy, wide-eyed and obviously either nervous, starstruck, or both, is staring at him from a few feet behind the Commissioner. Bruce can see a few more faces peeking from behind the half-opened door to the roof, all of them filled with anticipation. He knows two of them: detectives that work directly under Gordon, Isaiah Vasquez, and Tasha Kuznets. The third one, a black man in his forties, also looks vaguely familiar, but Bruce can't recall a name.

Yet, he knows absolutely nothing about the ginger, who hasn't blinked once since Bruce noticed him and is now biting on his lips. But he is wearing a police uniform, so, possibly, a new hire?

"Weston, get out," Jim sighs, waving a shooing hand at the boy with a look of barely concealed exasperation on his face. Definitely a new hire, then. That's the level of annoyance he reserves only for the overachieving rookies that he begrudgingly likes but never admits to.

"I-" newly named Weston starts but cuts himself off. Then, he takes a deep breath and straightens up, "Just one question, sir!"

"Weston, I swear to God," Commissioner pinches the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up a bit. But Tim tilts his head to the side, looking in the ginger's direction and raising his eyebrows. His domino mask hides it, but Bruce knows his menagerie of kids well enough to see that he is at least a bit curious about the boy. So he turns back around fully and inclines his head, giving Weston his attention. He doesn't mind talking with those rare few members of GCPD that Gordon likes.

Weston perks up like a very eager dog at the sight of a treat. In the contrast lighting of the BatSignal, his hair looks like it's on fire.

"If you don't mind, was the 'Smiling case' relevant to Joker in any sense?" The boy asks, loud and clear - maybe even too loud - with his unblinking gaze still glued to Bruce. Like he is afraid that if he closes his eyes for a moment, Gotham's vigilantes are going to disappear without a trace.

It's not a question Bruce expected, to be honest. The 'Smiling case' was closed just a few days ago, Gordon was still not done with the paperwork, as far as Oracle's records went. A murder of three, where all victims had some badly drawn clown makeup on them - post-mortem makeup, as it turned out, the murderer tried to deceive the investigation by trying to cover it up as Joker's doing. Only, he didn't do a good job at it, all the Bats were way too familiar with the Mad Clown's signature style. Not to mention that Joker was still securely sealed in his Arkham cell.

Bruce turns to look at Red Robin. He was the one working on the case, so Bruce gives him the choice of answering or not. Tim jerks his shoulder, looks the ginger boy up and down, and then shakes his head.

"Aside from a poor attempt at leading the investigation in the wrong direction, no, it wasn't," Tim shrugs, "The guy isn't even a Gothamite, he knew of Joker only from the rumors and media. And the clown faces were a makeshift cover-up."

Weston visibly deflates at the answer. Bruce watches in a slight amusement as Tasha nudges the other officer, one he doesn't remember the name of, in the shoulder, and stage-whispers, "Pay up." The older man huffs and disappears behind the door, followed by Isaiah.

"Thank you, Mr. Red Robin," Wesley nods politely and takes a step back, his eyes darting to Gordon. Tim snorts a laugh but doesn't correct him. Commissioner, though, gives the boy a long, dreadful sigh.

"Is that all, officer Weston?" He asks, not even bothering to hide his 'tired dad' voice.

The ginger nods again, "Yes, Commissioner Gordon."

"Then get out of my sight before I make all your shifts double," Jim commands, and Weston nearly runs back to the door with a speed that makes Bruce involuntarily think of speedsters. Must be the red hair.

Tim turns to look at the Commissioner right as the door to the roof slams shut behind both Weston and Kuznets.

"Who is he?"

Bruce is also a bit curious now. New recruits in the GCPD are nothing out of the ordinary, but Jim seems to know this one personally, and Kuznets, who is one of his trusted detectives, seems to also like the officer.

Gordon briefly huffs and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat. It's quite chilly today; Bruce makes a mental note to switch everyone to their more insulated suits. Scarecrow is currently out on the loose. It won't do any good if any of the Bats went down with a cold.

"Wesley Weston, fresh out of the Academy," Commissioner sighs, but, somehow, Bruce gets the impression it's not a sound of simple exasperation over a new officer eager to prove himself. Jim proves his assumptions by looking around the shoulder to make sure the door to the roof is still closed, and continuing, "Born and raised in the middle of nowhere, Illinois, but GCPD was his first choice. He explained it as having a few friends living in the city, which, unfortunately, proved to be right."

Bruce frowns and grunts, alarm bells ringing in his mind. Deliberately choosing to work in Gotham despite not being from here can be caused by many reasons, and nearly none of them are good reasons.

"Unfortunately?" Tim inquires suspiciously, also with a slight frown, but Jim waves them both off.

"No, he's got nothing to do with any of the criminals. It was the first thing I checked when he mentioned 'friends'. If anything, he's quite on the opposite; he'd make a great detective one day, what with his countless conspiracy theories, determination and the insane urge to dig up every single detail known to mankind," he laughs a bit, and Bruce notices a slight, teasing twinkle to the Commissioner's eyes behind his glasses. "On his second day here, the boy went and plain told me he knows that Batman is Bruce Wayne and that he's saying that because he knows I know and he is aware we're working together."

The alarm bells in Bruce's mind turn into sirens. They never discussed the matters of Bats' real identities with Gordon - Bruce had his suspicions that the man knew it and simply kept his status quo. In all fairness, James Gordon didn't make it to Gotham's Commissioner by sheer dumb luck, so all the Bats kind of expected him to figure it out one day.

But Jim knowing who's behind the cowl is one thing. A new, out of town officer is quite another.

"What did you answer?" Tim asks with an easy smile, but Bruce sees the barely noticeable tension in his shoulders.

Gordon nearly grins, "I didn't believe him, which turned out to be exactly what he expected. He also told me of some kind of a familial curse - he called it 'Cassandra's curse', I believe you're aware of what it means. And then, when I naturally expressed my doubts, proceeded to show it in action. Believe me, it works. Sometimes, it even works too well," the man looks to the side with an amused huff, "That's why officer Weston is strictly prohibited from voicing his opinions on any of the ongoing cases outloud. Detective Kuznets almost missed some critical evidence because of his input once."

Cassandra's curse, Bruce has heard of that saying before. Granted, he never thought it could be a real thing, and he is not intending on starting now, not before he investigates the matter thoroughly. But he does trust Jim - years and years of working together would do that to people - so he simply nods in understanding, leaving the matter of supernatural aside for now.

"What about his friends?" Red Robin asks again, and that causes Gordon to wince momentarily.

"That, I believe, was the cause of his performance just now. One of his friends runs an occult shop, and the other one loves to hang around our forensic scientists and coroners occasionally," the man waves their immediate frowns off again, "I don't go into the morgue often, but I heard he's good at finding out the causes of death by a few looks at the body. And they run a lot of bets between them three," Jim shrugs nonchalantly, "The last one was about the 'Smiling case', I take it."

"Any reason to worry about them?" Bruce can't help but ask. It's not unusual for people to be weird in this city, and running an occult shop and hanging out with pathologists are not exactly reasons to go through background checks when they've got much more pressing issues on their plate. Namely, Scarecrow: it's been more than a week since his escape, but none of the Bats have heard anything about him yet. Oracle is already busy enough with that and the current uprise of gang activity in the Narrows, there's no point in piling even more work on her shoulders just because of some gossip that rubs Bruce the wrong way.

Gordon, thankfully, doesn't take his question lightly and pauses, scratching his chin.

"No," he finally concludes after some thought, "They are a bit strange for non-Gothamites, I'll say that, but in terms of this city? They are no stranger than my neighbors from upstairs." Gordon doesn't tell them to leave it alone, Bruce notices. However, it's probably not because of any doubts he has; the Bats just have a habit of tripplechecking everything anyways, and who would know that better than Jim Gordon?

A quick glance to Tim proves Bruce's thoughts. Red Robin, despite the mask, looks thoughtful. How many cases is he already working on, seven? Bruce makes another mental note to ask Alfred to cut his caffeine intake. It might be a bit hypocritical of him, what with his own plans to send a few messages to JLD about the 'Cassandra's curse', but Bruce excuses himself as the adult in the family.

Commissioner Gordon clears his throat.

"Do you want me to turn around so you can make your mysterious escape, or-" he starts, but both vigilantes are already gone by the time he finishes, "-or not, okay."

#dpxdc #dc x dp #batman #tim drake #red robin #wesley weston #wes weston #police officer!wes #jim gordon #commisioner gordon #bruce wayne #from a fic i never wrote #and will not write #feel free to use #cork prompts #it turned out longer than i thought #cassandras curse

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baronessvonglitter · 7 months ago

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Daddy Can Fix It

handyman!Joel Miller x fem!plus size!Reader | wc: 5.4K

Summary: All the housewives in your neighborhood rave about the local handyman. And with very good reason.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears dress and lingerie, has hair and body hair, and manicure. Reader's age not mentioned so there is only as much or as little of an age gap as you'd like. TW - fat shaming, food shaming, infidelity (by reader, and it's technically warranted) Pet names (daddy for Joel; sugar, darlin', baby, sweetheart for reader). Housewife/trad-wife vibes. Totally a bored housewife fantasy. Mention of female masturbation. Breast/nipple play, oral (f & m receiving). Fingering. Body worship. Pussy pronouns. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped, but still.. this is fiction). Light spanking. Rough sex. Creampie. Joel's kind of a big ol' slut for the lonely housewives but is also really useful around the house, so you're definitely getting a good deal 🛠️

Author's note: it's been a hot minute since I've written a one-shot for Joel but it was impossible to resist. It all started because of this pic:

so yeah, Pinterest strikes again. How could I not write a Joel fic based on this? I hope y'all enjoy 💖

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"He can come clean my pipes anytime."

Raucous laughter erupts from the group of ladies huddled near the cupcakes at the latest book club meeting. You listen from the other side of the room where one of the older members is asking you to help her with her Kindle. "I never know how to keep up with all this fancy technology," Marion huffs, adjusting her bifocals.

You're trying to be patient with her, but the conversation across the room is far more intriguing. "It just needs to be charged. Your battery is low," you say three times before Marion can even hear you.

When you've managed to extricate yourself from her, you go up to the ladies and, with a friendly smile, join in. "I couldn't help overhearing."

Some of the women exchange glances, as if deciding to let you in on their convo or not. "Becky's just showing us that she got her kitchen cabinets redone," someone finally pipes up.

"That's not all she got," another starts to crack up.

You look at Becky's phone screen. The before and after shots of her cabinets are nothing short of miraculous. "That's great, Becky! I know you've been asking Gerald for a renovation for awhile," you tell her, hoping she'll be pleased you remember the plight she droned on about for weeks.

"It is great," she says, eyeing you with something like suspicion. "I have a very good handyman."

"He does everything," a nicer girl, Isabelle, chimes in.

"Boy does he," another mutters, hiding her smirk behind her cup of lemonade while the others giggle behind their hands.

Amirah adds, "He varnished my dining room table, power washed my driveway, helped organize my garage," she counts on her fingers. "He's good for little things around the house, and his prices are decent."

"It's like he's just giving it away," Becky says with a smirk and this gets the group laughing again.

"Maybe you can give me his information later," you say politely. "I have a laundry list of things that I need help with now that Wesley's working so much overtime."

The women eye one another, and it's Amirah, the leader of the group, who gives the definite nod. "Of course, sweetie. After the meeting."

"Great!" Smiling, you try to make your way through the group, saliva pooling in your mouth at the tower of red velvet cupcakes on the table spread. You reach for a couple more.

"You've already had three," Becky reminds you, casting a not-so-subtle glance at your body. Her voice sweet as honey but her words carry poison. You know you're not as thin or as glamorous as the other women in this room. You dress the same as them, wear your hair perfectly coiffed and your nails are always manicured, but just because you're not a size zero they deem you unworthy to truly be one of them.

You hold your head high with what little courage you have in the face of Becky's bitchiness, your sinful little cupcake in your hand. "I actually had three. And right now I'm about to make it five," you say sweetly, licking a swipe of cream cheese icing before putting two cupcakes on a china plate and going back to your seat.

That night, Wesley doesn't ask about your book club. He doesn't ask how your day was. He doesn't do much except pour himself a drink when he gets home and sit in front of the TV to watch the news.

You're dressed for bed, a modest robe over a red silk babydoll chemise, a purchase you'd made on a whim in the hopes that you could spice up your sex life with him which, truth be told, has never been more than lukewarm from the start.

"Do you think we should.. go to bed?" you suggest, a naughty tone to your whisper.

"It's early," he grunts, barely giving you a glance.

"I just thought we could spend some time together.." you brush your hand across his knee but he impatiently swipes it away.

"Please, darling, it's a weeknight," he looks at you as if you'd just suggested a threesome with him and the milk man. As he leaves the room he looks back at you, but the hope that rises in your chest is soon shattered when he shakes his head upon seeing your lingerie. "Red is for streetwalkers," he tells you before he goes into his study.

Daddy Can Fix It

You run your finger over the business card Amirah gave you, with all the handy man's information. The card shows his white company van with the logo emblazoned on the side: Joel Miller, Handyman At Your Service so it says in black lettering. There's a phone number and a website as well.

You dial the number, expecting to hear a secretary's voice, but you're greeted with a rich, baritone "Good mornin', thanks for callin' Daddy, what can I fix for ya today?"

Jesus, the voice alone is enough to get you flustered. And Daddy? You weren't expecting that. "Um, hi, I got your number through a friend and I'd like to see if you're available to come mow the lawn today." You peek out your curtains, seeing how the grass has grown taller than you'd like since the last time Wesley has cared enough to cut it.

"You got a lawn mower, sugar?"

"Yes, I do, um.. daddy.."

You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. "You can call me Joel."

"Joel. Yes, I do. Is there anything else you'll need?" New to the housewife lifestyle, you're still unsure of how to make such appointments. Before you met and married Wesley, you just mowed the lawn yourself, but your husband refuses to hear of his good and proper wife performing a menial act.

"Got any bushes that need trimmin'?"

You aren't sure why that particular sentence makes you feel the blood rush to your face. "I typically keep up with it on my own, when I'm tending to my garden."

Joel gives a small chuckle and it warms your insides. "That ain't no problem. Today around eleven good for ya?"

"Eleven sounds perfect."

"Pricing'll be about fifty, but we can come to an agreement once the job is done."

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you." You give him your name and address, hanging up with a sense of accomplishment.

His van appears in your driveway just a minute before eleven. You're impressed with his timeliness. What you don't expect is the gorgeous stranger on your doorstep.

Joel Miller is tall, broad-shouldered, skin bronze from working out in the sun, and his dark brown hair is greying handsomely. If you had to guess his age you'd say fifties. He's in a grey tee shirt and work jeans. What stand out to you the most are his eyes: almost black in color, appraising you as you wait in the doorway, prim and proper housewife, lips parted, eyes wide.

He asks for you by name and you nod, chuckling slightly.

"If you can show me where the lawn mower is I'd be happy to get started," he offers, and the voice you recognize from the phone makes you melt.

You lead him outside to the garage and he takes out the mower, filling it up with some gasoline first. "Is there anything else you need?" you ask politely.

"No ma'am," he looks over his shoulder at you as he pushes the machine to the front yard. "Get inside and get outta this sun. I'll handle it from here," he smiles and it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

From inside you watch him through the window, deftly maneuvering the lawn mower over, trimming the grass to a neat, short length. It's not yet the hottest hour of the day, but you see him sweating, and when he stops a moment to remove his shirt, you suddenly feel your pulse in the deepest part of your cunt. You wonder what it would be like to lick up every drop of sweat off his chest.

Like a slow motion scene from a movie, you watch the motion of his arms, the rippling of his back as he guides the machine over the lawn. Biting your lip you take in the sight of him, the determination on his face redirecting your thoughts to how he would look above you: hot, sweaty, hard, plunging into your drenched pussy.

How long has it been since you've had a man? Wesley prefers his Saturday nights like clockwork. But you want more. Stupidly thinking marriage was the best way to be treated right and fucked properly, you realized it was not the title but the man, and the particular man you chose was lacking in all area which mattered.

You aren't even sure you love him anymore.

But right now, watching Joel is a treat, and fantasizing about him is a little secret you'll harbor for later in the day when you'll inevitably find yourself using the showerhead attachment.

He finishes the front and back yards, and through the blinds you peep him putting his shirt back on, running a hand through his wavy curls before putting the mower away and coming to your door.

You answer it before he knocks. "Thank you!" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. "Please come in and we can settle payment."

He cleans the bottoms of his boots on the welcome mat before stepping inside your home and following you to the kitchen. "You have a very nice home, ma'am."

"You're too kind," you're modest about his compliment, but it's thrilling to have someone say something nice about the hard work you put into keeping house. "Would you care for some iced tea? I've just made it fresh."

"I won't say no to that," he chuckles lightly, and you're happy to fill a glass with some of the fresh-brewed tea over ice.

Joel leans back against the sink, pouty pink lips pressed to the glass as he tips it back, opening just enough to take a sweet sip. You watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, and you wish you could lick a stripe up along his the length of his delicious-looking neck to collect all the sweat that's beaded there.

"Is there anythin' else you need help with today?" he asks, his question carrying a hint of something more.

You blank for a moment, getting lost in the depth of his obsidian eyes, still caught up in your little fantasy. "No.. no, I don't think so." Taking a look around your eyes dart to every corner, taking mental stock of the upstairs rooms as well. "No," you finalize with a smile.

"If you're sure.." he says in that same low tone.

You give him fifty dollars and chat a little while he finishes his drink.

"If there's nothin' else I'll get goin'. Feel free to call me again if you need somethin' done, or looked at. Ain't nothin' I can't fix," he winks at you on your doorstep and you feel a waterfall in your panties.

Isabelle calls later in the day. "So? You had Joel over today, right? How'd it go?"

Dinner is in the oven and there's about an hour before your husband gets home. Phone on speaker, you start peeling potatoes. "It was fine. He did a great job. I'm sure I'll use him again."

Over the line you hear Isabelle sigh. "Isn't his dick beautiful? I swear, just thinking about it gets me so wet!"

You nearly slice a finger off, shocked by her words. Even though you're alone in the house, you pick up the phone and take it off speaker. "What are you talking about?"

"I think it's at least eight inches, and the way it curves at the end," Isabelle sounds like she's moaning.

"Okay, I'm lost. I hired the handyman that you and the others referred. That's who came over today."

"Exactly, dear! Did he fuck you? You don't have to give details of course."

Your brain is put on pause as only silence fills your throat.

"Oh dear," Isabelle continues. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

She sighs, possibly settling herself on her chaise longue out by her pool she's so proud of. "Joel Miller is a handyman, yes. But we also pay him a little extra for other services."

"Oh." You sink onto the living room settee, the closest thing to you.

"Mm-hmm. Mind you, it's not an all-the-time thing. But we've all had him. It's just something fun. You get some help around the house with your honey-do list, and then a good fucking after. Or whatever pleases you."

"And you.. you've.. slept with him?"

"I wouldn't call it sleeping, honey, but yeah I've been with him. It's all for fun. Nobody really takes it seriously."

"And everyone else at the book club?"

"Pretty much. Do you really think any of our husbands could compare to that god of a man Joel Miller?"

No, no you doubt any man could hold up to the stud who'd just helped you with the lawn.

He's on your mind constantly, but as tightly as Wesley keeps his wallet to himself, you can't validate having Joel's help every day. You make the choice to wait until the following week.

And what a long wait it is. Jealously you wonder whose house he's going to. Jackie down the street? Bitchy Becky with her face like a rat, no tits and no ass?

You consider calling Isabelle to beg for the details (which she'll probably give you without a fuss anyway). But a sordid part of you wants to find out for yourself. You already know he's well-endowed. He's at least twice as big as Wesley, who wouldn't know what to do with a big cock if he was blessed with one overnight.

A week to the day since he made his last visit, Joel comes back to replace the batteries in your smoke alarms. It's a job you've done yourself, perching on a stepladder, but it'll be more fun to have Daddy fix it.

The phone call to schedule him was practically foreplay. That smooth-as-chocolate voice had your panties drenched. When he's finally here, inside your home, inside your needy little cunt.

Your eyes rove over his form as he uses your stepladder, only needing the first rung. It doesn't stop you from staying right there with him, holding it steady on the other side. You hear his little grunts as he gets to work, watch his thick, strong fingers handle the batteries with a delicacy you can imagine he uses in other things.

Licking your lips, you realize you're face-to-face with the faded blue denim crotch of his jeans, those Levis hugging him tight in all the right places.

"I'm 'bout done here," he says, putting the smoke detector back in its place. "Anythin' else you need help with, lil' darlin'?"

Your hand presses to the bulge in his jeans, and you're delighted when you feel him twitch in response. "As a matter of fact, I do need your help with something else.."

"That right?" he murmurs, pressing your hand against him, letting you feel him grow hard under his palm. "Been waitin' to see if you'd ask.."

He steps down, keeps his dark eyes on you. "Pretty lil' thing like yourself don't get enough attention, huh?" he whispers, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

Softly you sigh, unashamed at how needy you've been for a simple touch. "No.. but I'd like you to help with that."

"That's what I'm here for, darlin'," he smiles, his thumb tracing your soft plump lips. "What do you want me to do, baby?"

"Everything," you answer quickly. "I'm not.. really sure what the usual is.."

His smile is kind as his hand traces down your neck, leaving goosebumps to rise on your skin. "You want me to fuck ya, give ya somethin' nobody else is doin'.. that it?" He places your hand back on his bulge and you respond by rubbing him, your own cunt pulsing around nothing in excited expectation.

"Yes.. I need to get fucked," you agree emphatically, pulling him into your bedroom.

Now he's here, in your room, and you think you're dreaming. He's letting you take the lead, completely at your service. All the women in your book club were probably more open with their desires, knowing immediately what they wanted and how to get it. All the fantasies about Joel you've created and harbored in the deepest part of your heart are now as impalpable as gossamer.

"You tell me what you want, honey," he drawls in that molasses-rich voice of his. His hands gently trace your waist, smoothing down your dress as he moves towards your curvaceous hips. "God damn, I bet you look fuckin' gorgeous outta this dress. Wanna show me?"

Biting your lip, you nod, tugging off your apron and dropping it to the floor. Not gonna be a damn housewife while he's with me..

A tiny smirk on your face, you gently push Joel back onto your bed, and he rights himself with an equally mischievous smile as he watches you. He palms his hard cock through his jeans as you do a little striptease, tantalizing him as you slip your prim flower-print dress off your shoulders.

"There we go, baby," he growls as the dress falls down to your hips, your scarlet satin bra revealed, your breasts practically spilling over the cups, making Joel's mouth water. You turn around for his help in unzipping the bottom part of your dress, finally feeling free as it falls away, pooling at your feet.

Joel lets out a wolf whistle as he takes in the sight of you in your ruby undergarments, the same you'd tried to seduce your husband in. Now they're finally being put to good use. "Red's your color, gorgeous," he mutters, his hands on your hips, mapping out your generous curves and the soft rolls of your belly.

You've almost forgotten what it was like, this power to entrance a man and make him see you as the only woman in the world. Marriage to an uncaring and unfeeling idiot had left you cut off from your sexuality. Now you're reclaiming it.

Joel's hands travel back up to your waist, fingers deftly unclasping your bra. He unwraps you like you're the goddamn Christmas gift he's been begging for for months. His tongue wets his lips as your plump breasts are revealed. With one hand on your lower back, the other palms your tit with a rough hand. Your nipple rises to his touch and he dips down to swirl his tongue around it, gently coaxing it further with his teeth. Your head falls back as the sensation zings straight to your cunt. "Fuck, Joel.."

He smiles against the softness of your skin. "Sensitive here, huh? Bet these ain't been properly played with in awhile. Gonna change that right now." And with that he gives another hard suck, his dick already leaking when he hears your needy moan. He treats the other breast with the same attention. You take one of his hands and lead it to the drenched front side of your panties, but he stops you.

"Not yet, baby. Want you to see yourself before I fuckin' ruin ya."

You lay on your side on the bed as you watch Joel undress. It's a sight you won't soon forget: skin tan from working outdoors, with a smattering of chest hair that's also showing some grey, chiseled arms, and a happy trail that leads from his navel to the front of his boxers, which are tented. He wears a little smirk as he pulls them off and your reaction is priceless.

Joel is fucking hung.

You've taken big cocks before, but his is formed of pure fantasy, like a dildo from your favorite sex shop. Isabelle wasn't exaggerating about his size. And his cock is so beautiful you want to cry. Watching as he gives it a couple strokes, all eight thick uncut inches, the rosy pink tip glistens with precum, the veins and ridges prominent. Even the curve Isabelle mentioned is sexy, bound to hit all the right places inside you. His balls, rounded and heavy, move with his motions.

Thank God I did my yoga this week.

You beckon him to you, pulling the boxers away completely and dipping your head to taste him. Your tongue laves across the salty slit of his tip, and you relish the hitch of his breath. He's not here for you to please him, but it gets you wet wrapping your lips around his cock, suctioning your mouth and stroking upward from his base. When you start to massage his balls he stops you. "Don't wanna shoot too soon, baby," he says breathlessly.

He pulls you up off the bed and into a kiss, his hands playing along the edges of your panties as his tongue tastes yours. His cock, still wet from your mouth, nudges against your soft belly. "You deserve to feel good," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his tongue tracing the outline. At last he pulls your panties down, a rumble in his throat when he sees the sweet glaze between your thighs, glistening in your triangle of hair.

"Sit on my lap, baby. With your back to me," he orders in a soft growl.

His flesh is warm beneath yours, and god it feels good just to be touched again, to feel desired by someone. You haven't known it in so long. He sits back against the headboard, moving the pillows on either side. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist as he leaves soft, feathery kisses across your shoulder.

"So soft," he murmurs. "C'mon, baby, look at yourself," he nods to the mirror in front of you.

When you catch your reflection you're exhilarated at the sight: you, naked, with Joel behind you, kissing your neck, fondling your tits, thumb brushing over them and lightly pinching them to hardened peaks. "Spread your legs for me, baby," he whispers, getting started by brushing his hand from your knee to your petal-soft inner thigh.

It's lascivious, watching all this unfurl before you in the mirror. You're spread open, on full display. Your pussy is gushing over with need, and you trace your folds with your fingers.

Behind you, Joel's cock twitches, and he rubs himself lightly against your back. "Lemme do that.." he whispers, gently pulling your hand away, bringing your fingers to his mouth and sucking your juice off them. "So sweet," he murmurs, and your belly is hot with lust.

His touch is soft and careful at first, exploring you and figuring out what you like, what you need. It feels like he's memorizing every inch of you. His thick fingers glide over your lips, circling, teasing you so you'll beg him for more.

"Joel," you whine, lifting yourself to him, trying to get his hand to position itself where you need it most. But he evades you, a dark chuckle emanating from deep in his throat. "You're payin' me to do a job and I wanna do it right. Not fair to rush me."

Your eyes close in frustration. "Joel, please.."

"Nuh-uh. Daddy."

"Fuck," you whimper. "Please, daddy."

"That's more like it." His touch finds your clit, throbbing and needy, and you nearly see stars at the feeling. He presses once again before sliding two fingers into your warm, welcoming cunt. "Christ, she's really suckin' me in there," he grunts, shifting behind you as his dick becomes nearly impossible to ignore.

"Yes," you moan at the sweet intrusion, the easy glide of his fingers in your drenched pussy. "Just like that."

"So fuckin' tight," he says through gritted teeth. And Jesus, his fingers are thick, the calloused thumb swiping over your clit, making you twitch and your hips arch up for more. "She's pulsin' around me," he mutters, his rich voice in your ear, lips brushing against your lobe. His fingers glide in, stretching you as you coat him.

"Ah, she's gettin' all creamy for me," he coos as he pulls them out a moment, licking off one finger and giving the other to you. You taste yourself, salty and sweet, humming in appreciation as you release his digit from your mouth with a pop.

He returns to his work, his hand pistoning against your folds, the squishy sounds of your soaked cunt beautifully obscene to your ears. Your voice trembles as you cry out, a sweet vibrato that resounds throughout the room as Joel's fingers curl in on your g-spot. He adds a bit more pressure to your clit as he tries to get you there. Moaning, he nuzzles his face into your neck.

It feels like you break open under his touch, hips arching up, swallowing his delving fingers deeper inside you as you spasm uncontrollably around him, a string of curses falling from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before he's on you again, moving in front of you as you lay against the pillows, like Venus in a Titian painting. His hands lift your thighs, softly kneading their thickness as he plants kisses on either side, trailing up to your cunt, your scent all around him.

"My husband never goes down on me," you whisper, heart racing as quick as a hummingbird's wings.

"Ain't he a waste of fuckin' space," Joel grunts, a wicked gleam in his eye as he dives in, flattening his tongue to lick a stripe upwards to your needy, throbbing clit. Your hands grab at his hair, pushing him forward as his groan is muffled by your sweet, saturated pussy.

"God.. damn!" you gasp at the delicious feeling of his tongue on you, lapping up every drop, tracing your lips and tickling your clit. He's relentless in his pursuit of making you come, switching up the tempo, adding a finger and then another, praising you when you cry out again. "Squeezin' so hard on me.. she's just about ready, ain't she?" Before he finally suctions his lips around your puffy clit and sucks, humming around it.

It's as if your soul leaves your body for a precious few moments, muttering monosyllables in sweet relief. You've never come so hard before, ever. And when you look up at Joel you wish you could worship him.

"Like the sweetest tea I ever drank," he says, licking his lips.

"Fuck me, Joel," you whine, still not fully come down from your climax.

"C'mere," he growls, putting you on all fours so you're facing the mirror again. You look at your reflection: hair mussed, eyes shining bright, skin glowing from your orgasm. Joel lines himself up behind you, smiling as you watch yourself. "Got every right to look at yourself, darlin'.. someone as fuckin' hot as you, with these hips, this ass?" He grabs one cheek and gives it a slap. You gasp, jolting forward, then wiggle your ass at him, wanting more.

"You a naughty lil' thing," Joel smirks, teasing your folds with his tip. "Wanna get this pretty lil' pussy ruined?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan, pushing back on him.

"Fuck me, I like the way you say that." He bites his lip as he continues teasing you. "Once I fuck you, you'll never let that limp dick husband of yours touch you ever again, I promise you that."

Your reply is cut off when you feel him nudge inside, your walls breached by his thick cock. "Oh god... yes!" you exclaim, clutching the bedsheets. "Fuck.. your cock is so huge.." You can feel the tip just kissing your cervix.

"Yeah, you like it? Like gettin' fucked by this big cock? Gettin' stretched out? Gonna leave a big ol' gapin' hole for your husband to come home to."

He bottoms out, grabbing your ass cheeks with both big hands, watching the smoothness of your skin as your cunt clenches onto him. "God damn what a pretty sight.. you oughta see this. Pussy's barely fittin' me as it is. Only tighter thing would be your little ass.." and he pulls out all the way to slam back in, glorying in the way you scream his name.

"There she goes, gotta get 'er used to me," he grunts, eyes on your swollen pussy lips wrapping his cock in a vise with each steady thrust. "Jesus, sweetheart. So tight I gotta try not to blow my load."

The sound of his name on your lips, the way your body reacts to him, is like gasoline on an already raging fire. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Say my name, baby. I wanna hear it." He quickens the pace, pressing deeper inside you.

"Daddy! Daddy!" you shout in time with each delicious snap of his hips. "My god, you're so fucking deep.." you moan.

"That's it, take all of me. You like the way I fill you?"

"Yes daddy!" Your fingers clutch the sheets as the bed rocks with your movements. "So full of you.."

He presses a hand to your abdomen. "Feel me there, baby? All up in your guts. No one else is ever gonna fill you the way I do. No one's ever gonna come close. This needy lil' cunt's gonna be cryin' for me every day until I come back and give her what she needs."

His dirty talk is getting you wetter, your juices running down between your thighs, making his cock all sloppy, the sound of it making you feral for more. "Fuck me, Joel.. fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.." you mumble, face down, ass up, slack jawed as you drool on the sheets.

He speeds up, hips slamming against yours, balls thwacking under you. "Yeah? Want me to fill ya up, blow all this fuckin' load inside ya? Got snipped years ago, baby, 's up to you."

"Fill me up, make me dirty and messy," you groan.

"You want daddy to give you everything he's got, baby?" he repeats. "You want me to fill you til you're all messy and drippin' with me?"

"Yes.. yes please," you're barely able to get out.

"Fuck," he growls, grabbing hold of your hips as he pounds into you ferociously. Once he has control he places one hand on your back, keeping you pressed down as he angles himself to hit that delicious little spot inside and he knows he's hit it when you cry out, cursing and shivering, clamping down on him like a damn vise right before he lets go, streaming jet after jet of his hot come inside you. There's so much it's already leaking out while he's still inside you.

The rest of the week you make a list of things for Joel to do next time: perhaps check out what's going on with the washing machine, or maybe he could regrout your bathroom, or help you rearrange your living room furniture right before he rearranges your guts again.

Even Wesley notices the bright and cheery mood you're in, and how attractive you've become since taking on some of the home improvements. That weekend he does you a huge favor, and sits back in his armchair as he waits for you to discover it.

"Wesley? What were you doing in the garage for so long? I heard a lot of noise," you tell him, arms crossed, a look of suspicion on your face.

He looks pleased with himself. "Well honey, you've been so agreeable these past few days that I thought I'd cross off some little projects on your to-do list."

"Like what?" you ask slowly.

He lists off everything you've had planned for Joel to do in the coming weeks. Small things, of course, but Wesley has done all of them, leaving you with nothing for daddy to fix.

"I thought you'd be happy," he says, his face cloudy now that you're unhappy again.

"Happy? Not quite." You leave a moment and return with a hammer, heading towards your husband.

He cowers, ducking as you completely pass him by and swing the hammer into the drywall of the living room wall, over and over again. When you've let your anger out and Wesley is rightfully afraid of your next move, you simply smile sweetly, holding the hammer pressed to your apron with your well-manicured hands. "Looks like I'll have to call the handyman after all!"

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

tagging those who showed interest when this baby was still just a wip: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @604to647 @inept-the-magnificent @clawdeewritesfanfic @manuymesut @bitccchmood @everybodylovedcontractors

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

Text

Mini Me

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!reader

Summary: After giving birth to your twin boys, Tim is upset that they look just like you. He's momentarily distracted by a visit from the godparents, Angela Lopez and one of your best friends, who Tim only refers to as soldier.

Warnings: fluff! soft Tim! a quote from The Godfather, inspired by/based on the Modern Family scene in the request

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“It’s not fair, that’s all I’m saying,” Tim insists.

You hum, tilting your forehead toward the baby in your arms.

“They’re half of me,” Tim grumbles.

“Is he still upset they look just like you?” a kind nurse asks as she enters the room.

Tim huffs, and you smile as you give her a nod. She takes the baby from your arms and moves it to the nearby crib. You watch as she looks over your new baby boy.

“You know I’m not really mad, right?” Tim whispers at your side. “To be straight with you, I’m glad they’re mini yous. I mean, I’m not thrilled that they seem to like you more, but they did just spend a lot of quality time with you, I can understand missing that.”

Lifting the shoulder closest to him, you try to hide. Your shyness evaporates when Tim puts the second baby boy in your arms.

“We do good work,” Tim says, one hand on your shoulder while he brushes a finger over the younger twins’ cheek.

“You certainly do,” the nurse answers. “How are you feeling, Mom?”

“I’m okay,” you answer softly.

“Well, let me know if that changes or if this husband of yours gets too big for his britches.”

“I would never,” Tim replies, a dramatic hand raised to his chest. “She loves it when I tease her.”

“Yeah, she seems overjoyed. Press the call button if you need anything, hun.”

You smile as she leaves, purposefully avoiding meeting Tim’s eyes.

“Have my kids and immediately fall out of love with me.”

Tim’s tone lets you see his smile even though you’re looking in the opposite direction. Leaning back, you sigh when your cheek hits his arm. He’s been by your side throughout the pregnancy, but everything shifted when you went into labor. He still teases you constantly, but you’ve never seen him so happy.

“I need to take these beauties out for just a minute,” another nurse says, moving your twins into the cribs and rolling them out. “Just a quick checkup and they’ll be back. You also have some visitors; they’ll be in shortly.”

Tim thanks the nurses, taking your hand in his.

“Who’s coming?” you ask, glancing up at him.

Already looking at you, Tim smiles when he meets your eyes. “Angela and Wesley, Lucy, solider.”

“He has a name,” you point out. “And you were a soldier too.”

“I was better.”

“I, uh, I offered to let you choose both godparents,” you whisper.

“Hey, look at me,” Tim requests, brushing his fingertips over your jaw as you look up again. “I’m just teasing you. I- I’ve never been this happy, and I’m glad that you have someone like soldier to trust as the godfather.”

“Well, you can do anything, but never go against the family.”

“Nerd,” Tim jokes.

Closing your eyes, you hide again. Tim’s used to it, and his kind hand on your arm is an apology. Though you’re not sure he’s ever really been sorry.

“Are we in the right place?” Lucy asks, opening the door to your suite. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m great,” Tim answers.

“I don’t think she was talking to you,” Wesley interjects with a smile.

“Well you know it’s just emotional.”

“I’m also good,” you answer. “We have two little boys.”

“She’s happy ‘cause they look just like her,” Tim grumbles.

“Dodged a bullet,” Wesley jokes, nodding once in your direction.

“What are their names?” Lucy asks excitedly.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Tim explains. “We can’t narrow it down past three.”

“You can’t,” you correct under your breath.

“Tim, this is for you,” Lucy says, pulling a mug from her bag.

“Best dad?” Tim reads.

“Yeah, I bought it for my dad, but Tamara wouldn’t let me give it to him, said it wasn’t true or something.”

“Wow. Uh, thank you... I think.”

“How was your vacation, Wesley?” you ask. “Sorry Angela cut it short when I called.”

“We were happy to come back. I’m pretty sure we’d tried every restaurant in a five-mile radius of the hotel anyway.”

“Hey, everybody,” your first (and favorite) nurse calls.

“Where are the babies? I want to see them!” Lucy exclaims.

“The godparents wanted to do something; they’ll be right in.”

“This is so much worse than I thought.” Tim sighs, running a hand over his jaw.

The nurse turns the light off and presses a button on a phone, 'The Circle of Life' from The Lion King filling the room. Tim sighs again, lightly squeezing your hand.

Angela and your best friend, whom Tim (lovingly) calls soldier, enter in matching robes, each carrying a baby.

“I love this!” Lucy whispers, clapping her hands over her chest.

Stopping at the end of your bed, Angela and soldier wait for the nurse to turn on a flashlight to hold the babies up, imitating the scene when Simba is lifted over the rock.

“Where did they get the matching robes?” Wesley asks.

“They’re so beautiful,” Lucy gushes, rushing to Angela to meet the babies.

Tim’s hand moves to your shoulder when he sees your tears. You never imagined being this happy and lucky to have friends and family who care about you and treat your children as their own. Leaning your cheek on Tim’s hand, you smile as you watch Lucy and Wesley take your sons.

“Your dad is probably gonna buy you dog beds, but I’ll be the best aunt you could dream of,” Lucy tells the older twin.

“I can hear you, boot,” Tim calls, not moving away from you.

“You’re next, huh?” Angela asks Lucy.

“Oh, no, please don’t,” Lucy begs.

“Soldier,” Tim greets, shaking his hand before walking from you to hug Angela.

“Thank you for coming,” you tell him.

“Of course. Nothing I wouldn’t do for my best friend and her babies, and the guy that helped make them.”

You chuckle at him, offering your hand. “Where did you get the robes?”

“Oh, that wasn’t me. Angela had them made when you asked us to be the godparents; been carrying them around since then.”

Glancing at Angela, she doesn’t look away from the baby in her arms to say, “Hey, it pays to be prepared. Lucy’s just lucky I’m not in the same realm as her, she wouldn’t stand a chance if I was an aunt, too.”

“That’s not fair,” Lucy accuses.

“And labeling yourself as an aunt to my kids is?” Tim asks.

“I didn’t label myself, it’s basic relations. You tolerate me, which is practically an acknowledgement that I’m family.”

“I- why do I even bother?” Tim asks himself.

“No one knows,” Angela and Lucy answer together.

“You’re going to let them talk to the father of your children like this?” Tim pouts as he looks at you.

“Man, you’re begging for me to get in on this,” soldier adds, shaking his head. “There’s a reason they’re already mama’s boys.”

“Don’t start with me, soldier.”

“You do know I’m going to be around more because I’m the godfather, right?”

Tim points at you before you can quote the movie again. After Lucy trades babies with Wesley and Angela moves to talk to the one in Wesley’s arms, Tim returns to your side.

“I think you’re right about the names,” Tim admits as he holds your hand between his.

“Yeah, about that…” Wesley begins.

“This is ‘Boot’ because he’s a kicker, and this is ‘Tiny Tim’ because he grumbles like you,” Lucy explains, pointing to the twins as she gives them nicknames.

“You nicknamed my kids after the term for rookies and a sick kid? You’re a terrible aunt,” Tim replies.

“Tim,” you warn quietly.

Everyone silences, looking between you and Tim with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” Tim says (reluctantly and begrudgingly).

“She’s right, though, he acts just like you,” you tell Tim, kissing his knuckles quickly.

“Can you survive two of me?” Tim asks.

“As long as you don’t tease both versions of me.”

Angela, Lucy, Wesley, and soldier talk to your babies, and you look on with a smile. Tim was right: you did good work.

#tim bradford x reader #shy!reader #team shy!#tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #fem!reader #requests #mini me✵

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amaretigris · 4 months ago

Text

Friction

Taglist: @hopeisrising @notagreekgal28 @luna2034 @justagirlthatlovedtoread @mylittlemermaid221 @freyagallileaevans @jonahmermaid23 @jonahhauer-kingg

Happy Valentine's Day 🌹❤️

༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

Ch. 14 | 2.3k words | Angst, smut, & fluff

༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

You yelp when Wesley quickly slaps his hand on the wall by your head.

"Relax. Why so jumpy, dear?"

Wesley leans in and sneers. He closes his eyes to take a deep inhalation through his nose. He hums.

"I know you're aroused. I can smell it."

The realization horrifies you. Despite going to the washroom and rinsing your mouth earlier after your rendezvous with Eric, Wesley's still picking up the scent.

"No," you mutter out. "I'm sorry, but you're mistaken. I'd like to leave now please."

Wesley leans back in. You feel trapped with his arms on either side of you.

"Now why would you want to do that? The fun is just getting started."

You release another yelp at the feel of Wesley's hand at your waist. Your grip latches onto his wrist, but he's too strong for you to push him off. Panic rises to your throat.

"Wesley, please don't do anything stupid."

Wesley goes in for a kiss. He aims for your lips, but you turn your head at the last second. You release a cry and squeeze your eyes shut when his chapped lips land on your cheek.

"Get away from her!"

A familiar voice cuts through the air. Your eyes shoot open to see Eric storming down the beach towards you. His rage is clear on his face. Wesley's hold on you loosens as his gaze sweeps to the man who interrupted him. He barks a laugh, and fully releases you to stand up straight and cross his arms over his chest. Eric's eyes cut to you, and he slightly tilts his head. He's telling you to get away from Wesley while he has his attention. You take the hint, beginning to cautiously and quietly step back.

"What's this then? The prince himself come to ruin my date?"

Eric's eyes fix back onto the dirtbag before him. He balls his fists at his sides, and squares up face to face with Wesley.

"Dates are consensual."

Wesley flashes a cocky smirk.

"What would you know about romancing women?"

He uncrosses his arms to wave his hand dismissively.

"Go and run back to your castle, Your Highness."

It's Eric's turn to smirk.

"You'd be surprised how well-versed I am."

Wesley huffs a laugh, and acts as if he's turning around. His eyes grow wide and he grits his teeth, and you know he's about to pull something.

"Eric!" You yell.

Wesley uses his momentum to swing his arm around and clock Eric in the jaw. Your hand comes to your mouth in horror. To your surprise, Eric's head whips to the side from the force of the blow, but he doesn't stumble back. In fact, he doesn't move. He simply lets the pain register for a moment before he turns back to Wesley. He has a small cut on his lower lip, and his skin is angry where the punch landed, but otherwise he looks unfazed. He snatches the front of Wesley's shirt in his fists, and the man in stunned still.

"You'll never bother (Y/N) again. Understand?"

Wesley shakes his head with a scowl.

"What's it matter to you?"

Eric's expression solidifies.

"Her safety matters to me. You won't touch her without her consent again."

Eric licks his lips. He speaks his next question slowly.

"Do you understand?"

Wesley gulps and nods. Eric releases him, and Wesley stumbles back before righting himself. The man's eyes wildly search for you again. You're plastered to the brick on the other end of the bridge. His next words tumble out as he holds your gaze.

"I don't know why you bother protecting a whore like her, anyway."

Your anger flares. As Wesley turns back to leave, Eric's fist connects with his cheek. You hear the contact. The sound makes your stomach lurch, but you watch as Wesley falls on his back. Eric stands over him.

"Get the fuck out of here. If I see your face again, I'll do much worse."

Wesley pushes himself up from the sand clutching his cheek. He doesn't even look at you again. He runs past Eric and up the steps towards town. Your shoulders slump with relief when he's gone. Eric is in front of you in an instant. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, swiping away the few tears that slipped out.

"Are you alright?"

You nod, lunging forward to bury your head in his neck. A few more tears make their way out, but you're more happy than anything.

"Yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you," you praise.

You begin trailing kisses up and down his neck. You stiffen when you remember that he got hit. Your hands are on his cheeks then, and you turn his head side to side in examination.

"I should be asking if you're alright," you speak in a quavering voice.

You wince seeing the cut on his lip up close. Your finger ghosts over it. Guilt rushes through you.

"I'm so sorry. You keep having to save me."

You cast your eyes down and go to withdraw your hands. Eric catches your wrist.

"Hey, it's not your fault."

Eric hooks a finger under your chin and lifts your gaze back to his.

"It's not your fault that there are villains in this world. Besides, I will gladly save you as many times as needed."

His touch lingers on your cheek.

"I fear you've quickly become my greatest weakness."

His eyes drop to your lips, and you nod your head by way of invitation. Eric's kiss is soft and gentle at first. It isn't until you tangle your fingers into his curls that he pushes you back up against the brick. He puts his hand behind your head to cushion it, and he begins to devour your mouth. You lose track of time, but Eric eventually breaks away from the kiss.

"Are you sure you're okay? I don't want to push you after-"

You cut him off by capturing his lips again. Eric concedes, and wraps his arms around your waist.

༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

Eric had admittedly been lingering in areas of the castle he knew you'd be in. He wanted to catch a glimpse of you. He couldn't help it. You'd trusted him enough to be at your most vulnerable; no one else had ever had the pleasure. He was dying to see if you were happy. You were glowing after your time with him, and his heart swelled with pride.

But when Eric was standing on the balcony and saw Wesley stop you in the courtyard, his joy was instantly snuffed out. The miscreant had even brought you flowers. A scowl etched on Eric's face. You looked uncomfortable as you politely chatted with Wesley. Eric was pleased that you seemed to be searching for a way to leave the conversation. His stomach dropped when Wesley dragged you down to the beach.

Now, here he is, a prince, crouching behind bushes and rocks for godsakes. Eric feels pathetic, but he can't fight this awful feeling that Wesley will try something. He's desperate to ensure that you're safe from that scoundrel. When Eric hears you yelp as Wesley pushes you up under the bridge, he instantly jumps up. He's a little ways away from you, but he moves quickly.

Unfortunately, Wesley has enough time to put his lips on you, though you dodge the kiss. Eric is fuming. He yells at Wesley to get away. Everything in him is telling him to pummel Wesley as soon as he reaches him, but he surprises himself with self restraint. Even when Wesley hits him, he doesn't react. He finds that he's calmer with you out of harm's way.

He decides to let Wesley off with a warning. As long as he's away from you, Eric doesn't intend to hurt him. But when he calls you a whore, a switch instantly flips in Eric. He punches him so hard that Wesley stumbles back. Eric isn't proud of that. He's been in his fair share of brawls in his drunken days, but he's tried to put that behind him. He doesn't question the decision when it comes to you though. Wesley scurries off with his tail between his legs, and Eric has to make sure you're okay.

A few tears have spilled onto your cheeks, and he"s quick to dry them. You've been through so much it physically pains him. You tuck yourself into him, and the warmth of comfort spreads through his chest. You're safe and sound here with him. All at once, you pull back to inspect his face.

Eric has to suppress a smile as you turn his head from side to side. He loves how much you care after all this time of pretending that you didn't. But when you start to back away and he can sense guilt gripping you, he rushes to reassure you. He'll do anything to keep you safe, without question. He plans to cherish you for as long as you'll allow.

He makes sure to check that you're okay after almost being attacked. He always wants to protect you, and he would never push you to be intimate with him; especially not after something like that. Yet you're so willing that he can't resist. He fears he may never be able to get enough of you. Eric crushes you to his chest. His kiss is urgent and needy. Without giving it much thought, Eric hoists you up against the brick, wrapping your legs around his waist. You gasp and withdraw from the kiss to scan your surroundings.

"Eric, are you sure you want to do it here? What if someone sees us?"

Eric shakes his head.

"No one comes down here. Trust me. I've come to the beach for solace for years."

You give a sad smile, but then your lips are on him again. Eric braces you against the wall with his arms, and desperately presses his growing need into your center. You moan into the kiss, and rub against him. The sensation of your clothed sex on his makes his pulse spike. Carefully reaching down to yank your panties to the side, Eric confirms his suspicions with his fingers. You're soaked.

Eric brings his hand to fumble with his trousers, but you astutely reach down to help pull him out. Your grip on his length makes Eric moan, and you open your eyes to look down at him. Your mouth is practically watering as you watch yourself ease his head into your entrance. Eric is captivated by your sultry expression, and his own mouth hangs open at the pleasure and hypnotic view. He thrusts himself fully inside you, and you gasp at the intrusion. You squeeze your eyes shut and lean your head back as you take all of him.

He watches you carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort. Your expression warps into one of pleasure, and Eric knows that he's good to go. With another sharp thrust, he bottoms out. Your mouth falls ajar again in a silent scream. You grab his shoulders to steady yourself. Eric's hands slip under your dress, and his touch travels up and down your abdomen. He kneads and squeezes. He does anything to let you know that you're his. You have to be his now, right?

The possessiveness is almost startling. Eric is not a possessive man. He's never wanted for anything. He's never had any need to be possessive; he knows he's privileged in that regard. But, just for once, he finds that he wants something to belong solely to him. He wants you to belong to him.

"(Y/N)," he gets your attention.

You peel your eyes open to meet his. He swallows harshly.

"Who do you belong to?"

Your creased brow dips further, but the answer tumbles from your lips effortlessly.

"You."

The sudden possessive streak hits Eric harder at your submission. He sharply ruts into you. You gasp, dropping your head on his shoulder. Seeing him pound in and out of you again makes you clench around him. Eric can't help but shudder at the sensation.

"That's it. Only our second time and you're so good for me."

Eric kisses along the part of your neck that's exposed to him until you lift your head. Your eyes are screwed shut and your mouth opens.

"Eric, I'm-I'm-"

"I know, baby. I can feel it. Let it go."

You nod, and Eric focuses his efforts on the spot he's discovered you like. He feels sweat trickle on his brow. You flutter around him and bite your lip to muffle your pleasure. He's close behind you, and his strokes take on a frantic rhythm. Eric buries his face in your chest while he rides out his high.

The two of you are panting, and Eric still holds you up with one arm around your waist and one pressed against the wall. He lifts his head to meet your eyes again. You smile at him, and his heart flutters. He lets his forehead softly fall to yours. The two of you stay in one another's embrace a bit longer. Eventually, Eric gently sets you back down on your feet. You giggle as the two of you clean yourselves up and head back up to the castle. When you reach the palace outskirts, you attempt to pry your hand out of his.

"What're you doing?"

He questions. You give him a bewildered look, but duck your head.

"Eric, I'm sure you don't want anyone to see you with me."

He grabs your hand again, and your eyes jump back up to his.

"Why wouldn't I? I want to walk you to your room."

You examine him for a moment.

"You're not embarrassed?"

He can tell that you're genuinely curious the way your eyes search his. Eric softly smiles, stepping closer to reach up and cup your cheek.

"Darling, I could never be embarrassed of you."

#the little mermaid 2023 #jonah hauer king #prince eric #prince eric smut #prince eric imagine #prince eric x reader #prince eric x fem!reader #prince eric x y/n #prince eric x you #my stuff

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dataentryspecialist · 9 months ago

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How the TNG crew deals with automated systems

Picard: sighs, rolls his eyes, and listens to the list, immediately pressing the appropriate number when it's listed

Riker: listens a bit then calmly says "Representative"

Data: patiently listens to the entire menu just to make sure he's choosing the right option for his needs (and so as not to interrupt)

Geordi: presses the appropriate number as soon as the system picks up and input would be recognized (this ain't his first rodeo)

Troi: hangs up. Asks someone else to do it. Orders chocolate.

Crusher: just gets Wesley to fix it

Worf: (grumbles) Representative. [I'm sorry. I didnt get that could you repeat it?] (Angry huff) Representative. [I'm sorry. I didn't get that could you repeat it?] REPRESENTATIVE!! [I'm sorry--] (loud angry yell, crash, call to maintenance to fix his comm system)

Bonus characters:

Lore: immediately orders "REP-RE-SEN-TA-TIVE!"

Q: Snaps his fingers to get what he wants (but the call gives him a ✨ marvelous ✨ idea on a new game to torment Jean-luc with)

#star trek the next generation #star trek #star trek tng #representative #phone menu #character reactions

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soft-girl-musings · 1 year ago

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Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 2 (I've Got You Under My Skin)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,326

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: another night, another guest.

----------

The Paper Moon is open to all walks of life– every culture, creed, and color is welcome through the doors of your lounge. This is usually a happy truth, but these days you’ve been harboring a clockwork headache when that cab driver stops by.

He gives you the base courtesy of sticking to a schedule: around 7pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jake will waltz in on the heels of James Wesley and whatever company he has in tow. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Jake sits at the same back table while Mr. Wesley conducts his business. And every Tuesday and Thursday, you play nice as you check in on your patrons. Including the cabbie.

“Another stellar set, Ms. Songbird,” he lilts as you give a courtesy nod, brushing past his table in the hopes of keeping things brief.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockley.” Your voice is tense as you breeze by. Jake Lockley, you’d learned from the wait staff: the legal name for the thorn in your side.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind his presence as much if he didn’t insist on making it known every evening. You had learned to expect him in the crowd whenever you’d hear a high-pitched whistle ringing above the applause each night. The sound grates at your resolve and forces you to plaster on your stage-ready smile a bit longer every time you make your rounds.

“Hey Songbird,” he calls out after you. “Have a drink with me?”

“A drink at my own bar? How inspired.” You press your lips into a firm line, the rest of your face broadcasting your disinterest to no avail. Every week he asks; every week you say no.

“Suit yourself,” he sighs, always backing down but never taking his eyes off you. It’s one thing to be watched onstage; it’s another to feel his gaze on the ground level. You feel a bit of relief every time you see him walk out with his client, tipping his hat to you at the end of each evening. His smile remains undeterred, no matter how cold a shoulder you offer.

It’d be damn near charming if you trusted it.

----------

Today’s not the day to let your guard down, the unmarked letter in your hand reminds you as you pace around the backstage corridor. It’s the third of its kind you’ve received this month. You worry your lip between your teeth as you pour over its contents, even though you know them by heart.

“To whom it may concern….” “...property acquisition…” “...would be in your best interest…” “...other businesses under our care …”

“‘Our care,’ that’s rich,” you mutter. “Remind me to stop opening the mail during business hours…”

“Uh, okay?” Mauricio agrees hesitantly as he rounds the corner. “Was wondering where our ‘fifteen-minutes-to-curtain’ call was, but I see you've been busy.”

“Oh good golly, is that really the time?” You fumble to put the letter back in its envelope. “Haven't even finished my makeup…” you trail off as you head to your dressing room, your drummer right behind you.

When you open the door, you see a small bundle of flowers sitting on your side table. Oh for crying out loud.

“How many times do I have to–” you're muttering to yourself again as you take the flowers in hand, moving swiftly across the room.

"What are you doing?" Mauricio sputters.

"If that man thinks he can weasel into my good graces with a few pretty flowers-" you huff as you drop the bouquet in a wastebasket. "–he's going to be sorely disappointed."

"Those were– those were mine." Mauricio admits softly.

You freeze, turning to him. "Really?"

He scoops up the bouquet. "I wanted to surprise you. Guess I should've left a note," he chuckles.

"Oh, Maurie, thank you." You rush over to bring him into a hug. Sometimes he's too sweet for his own good.

".... This is from Mr. Lockley." Mauricio breaks away to hold out a single white rose he'd been hiding behind his back.

You sigh. "He's a persistent son of a gun, isn't he?"

He nods, dimpled smile growing by the second. “I think he's swell, miss. The boys think so, too.”

You turn the rose over in your hand. “I want you to be careful around him, Maurie. We don't know what he's about.”

“I think he's made it pretty clear,” he laughs.

“Hm. Perhaps.” You raise an eyebrow. "And I suppose you both brought flowers because...?"

Mauricio brims with excitement, taking the rose back and bundling it with the bouquet he'd gifted. "Mr. Lockley sounded real set on gettin’ you something sweet," he starts. He puts the flowers in an empty vase on your vanity.

"I didn't mean to steal his thunder, but I like it when you smile." He wipes his hands on the front of his pants and his expression drops a bit. "You haven't been smilin’ as much these days, Ms. Songbird."

You busy yourself with the fallen petals at your feet. “I smile all the time, what do you mean?”

“I guess I'm saying… there's you onstage, then there's, I dunno, you -you. They smile differently, s'all.”

He's right, as much as you hate to admit it. You look over at the flowers. “Well, thanks for giving me a reason to smile for real, Maurie.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “My mind's a bit out of sorts tonight. So thank you.”

The youth's dark brown eyes fill with concern. “Anything we can help you with?”

You shake your head, moving back to your vanity. “Nothing to worry yourself over, darling. Just make sure the boys are set. We have a show to put on.”

He nods and leaves your dressing room. As you apply your lipstick, your hand trembles.

----------

Wednesdays have become your favorite part of the week: the day you catch your breath between visits.

In the time before the first half of your set, you make your usual rounds to each table. Eventually you work your way to the front of the seating area, where you see a familiar silhouette beside the stage. A pair of dark glasses are perched on his nose, which crinkles as he smiles at the sound of your footsteps.

“Mr. Murdock,” you greet him warmly, taking his extended hand. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hey, kid.” He squeezes your hand in response, still beaming up at you. Even in the dimmed lounge, Matt Murdock’s smile can light up a room.

“Come off it,” you huff in mock annoyance. “Thanks for stopping by on such short notice.”

“It sounded urgent, of course I’d be here. Do you have all the paperwork together?”

You eye the empty seat next to him. “I have a whole file waiting for you backstage… I’m sorry, is Franklin not joining you this evening?”

“Not tonight, but I do have another guest coming. Is that drink still on the house for a new plus-one?”

“Any friend of Nelson & Murdock is a friend of mine.” You brush a few stray hairs from his forehead. “Is this a guest for business or pleasure?”

He laughs, waving your hand away. “I suppose that depends.”

“Well, as long as they’re a fan of good music, they’re welcome here anytime,” you hum as you straighten his collar. “I swear, Matty. It wouldn’t kill you to dress to impress.”

“You dote too much. I’ll catch up with you later.” You leave him to his drink, making a mental note to demand his dress shirts for a routine tailoring.

The dinner rush brings the usual crowd, and you eye your friend’s table every so often. The seat beside him is still empty. You wonder if Matt was just pulling your leg and wanted to keep both complimentary drinks for himself.

But you don’t have time to ponder that. Instead, you scribble a few notes down and pass them out to your bandmates.

“Ah gee, boss, changing the setlist again?” Your pianist whines, scanning your notes. He didn’t ask tonight, but last-minute song requests are a longstanding favor to Matt when he has a lady to impress (which is often). For the sake of his mysterious guest, you swapped in some softer, more romantic pieces.

“Jackie, don’t tell me you’re not up to the task?” You eye him sternly. “Half the gig is improv anyway, and these are all songs we’ve done before.”

Jackie’s budding protest is silenced by the bassist via an elbow to the ribs. Arguing with you is never worth it: a lesson everyone learns sooner or later. Some take longer than others.

Rubbing his side, Jackie concedes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

You wink. “That’s a tune I like to hear.” Smiling sweetly, you lead the band's procession to the stage.

“Good evening,” you croon into the microphone, “and welcome to The Paper Moon. I’m Ms. Songbird, this fine-feathered crew beside me are The Jays– let’s have some fun tonight.” You flash a rehearsed smile so dazzling it can be seen from the farthest table in the lounge, and you scan the room with anticipation. The moments before a performance are so precious; even with a setlist, anything can happen the moment that first note is played. Every night, you revel in the possibility.

A familiar two-toned whistle draws your gaze to Matt’s table right below the stage, where the seat beside him is no longer empty.

Hat resting on the table, chin propped in his hands, you find yourself staring down at the face of none other than that infuriating cab driver bearing a grin so wide you hope it splits his cheeks.

Fighting to keep your smile from turning into a grimace, your eyes snap back to the middle of the room. “This first song goes out to one of our favorite patrons… and his company,” you add, your voice betraying your restraint with a crack. You don’t look down, but you just know that damned cabbie is smiling even harder.

Despite the rocky start, you and your band pull together another unforgettable night of music. You perform with your eyes closed more than usual; you refuse to give Jake Lockley the satisfaction of serenading him with your best love songs.

Once the music portion of the night is through, all the frustration you’d pushed down swiftly rises to the surface as you watch them pal around right under your nose. You rush to the floor level to get this over with.

“What are you doing here?” you blurt out, glancing between Jake and Matt. Your friend’s eyebrows raise at the outburst.

“Last I checked, this is a free country. I’m allowed into most businesses.”

“No, I mean– it’s not Thursday. You come on Thursdays.”

“Why Ms. Songbird, I didn’t think you cared enough to keep tabs on me.” He leans his head on his hand and stares up at you. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

You want so badly to snap back at him, but instead you look at Matt. “ This is who I changed our set list for?”

“In my defense, I never asked you to,” he grins.

“You didn’t tell me you were so familiar with our lovely hostess here, Murdock. Seems you have more pull with the house than you let on,” Jake muses in surprise.

“A privilege he’s bound to lose if he's not careful,” you say through gritted teeth. Like it or not, Jake is a guest. And you still have an image to uphold. “How’d you have the pleasure of running into this one, Matthew?”

He barely has time to respond before Jake's leaning in farther, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, chin up, doll– can’t say I’m too surprised he’s a friend of yours. Always has a knack for finding the pretty ones, this guy.” He nudges Matt’s side, who’s far too quiet for your liking.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” you huff.

“‘Course, I keep him around for that brain of his, not so much the mug.”

“He's my lawyer,” you say in unison. What makes your brow furrows leads Jake to bark out a laugh, shaking Matt in his grip as he tugs him closer.

“What are the odds of that, eh Murdock?” He beams up at you. Your frown deepens. “He's helped me with the occasional run-in with the law.”

“Oh, so you're not just a smart-mouth but a criminal, to boot?”

“Nothing but a few civil suits, doll. Got off clean every time.” He winks as you cross your arms, glaring at Matt.

“You have interesting taste in company, Mr. Murdock.” You turn on your heel and head backstage.

“No kidding,” Jake continues to laugh as you walk away. Once you're out of sight, his smile falters. “So when you said you had a friend in show business–”

“Yeah.”

“And when I told you about the dame I've been eyeing at this new lounge–”

“–I knew exactly who you were talking about.”

“So you've been letting me parade around like a putz this whole time? ” A smack upside the head earns Jake a kick to the shin beneath the table.

“That, my friend, was all you. I mean bravo, you were in rare form tonight.” That signature smile returns as Jake pushes a hand through his hair. “I should probably go smooth some feathers. Catch up with you in an hour?”

Jake downs the rest of his drink and stands when Matt does. “You know I love our little talks.” Casting a final glance towards the stage door, he adjusts his jacket and moves from the table.

Matt catches his elbow. “She’ll come around.” He almost sounds convinced of it himself.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got other fish to fry tonight. Promise I’ll save you the big ones.”

Shaking his head, Matt makes his way backstage. “I’m starting to think some of that vitriol isn’t unearned.”

They part ways– Matt heading backstage, Jake to the moonlit streets.

Bigger fish to fry, indeed: all swimming in the Kingpin’s tank.

----------

A/N: thank you to everyone who has expressed enthusiasm over this little passion project!! it's been so fun putting it together, and i'm looking forward to sharing more with you. expect to see more of our favorite lawyer in the future (we have fun here)

as always, thank you for reading <3

tag list: @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader #matt murdock

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goodjohnjr · 5 months ago

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Renaming Christian YouTube Video Names On My Blog

File:YouTube video player history.png (in portuguese).png This dream involved me looking at my WordPress.com blog. I noticed something about many of the YouTube videos about Christianity by Christians. Their videos that were linked / embedded on some of my blog posts that were about those videos. I noticed that it seemed that they would change the names of their videos every so often. It…

View On WordPress

#Blog #Christian #Christianity #Copy And Paste #Link #Name #Rename #URL #Video #Wes Huff #Wesley Huff #WordPress #WordPress.com #YouTube

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starshideurfics · 1 year ago

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Thirsty Thursday - Build a Life with You edition

a little bit from after Steve and Eddie’s HEA in my omegaverse mail order bride fic

“So, what was so important we needed to run into town today?” Benny asks with a grin as he glances at the brown paper package in Steve’s lap.

“It was supposed to come in last week, but I guess there was a mixup and… It’s for Eddie. For our anniversary.” Steve bites his lower lip, glad he and Benny are seated side by side to prevent the older omega from too intense of scrutiny.

Benny still manages to pick up on exactly what Steve means by “For Eddie,” and he chuckles. “That is on Wednesday, ain’t it.”

There’s no way he forgot, since he and Wayne are having them over for supper and then keeping all four of the pups overnight.

But it doesn’t stop his teasing as he drives the wagon back from town, dropping Steve off at the end of the Munson’s drive.

The front door bursts open as he walks up the drive, Wesley running as fast as his five-year-old legs can carry him. “Mama!”

Steve drops into a crouch and catches his son to his chest. He kisses his hair, and looks up to see his husband smiling in the doorway, watching them as Steve takes Wes by the hand and leads him back to the house.

“D’ya get everything you needed?” Eddie asks softly.

“Yep, got it,” Steve answers, voice equally soft to prevent waking the twins from their afternoon nap. “Can you set it on the dresser for me?”

Eddie drops a quick kiss to Steve’s lips and pulls the package from his grasp before heading to their bedroom.

Steve brings Wes to the kitchen with him. He needs to get started on supper.

❧ ❧ ❧

Having a springtime anniversary means the walk home from Benny and Wayne’s is warm, the sun only just beginning to set. Eddie has Steve’s hand in his, fingers intertwined.

After ten years together, conversation is easy and silence is comfortable between the couple. At their front door, Eddie pulls them up short and tugs Steve close, bringing their mouths together for a slow kiss.

“Still wish I’d gotten to do this more,” he whispers.

“What, kiss?”

“Court you proper. Sneak a too long kiss after escorting you home from a dance. Charm you into marryin’ me.”

Steve flushes, leans in to nuzzle at Eddie’s cheek. “You charmed me plenty. Still charm me.”

“Good.” Eddie grins, and catches Steve up in another kiss.

“Now that I’ve been sufficiently charmed, can we go in? I’ve got a little something special for you.”

“Mmhmm,” Eddie hums his ascent, nose tucked tight to Steve’s neck, lips pressed to his mating mark.

It doesn’t take long to reach their room, Steve sitting Eddie at the foot of their bed, slowly undoing the buttons at the front of his shirtwaist and at the side of his split-skirt. His garments drop to the floor, revealing lace cut low over his chest, high on his thighs.

Steve has always liked pretty underpinnings, and Eddie certainly enjoys them, but these are a new style, showing off so much more of his skin. The hair on Steve’s chest peaks above the lace, and his dark nipples press against the thin fabric.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Eddie huffs.

“I ordered it special for tonight.” Steve smiles, advancing on his husband, pleased when strong hands grab his hips. “I thought, maybe, I could keep it on while we—”

Eddie cuts him off with a hard kiss and a hand finding its way to the spilt in the crotch of Steve’s drawers.

His fingers dip into the wet heat of his mate, ready to take him apart while keeping him wrapped up in his pretty packaging.

#steddie #omegaverse #fanfiction #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #ficlet #mail order bride au #after the hea

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cynicalone94 · 14 days ago

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Wes hasn’t seen his biological father since he was fifteen years old. As far as he’s concerned Sean Mitchell is the only dad that he needs.

Paul Martin isn’t so sure about that.

Chapter 17 now available!

Read on AO3 here or below the cut.

Ty runs a hand through his hair as they walk back into the office.

This is now the third time the team has gone out, hoping to bring Wes home or at least Paul in for questioning and come back empty handed.

The man is toying with them and even Ty is already sick of it.

His phone rings and he steps into Wes’s office to answer it.

“Booth.”

“We brought Harmony Edwin in for questioning.” Jim Carter, a friend from California, says. “Wondering if you wanted in on that.”

“Hell yes, I do.” he says immediately.

“I’ll send you a link for a video conference.” Jim says. “You won’t be able to talk to her but I’ll have an earpiece and anything you want to ask her, just let me know.”

He nods, sitting at Wes’s desk and opening his laptop.

The video feed is up within a few minutes and Ty can’t help but glare bitterly at the woman sitting at the table.

“Let’s just start at the beginning, shall we?” Jim tells the woman. “We’ve reviewed the records. You encountered Wes Martin and his parents for the first time in 1989, is that correct?”

She nods.

“Wesley had broken his leg and the doctors had some suspicions about the story they were given for how it happened so DCFS got called in.” she answers.

“But you elected not to start a formal investigation?” Jim asks.

“The inconsistencies that doctors found were nothing conclusive.” she says. “And neither Wes or his mother said anything about Paul harming him or that conflicted with the original story. There just wasn’t anything to support a full investigation.”

She shrugs, a little too easily in Ty’s view, and shakes her head.

“I felt terrible about it when the assault charges were filed a few years later and details suggesting that Paul had been abusive started to come to light but at the time, I just didn’t have anything to suggest it at the time of the interview.” she says.

“You had a number of other reports over the next four years.” Jim says. “And somehow, none of those were enough to support a full investigation either?”

“It can be difficult to prove that injuries come from abuse rather than just a child being clumsy or normal childhood accidents.” she responds. “Especially when family members are sticking to the story and not telling you anything otherwise.”

“Surely the existence of that many reports, each from a different source, is in and of itself enough to support taking a closer look than just interviewing the family?” he demands.

“Is this just another conversation, accusing me of not doing my job, of not caring about Wesley?” she scoffs. “I was busy. I had too many children that I was responsible for, too many reports that I was following up on and quite frankly, I just didn’t have the time to follow up on a case where the evidence was so ambiguous and the child and his mother weren’t talking. Everyone wants to blame me for every bad thing that ever happened to that little boy but they should take a closer look at the system as a whole. Instead of scapegoating me, time and again.”

“Are you aware that phone calls and letters to inmates in state prison are documented, Miss Edwin?” Jim asks, abruptly changing tact.

Her eyes widen slightly.

“Yeah.” Jim says with a humorless huff of laughter. “We know about every conversation you had with Paul Martin during his incarceration. Do you want to tell me about your relationship with him?”

She purses her lips.

“His child was in state care.” she insists. “I was keeping him updated.”

“There’s no requirements for a case worker to keep an incarcerated parent updated to the degree that you did.” Jim counters. “You went above and beyond your responsibilities. In spite of how ‘busy’ you were.”

She glares at him.

“We also know that the nature of those conversations was hardly professional.” he adds.

“Okay, yes.” she admits. “We were involved. His wife was so consumed with her addiction that she didn’t have any time or attention left for her child much less her husband. He was lonely and we understood each other.”

“Starting with that first report.” he accuses lightly.

“What?”

“You didn’t decline to start a formal investigation because you were busy and there wasn’t enough evidence.” he says more sharply. “You refused to investigate Paul Martin because you were attracted to him. Perhaps because you were already sleeping with him.”

“What is this about?” she demands. “I already lost my job for neglecting my duties. Faced criminal charges for child neglect and my accused responsibility for the abuse that others inflicted on that little demon. Are you trying to add more charges? For the conflict of interest of letting my relationship with Paul affect my judgement? I’m pretty sure that thirty or so years later it’s a little bit too late for that.”

Ty can’t help but bristle as she refers to Wes as ‘that little demon’.

“When was the last time you spoke to Paul Martin?” Jim asks, thankfully staying focused.

“What?”

“Just answer the question, Harmony.”

“It was a few weeks ago.” she admits.

“You stayed in touch all this time?” Ty asks and Jim repeats the question.

“He wasn’t happy when I was removed from Wes’s case.” she says, looking away. “We had a falling out when his parental rights were terminated and didn’t speak for almost twenty years. He reached out again a few years ago.”

She smiles and Ty’s stomach twists.

“He said that he knew that I’d tried my best and apologized for letting his disappointment get the better of him.” she says dreamily. “Said that he wanted me back.”

Tried her best? Tried her best to do what?

Ty shakes his head. It’s not important right now.

“What happened when he moved to Hungary?” Ty asks.

“The long distance has been hard.” Harmony says when Jim repeats the question. “But he said a few weeks ago that he was working on something. That we would be together again soon.”

“I need every detail she knows about what Paul has been up to since he moved to Hungary.” Ty says, glancing out to where Sean Mitchell is pacing back and forth. “And whatever contact information she has for him.”

This had better give them some kind of lead to help them find Wes because he doesn’t think these new revelations about why the woman had failed his friend so badly are going to help forestall the pace at which his father is slowly losing his mind.

Especially if Paul Martin continues with these taunting phone calls.

#fbi international #wesley mitchell #wes mitchell #Wes Mitchell’s dad #Wes Mitchell’s biological father #whump fic

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